Doctor Hannibal Lecter had really not expected to get in difficulties this chilly October-night, when he was on his way, back to his car, after being shopping food in a delicatessen shop, called Goldstein’s Delicatessen.

It was Tuesday. This is where it began.

The air outside was chilly, but doctor Lecter thought the weather was stimulating rather than freezing. His car, a Jaguar, was on a parking lot, about 70 yards from the store. He had been able to park closer if he’d wanted to, but relinquished, because he wanted to get a chance to enjoy the weather.

It was this fancy, that caused devastating consequences for Hannibal.

He held his food bag with his left arm, and his briefcase with his right, while he was walking with fast, light steps towards his car. He inhaled the freshening night air. Aah!

His heels made a loud smatter against the asphalt.

Doctor Lector just wanted to get to his car, and was not the least prepared to be prevented from getting there - when he got attacked and molested by a gigantic neanderthal, with hands big as spades, huge arms, no neck, and a sloping forehead.

He appeared in front of doctor Lecter like a bolt from the blue. Like a giant he piled himself up in front of Hannibal, who also was short in stature.

- If you scream, he said, I’ll knock your teeth out. Get it?

He grabbed the doctor’s arm and wrenched it up behind his back. The food bag fell to the ground and spread out the contents.

Doctor Lecter was the only pedestrian within a radius of at least 50 yards. No help close, and even the nearest cars were one block away.

The attacker pushed him into a narrow, nightblack alley, between two buildings, where there only was one, faint bulb.

Doctor Lecter crashed into a garbage can, hurt his hip and his shoulder, staggered, but didn’t fall down on the ground.

He gasped and whimpered, and whispered protests, played more helpless than he was, tried to make the attacker feel safe, because first he was assured that he was armed.

Doctor Lecter could defend himself, but he was not stupid, and knew therefore, that you had to please a gunman. No resistance. Because the one who tries to resist, gets shot, he thought.

He got pushed again, and was shoved deeper into the alley, even farther away from the rest of the world, and farther away from the bulb too. The illumination was faint.

Hannibal willingly gave away his briefcase, and the mugger emptied out the contents on the ground.

There weren’t much, just his wallet and his fake IDs, and maybe 50 dollars, registration papers for his car; not much for a mugger, and apparently, the mugger thought the same.

- Where’s your money, old man! he hissed menacingly between teeth pressed tightly together.

- There, that’s all I’ve got. I promise.

- You lie!

Doctor Lecter backed away from him, but besides the faint light, he could now see, that the mugger wasn’t armed. Suddenly there was hope. He appeared as menacing because of his huge body, but doctor Lecter understood, that behind that, he was only a dumb coward who relied on his size to obtain what he wanted.

The muscles gave him a false security sense of invulnerability, so probably he wasn’t very good at fighting.

The mugger threw the briefcase away, and the rest of its contents, but he kept the wallet. He still didn’t seem pleased. He stared at the doctor with his threateningly gleaming eyes.

- Get your money here now, or you’ll be sorry, count on it!

Doctor Lecter didn’t back away any longer, and the mugger reached out his hand, probably to grab Hannibal by the throat, but that’s where it stopped.

Doctor Lecter grabbed the hand with both his hands, lifted it to his mouth, and bit him hard in the hand. He gave out a shrill cry of pain and surprise.

But the doctor acted quickly, kicked the mugger in the groin, an act that made him bend double, and then grabbed his hand again, and bent his index finger straight backwards, till the pain in the hand must have been even more intensive than in his pounding genitals.

Through this act, the doctor stretched the digital nerve in the front side of the hand, which hurts like hell, and can neutralize anyone, no matter how big and strong he is.

Doctor Lecter knew that the pain probably also spread to the nerves in the mugger’s arm and shoulder.

The mugger hit him in the face with his free hand, and one could hear a nasty, cracking sound, and the doctor could the moment after feel something warm flow down his upper lip.

It hurt, made him give out a scream, and made his eyes water, but he didn’t yield, but endured the pain and increased the strength in his grip of the index finger.

The merciless grip quickly removed every thought of resistance from the mugger’s brain. Instead he sank down on his knees on the ground, spitting, spluttering, swearing - and helpless.

- Let me go! he yelled. Let me go, you fucker!

Hannibal blinked the sweat from his eyes, and felt salt secretions in his mouth get mixed with the metallic taste of blood he felt after biting the mugger’s hand. He had bitten deeply.

Now he grabbed the index finger with both his hands, and begun dragging the mugger out of the alley, towards the rest of the world, and held him like if he’d been dragging a dangerous dog in a leash.

The mugger got forced to drag his way forth on his knees and one hand, and he gave doctor Lecter stares with eyes that were obscure of a willing of murder. Even if the doctor couldn’t see much of his face, he noticed that it was so distorted by pain, wrath and humiliation, that he no longer looked human. He looked like a demon.

Hannibal Lecter wondered if the mugger knew who he had really attacked. He doubted that.

He could almost believe, that his reputation around in The States was so notorious, that those who knew about him, not even a gorilla like this one, would attack Hannibal Lecter. At least not without wearing a gun. But on the other side, if people didn’t know who he was, there were many, who underestimated him to begin with. And this because of his feeble physique. Doctor Lecter was small, a bit under 5’7 feet, and slender. Not physically impressive and definitely not scaring - in case you didn’t know who he was. If you did, most people probably thought he looked like the Devil himself.

Besides his physique, the way he appeared influenced people’s first impression of him. He was awaiting and vigilant in his way of being, two qualities that easily could be associated with shyness.

None of these things were accurate of course. Hannibal was physically strong, had impressive reflexes, was extremely intelligent - and dangerous. That he was a multiple killer was something no one who saw him for the first time could expect, but that some people had experienced.

When doctor Lecter had dragged the mugger halfway through the alley, he started to get tired. Even though he was strong, he wasn’t superhumanly strong, and to drag an almost twice as heavy mugger, and simultaneously maintain the iron grip of his finger, definitely drew on his strength.

But he mustn’t yield now. Because if he only got the chance, the mugger would not just beat the shit out of doctor Lecter - he would beat him to death. If he lost his grip of the finger now, he wouldn’t be given any more opportunity to get a new one, so instead he stopped, spit out some bloody saliva from his mouth, and concentrated all his strength on maintaining the grip, so the mugger absolutely wouldn’t suspect that he was weakening.

After two, three seconds of rest and a deep breath, the doctor proceeded, sickened and frightened, to drag him along, even faster than before.

Even if there only were about 50 feet left to the sidewalk, it took an eternity to get there, and when doctor Lecter finally reached the sidewalk, there was still no one close enough to help him.

He didn’t dare to let go of the mugger’s hand.

Hannibal forced his attacker out in the middle of the street, and a car coming along towards them, had to stop, before this unexpected spectacle.

The driver in the blue Honda, which had stopped, had gotten out of his car, and was on his way towards them. Finally Hannibal dared to let go of the mugger’s hand.

He did, and was ready to rush off right through the little crowd of people that had come to witness the happening.

As fast as doctor Lecter had loosened the mugger, he was running out of there. He collided with a young woman with silver-blond hair, took a stumbling step backwards, while the woman grabbed him, so that she wouldn’t fall herself.

Doctor Lecter mumbled a quick excuse to her, and hurried on. He didn’t look over his shoulder, but he doubted that somebody was following him.

He had lost his food bag and his briefcase, but not his car keys that lay in the pocket of his coat. Now he took them up while he was running towards his car, and unlocked the car doors with the remote controlled locking mechanism.

He knew how he must look like, running through the whole block like some loony.

An older couple looked surprised after him when he whistled past them, but doctor Lecter didn’t see this. All he saw was his car.

When the doctor reached there, he ripped the car door open, threw himself in the driver’s seat, turned the ignition key and pressed down the accelerator, and the car tore off.

Marks of burnt, black rubber were left in the asphalt.

But when the doctor had gotten on his way, he calmed down. He kept the speed limit and put the seatbelt on, because the last thing he needed right now, was to get into a police control.

Hannibal wanted to get home. His house was about a distance, which took around 15 minutes with car from the store he just visited.

This had come unexpectedly. Not that Hannibal was unfamiliar with problems and challenges. On the contrary, he often welcomed them, because he’d be bored if his road always just would be steady and even.

Some challenges were of course more welcome than others, but generally, he could handle everything he came across. He was no longer young, he had soon passed his sixtieth year, and believed that he had been through the most.

On this point doctor Lecter made dreadful mistake. It never crossed his mind, that he during the following days, would get in trouble which he couldn’t handle.

He was the victorious in the combat with the mugger, but he was not without injuries. His right shoulder and hip were sore, by injuries he had gotten when he was pushed into the garbage can. He yet didn’t know how his nose was. Just what he’d seen after a brief look in the rear-view mirror.

He had blood all over his upper lip and around his mouth. What he didn’t know, was how much that was his; most of it came from the mugger, when doctor Lecter had bit his hand.

He took out a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants, and tried to wipe off the blood. His nose hurt.

Besides the injuries, he had lost his food bag and his briefcase, where there actually had been some quite important stuff. He was convinced that the people who had seen him drag the beaten mugger out on the street, saw him as the villain of the piece. It must have looked like he was. But that didn’t concern him the least.

The house that Hannibal Lecter lived in, was in a secluded district, a bit drawn in from the street, on a gigantic garden.

He didn’t own the house, just hired it, but he still saw it as his own.

How the house was dark.

Doctor Lecter drove his car into his garage, and then went towards the front door. His heels smattered against the paving.

He went into the house, didn’t even bother to switch on the patio lights, and went straight into the bathroom, to see how bad his nose was.

After a brief examination of himself, he could with a relief state the fact that it wasn’t broken. He had been lucky.

It hurt, of course, but that was something he couldn’t do anything about, except for maybe take an analgesic pill.

He watched his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. This day had been little more eventful than he’d expected.

He gave his wristwatch a quick look.

Five past ten, P.M. But still all strange happenings weren’t over for this evening yet.

After getting home, and fixing everything up, doctor Lector ran water into the bathtub and stepped into it.

That is where he was lying now, and started to get sleepy. He wanted to sleep, but he was strongly determined not to do it in the bathtub. Because that could get serious consequences, he knew.

Doctor Lecter leaned his head backwards, and closed his eyes, and inhaled the fragrant foams coming from the bath salts.

Hannibal almost fell asleep, but when he noticed, he opened his eyes and got up from the water. The bed would be a better place to sleep. If you compare.

Some of the feeling of fatigue disappeared when the doctor got up from the bad, and when he had done that, he stood in his living room, and poured out a glass of his finest vintage to himself.

He was dressed for the night in a pyjama, dark blue robe of silk and slippers.

Doctor Lecter brought the wineglass with him and sat down in a deep, brown armchair made of leather, pulled up his legs under him and began to sip at his wine.

He held something else too in his hands, and this something was a photograph of Clarice Starling, which he had cut out from a magazine and magnified to a size of 8 x 4 inches.

He looked at the picture of her face; this was taken on an open street, and Clarice had obviously not been expecting to be photographed, for her mouth was halfway open, like in a protest, and she frowned irritably.

He was looking thoroughly at her face, and saved the image of her in his memory palace, together with the rest of the images of her, which he kept there.

He took another swig of the wine and then put the glass away. He huddled up in the soft armchair and closed his eyes, still holding the photograph of Clarice in his hand.

Two minutes later the photo slowly went down to the floor, where it landed softly on the mahogany-floor.

Hannibal Lecter had fallen asleep.

0.24 A.M. the phone rang, and doctor Lecter got involuntarily woken by the persistent ringing.

He got up and answered after the fourth signal.

- Hallo.

No reply.

- Hallo? the doctor reiterated.

Still nothing, but the line wasn’t broken. The caller was listening on the other side, though not saying anything.

- Who is this? doctor Lecter said calmly.

He could hear a ‘click’ when the caller hung up the phone, and then the line was broken. Hannibal looked thoughtfully at the receiver, which he held in his hand before he hung up.

Who had that been? Wrong number? Sure. It must have been. But then why didn’t he or she tell that?

No, some people were just like that, the doctor thought. Rude. Impolite. Free range rudes, as he himself called them. The person who phoned seemed to be one of them. We all know the doctor’s opinion of rude people.

Hannibal went back to his armchair, and was just about to sit, when a thought struck him.

What if it hadn’t been wrong number? It might be...something else.

But he didn’t waste anymore time thinking at that, but left the living room to go and lie down in his real bed.

He brought a science-fiction novel, written by Robert Heinlein with him. He was fond of science fiction.

That weird phone call had scattered the fogs out of his head and he didn’t feel like going to bed and sleep again right away.

When he was lying in his bed, and had come into the story of the book, didn’t think any longer neither at the attack nor the phone call.

Hannibal Lecter did not worry unnecessarily.

Two days after Hannibal Lecter got attacked outside the delicatessen shop, he drove back there, to buy the things which he had lost that disastrous Tuesday.

He had already fixed copies of everything else he lost together with the briefcase, but the groceries could be bought there only, and now Hannibal was sitting in his car, dressed for a town-visit.

He arrived to the parking lot of the store, twenty one minutes past three, in the afternoon; did not this time park far from the entrance to enjoy the walking, even though the odds probably were astronomical, that he would be exposed for the same thing again. It was day, and a lot of people were out on the streets.

Still he had his bent, serrated little knife in with, in his pocked, which he didn’t have two days ago. "Just in case".

Inside the store, which was very crowded, as usual, the doctor moved with great enthusiasm along the long counter, where he could choose from a multitude of delicatessens.

The whole place was filled with the sweetest fragrances.

Doctor Lecter didn’t hurry, gathered the things he wanted: pastrami, a home baked pain riche, goose liver kippered salmon and potato salad, then paid for his groceries, and headed towards the way out of there.

Hannibal this time managed to, arrive safely, and without losing anything, all the way to his car.

He found himself giving a sigh of relief when he was safe behind his wheel.

The doctor started his motor and drove away.

When he arrived back to his home, he stopped his car, and looked (as always) in his mailbox.

He didn’t normally get so much mail, just the most usual stuff, so this afternoon, when he reached his hand down in his mailbox, he got honestly surprised.

There was a brown parcel, addressed to the false identity, which he had used for almost a year now, and still used. Besides the parcel, there was nothing. The rent of the house and the electricity bill he had already paid last week.

Doctor Lecter brought the big brown parcel with him in his car. After parking in the garage, gotten into the house, put his groceries into the fridge and pantry, he got a chance to give the parcel a closer look.

But not before he had gotten a little more comfortable.

He took off the dark silk suit, and changed to black jeans, a T-shirt to wear under, and a sweater to wear over it. These were clothes which he used when he was alone in his home. To look neat and cultivated was important to doctor Lecter when he was out among people, but with only himself as company, he didn’t feel he had to. The silk suit went back into the wardrobe.

No one had of course told doctor Lecter that he was about to get visitors.

Hannibal had no idea of what the parcel could contain. But in was kind of heavy, so it most likely contained a solid object.

A bomb.

The thought flickered through his head and disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. That was of course ridiculous. Why would anyone send him a bomb?

What the thing that confused him was that he didn’t know who had sent the parcel. There was no postmark or return address.

Doctor Lecter got gloves to wear when he opened the parcel. He didn’t seriously believe that it might be anything dangerous, but it could not hurt being cautious.

First he shook the packet with his gloved hands, like a little child shakes its presents trying to guess what they contain. It sounded hollow. It seemed to be a compact metal object.

The doctor stood at the kitchen table, grabbed the parcel’s both sides with his hands and tried to shake forth whatever it contained, on the table. He wanted to avoid grabbing it with his hands before he knew what it was.

And when "it" finally slid down on the table, Hannibal’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied. But the right opposite.

It was a small box, cubic-shaped, perhaps with the face three inches. It was made of metal, had golden engravings on all six sides. Beautiful.

The box had been thoroughly packed. It had been carefully wrapped into a piece of soft cotton wool, which followed out when doctor Lecter shook out the box.

But nothing else. Not letter, no card. Just the box. Provided of course, that anything was inside it?

The doctor considered it now safe enough to pick up the box in his hands and look for himself. But he couldn’t open it. The box appeared to be solid. There was not anything else than metal inside it, it seemed.

But who had sent it?

Doctor Lecter was a hermit. Had always been a hermit. He did not have many close friends even before he got classed as a "monster", and now he had as good as any. That was perfect for Hannibal. Mostly, he was perfectly pleased with only the company of himself. He could any time visit his memory palace and enjoy all it had to offer him, and to do this, he needed no other human beings.

But sometimes, when he was lying alone in his bed, he couldn’t help thinking, how it would have been if Clarice Starling had lain beside him and loved him.

But that was of course a utopian fantasy, that never would come true, and this was something that doctor Lecter had accepted. Clarice Starling belonged to another world. He had realized and accepted it already the first time he saw her and got fond of her. That is why didn’t spend so much time thinking about it.

But the box? Who had sent it? Not a friend of him. So it must be a threat. Had someone unveiled him? What did that person what to tell him, then? "I know who you are! Here is a box!"

But a note like that had not been with, and besides doctor Lecter kept thinking, he could draw any parallel between the box and something definitely linked to him.

A mystery.

Why so secretively? He could not imagine anyone who could possibly made all this trouble getting a box like this, (the doctor had never seen any before), wrap it up and then send it anonymously. Without any hint at all.

Doctor Lecter sure was intelligent and clever and was quick on the uptake, but he did not understand this.

It didn’t make any sense. If it was meant as a threat, would it not be better to talk turkey?

The mystery got bigger.

What could he do about this? Unfortunately not much, if he wasn’t given any other hint. Would he get one?

Doctor Lecter went into the living room and watched himself in his full-figure mirror. He told his reflection:

- Come on, Hannibal. What is happening to you? Huh? This isn’t like you. You know the deal. You cannot do anything about this, at least not now, so stop brooding. Focus on things, which you can do, instead of things you cannot. Right now you are acting very inefficiently.

He listened to his own voice that resounded against the high ceiling in the living room.

- You heard me? he told his reflection contemptuously.

This was enough to give him a little more colour. He was thinking. What could he do at the time? Hmm? Cook himself dinner, for example. He had not gone and bought his groceries for nothing.

He went with fast steps back into the kitchen.

The box had to lie unmoved on the table for another few hours.

Doctor Lecter had been strolling around in his big house, done all sorts of trifles, which otherwise would have taken him several days to get done, if it hadn’t been that he wanted to keep himself busy, so that he would not brood about The Mystery of The Box, as he had started calling it.

He really focused on what he was doing, and actually had managed to drop his thoughts around the box.

He had worked long, and with great enthusiasm, cooking himself a dinner, consisting of fillet of beef, homemade potato cakes, vegetable soup with bouillon, and for dessert peach pudding with apples.

For drink, he opened a bottle of Chateau d’Yquem.

Hannibal was very interested in cooking, and was an excellent cook. He always got hilarious by cooking, and that was also the best way of relaxing.

He had made the table for one, himself, and eaten his fragrant dinner in the living room, with just one candle for illumination.

When he was done with his meal, the time had been ten past six in the evening, and now it was half past nine, and doctor Lecter was sitting huddled up in his brown armchair in the living room, reading. The latest hour, he had spent there, eating shamelessly from his recently bought jar with potato salad. Now there was no more, and the empty can lay on the little, triangular table next to the armchair.

Books were another good way of relaxing, and the doctor had earlier this evening gone through his shelves in his workroom, searching for something good.

He had finished the novel by Robert Heinlein yesterday evening, and was now sitting with a new science fiction novel, this time one written by H G Wells, which was named: "The Island of Dr. Moreau."

The plot of the book was of course childish and ridiculous; completely absurd, but maybe that is why the book interested Hannibal.

The story circulated round an insane geneticist, Dr. Moreau, who at an island out in the South Pacific was conducting experiments by supplying animals with human genes.

Ridiculous, but doctor Lecter sat with his nose in the book, reading, with great interest. He also knew that the book had been filmed some time in the thirties. He had not seen the movie, and had not plans doing it. Completely uninterested in all kinds of movies, as he was.

He had just reached the chapter when the beast people began to revolt their creator, when the telephone rang.

Hannibal answered already after the first signal.

- Hallo.

Just silence on the other side of the line.

He did not say "hallo" again this time, because he knew that it would not do any good, but hung up right away.

That is what you were supposed to do. Show the caller that you did not care.

He was now absolutely certain that it wasn’t wrong number. Not twice within two days, without an excuse both times. Besides that, the silence sounded dangerous, like an unspoken threat.

Someone was fucking with him. Who?

Apparently the same person who had sent him the box. But what was his point? To come with guess work to pester doctor Lecter? Could that be a possible theory?

If that was the case, doctor Lecter announced to himself, that that kind of stuff did not work on him. To get menacing phone calls and mysterious packets certainly made him annoyed and curious, but you did not get Hannibal Lecter off balance like that.

You can do better! he said within him to the person who was behind this. And if you can’t, you would better not come near me.

Doctor Lecter had during the day almost been able to put the thoughts of the box away. Now they came over him again like a surge.

He was not worried or afraid, just so damn curious. There must be a meaning with the box, he thought. But I have not come up with it yet. He wants me to come up with it. He, she or they, are waiting. The phone had rung again today, just to check me. To check if I had solved the puzzle.

That was too much for Hannibal. He went to the kitchen and picked up the box in his hands. Almost manically he began twisting and turning it to find the answer.

Was there anything? Did the box have something that he had overlooked? And where did it come from? It seemed expensive, perhaps was it even a valuable antique. That those stuff did not just grew on trees, the doctor knew very clearly. He decided that as soon as possible, try to trace the box’s origins.

Doctor Lecter brought the box with him to the living room. He stood on the floor, wearing black jeans, a T-shirt and a sweater, holding the box above his head, simultaneously watching it from below, as if he was looking for an important message in the box.

And partially, that was what he did. But no matter how thoroughly he searched, he could not find anything unusual.

Early in the morning next day, he would find out what he really was holding in his hands.

Hannibal Lecter twisted and turned the object. Was it really not possible to open? He tapped it lightly with his knuckles.

It seemed as if...

He had no luck, not before the box took a jump out of his hands, like the metal-piece suddenly had come to life, flew in a curve through the air, and landed on the floor next to the TV, about 15 feet from doctor Lecter.

The box had changed shape. It had no longer the shape of a cube, but had transformed into a kind of star, did it by itself while it was lying on the floor, and all doctor Lecter could do, was to watch. What is...-

"What is going on?" doctor Lecter was thinking, but only got halfway through, since he was interrupted by an enormously strong, blinding, white, bright light, that suddenly appeared from nowhere, and the splitting pain in Hannibal’s eyes was at the moment so sharp, and overcame him, so that he was thrown down to the floor.

Together with the pain, he only saw white spots. Nothing else. He had convulsively pinned his eyes shut when the light hit them, but even if he had opened them, he couldn’t have seen anything. Just white spots.

But the light only lasted some tenth of a second and vanished as quickly as it had come. But it took substantially longer, at least five, six seconds, before Hannibal had recovered so that he could get his sight back.

But already before he got his sight back, and already before he had turned his face up from the floor, he knew that he was no longer alone in the room.

At first doctor Lecter only saw their silhouettes. There were four of them. Humans. The outlines of four human beings were in his living room.

His eyes could now discern more than just the outlines. The four shapes were only moderately human. If that much.

The one who stood closest to him seemed to be a man, dressed in a black suit with shoulder plates. His skin wasn’t pasty, but white as chalk, and his face was filled with nails. His eyes were totally black, like crude oil. He had no whites in the eyes. The next figure was female. She resembled the man with the nails in his head very much, besides of that she had not any nails herself. Her skin too, was unnaturally (and disgustingly) grey-blue-whitish. She was entirely bald, like the man was.

The female had a nail through her nose, and steel wire through her jaw, formed to a half circle. The skin over her throat was split open and was kept apart by the wire. Her clothing was about the same as the man’s.

The other two were still worse. Their features were far from human, and doctor Lecter did not have words to describe them. The strange thing was that he at first didn’t feel any fear. Just astonishment.

Slowly he got up. The man with the nails began to speak.

- The box, he said. You solved the puzzle. We came.

His voice was deep, calm, hypnotic, not entirely unlike doctor Lecter’s own. He spoke with British accent. His black eyes looked into Hannibal’s.

- Come to us, the woman said. We have such wonderful sights to show you...

Her voice was more like a metallic screeching, as if she had been partially robot. Who knew? Perhaps she was. The tone in her voice sounded dead.

The other two were quiet. But one of them whole the time made a clattering sound by clutching its exposed teeth together, in its faceless head, with no lips.

The man with the nails turned his head about 90 degrees left.

- Take him, he told the two mute creatures.

Now doctor Lecter was struck by terror.

He knew what the dial was. Run or die. Run or die.

This was a fear he had never known before. Never ever. He was suddenly in an amorphous dream landscape, everything else but himself began to dissolve and disappear. He knew now, that if he did not run, he would die where he was standing.

The female demon (he now saw them as demons.) They were not ordinary human beings, even if they stood upright and spoke, they were not human, so the best designation for them was simply demons) swiftly as a lightning pulled out a knife from her belt, a serrated dagger, which she threw at doctor Lecter, but missed.

The doctor dodged for the knife, with a speed he normally didn’t have, but that had been born out of the horror. Almost at the same time he threw one of the mute demons away, that had come forth to grab him.

With superhuman strength and flexibility, he ran, the fraction of a second later.

Hannibal’s pumping legs worked their way through up the stairs to the upper floor in the house. He got into his workroom, and he must have locked the door, even though he didn’t have a memory of it, and rushed to the window.

He grabbed the hafts in the lower part of the window, and pulled it open without the slightest effort. He was strong normally too, but now when it really was a matter of life and death, ‘strong’ wasn’t enough. He could better be described as "unbelievably strong" or even inhuman.

The demon with the clattering teeth, he had thrown away like down cushion.

He jumped out on the roof of the porch, about two feet below the window, and turned a controllable somersault through the icy wind which hit him, against the edge of the roof.

He almost rolled over, but grabbed the gutter with his left hand, and hung there for a moment, while the gutter screeched alarmingly. It would yield soon. He was too heavy.

Doctor Lecter let go. He landed on the garden path, on his left side, with a nasty crack, but did remarkably not injure himself badly anywhere, except for his left hand, which he scraped against the paving. He had fallen about seventeen feet. Maybe twenty.

Doctor Lecter was back on his feet again, two seconds after he fell, and turned away from his house to run out on the street.

At the same time as he had gotten about 20 yards, the demons broke into his workroom. The man with the nail, who obviously was the leader and the female looked after him from the window.

- He is getting away, the woman said.

- Do not worry, the leader demon replied. He won’t get far.

The creature, that once had been Elliott Spenser, stood at the window a while after, a minute perhaps, he had seen his proposed victim throw out through it, and run a way.

His partner, the female, had shortly after the man threw himself out of the window, left the room.

Elliott Spenser was a cenobite. He answered to the name "Pinhead", which you could tell by the nails in his head, which was bald. He had been Pinhead, the leader-cenobite, for 80 years now, soon.

Pinhead was slim, six foot tall, and looked stiff when he moved. Perhaps it was because of the suit he wore.

Suddenly his female partner entered the room again. He did not turn around, even if he felt her eyes in his back.

- Are you coming or not? she told his back.

- Just another minute, Pinhead replied with his uncannily hollow, monotone voice. His British accent shone through his speech.

The woman was a cenobite, just like Pinhead himself. She looked pretty much like him, besides of, that she did not have any nails in her head, but instead a needle through her nose, and through her jaw, she had a device, that in some degree reminded of an old-fashioned brace. Her throat was split. Her skin had the same colour as Pinhead’s. She too was bald.

The woman didn’t have a real name. Most cenobites just called her "Female Cenobite", but he called her by her birth name, which was Rosalyn.

- I’ll be there in a minute, Pinhead said when the woman refused to leave the room.

- We have to find him, she said.

- He will not get far.

- We have to find him. He is our victim. He solved the box. He belongs to us. We must find him.

- We will. Definitely.

But the cenobite-woman didn’t give up, but approached Pinhead and put her hand on his shoulder. It was a firm grip.

- We must start searching. Right now.

- There is no need yet, Rosalyn.

- We must start searching, Pinhead.

- You just don’t give up?

- Don’t be stupid. You know what Leviathan would....-

- Do not start on Leviathan. I know already.

No Pinhead’s voice was sharp, or as sharp as it could get, without sounding like a snubbing. Pinhead didn’t snub. Not ever.

His hollow cenobite-voice had been trained to sound as it did, like a monotone burial-voice, calm and flat, and angry snubs didn’t belong with it.

But he could not really stop himself when she mentioned Leviathan to him. He needn’t be reminded of his master at this time. But the cenobite-woman had a point.

They should not let their victim get a too big lead. Perhaps he should ask her to start searching. They "searched" their runaway-victims telepathically. Though Pinhead had not any telepathic abilities himself, but this was something that his female colleague stood for.

He could take part of her visions by having physical contact with her while she was searching.

To be able to seek, the cenobite-woman had to put herself into a trance. It might take a while before she saw anything. Depending on how far away the victim had gotten. But she always succeeded. Pinhead had till now not experienced any failing when she had been with.

He faced the woman. She was about six inches shorter than he was, that would make around 5’6 feet tall.

- Let us search, he said.

The female was sitting on one of the victim’s chairs in the room, where the human had thrown himself out from the window. Pinhead had pulled the curtains, and lowered the Venetian blind in the room; no one actually knew why, but to be able to concentrate properly and get into trance, no light from outside could get in.

The lamp in the ceiling was switched on, though.

Pinhead plus the two mute, low ranked cenobites, who by their own were called The Chatterer and Butterball, watched her.

Her breathing became more and more forced when she went into trance. Her closed eyelids flickered from time to time, but she didn’t move and she didn’t open her eyes.

While Pinhead was waiting for a vision from her, he took a look at the victim’s things that were in the room.

There was a bookcase with a multitude of books. He pulled out one book from the bookcase. Its title was Dante’s Inferno.

He opened the book, and saw a name written on the top of the first page.

Hannibal Lecter. Their victim’s name was Hannibal Lecter.

A rare name. Provided of course, that the man had stolen the book from somebody by that name. To be sure that wasn’t the case, Pinhead pulled out another book.

The same name was there. But it really didn’t interest him. Cenobites did not care about their victim’s identities.

Flesh and human agonies were principal points for them.

Pinhead put the book back.

Suddenly he heard the woman sitting in the chair moan. He turned around and grabbed her extended hand. She jerked. She shuddered. Her eyes rolled up in her head, so that only the whites were visible. She gasped with open mouth, as if she was drowning.

She extended cold, hissing noises. Her other hand, which Pinhead didn’t hold, fell back onto her lap, like a dying bird. Her metallic raspy voice quivered when she opened her mouth and said:

- Dying.

Pinhead had not yet managed to connect a link between them, and therefore didn’t see what she saw, and also didn’t know what she meant.

- What do you mean? Rosalyn? Is the victim dying? Is Hannibal Lecter dying?

Then he remembered that the woman did not know that the victim’s name was Hannibal Lecter, and could therefore not associate the name with the victim.

Her hand squeezed Pinhead’s firmly.

- Dies, dies, dies...the cenobite-woman droned.

Pinhead wished he had seen what she saw right now. It took some time to connect the link.

- We have to...- she hissed hoarsely.

Pinhead then caught a glimpse of an image that flickered through his mind. But it was there such a short moment that he did not have time to see what it was. All he could pick out was a roadway. That was all.

Then he saw why. His partner had woken up from the trance-state. She now looked at him with clear eyes.

- We must hurry, she said and let go of his hand.

Hannibal Lecter ran.

He was only faintly aware of what he was doing.

Run or die. Run or die. Run or die.

Everything else, the surrounding and all other noises had dissolved and disappeared, and he didn’t notice them. Just the phrase "Run or die" buzzed in his head, louder and louder, until his ears were filled with the almost unbearable roaring.

Neither did he notice the cold and the wind that whipped him when he ran along the black, asphalt surface of the road.

Run or die.

He was lightly dressed in relation to the weather. In the biting cold and the furiously whipping wind, he would have needed a coat and shoes, but he had neither, but this was at the moment nothing that doctor Lecter paid attention to, or worried for.

He ran, like through fog; and the fogs didn’t disperse until he reached the highway.

Then, but only then, he woke up from his "fugue-state" or whatever he would call it, that he had been in the last few - he didn’t know exactly - minutes.

The first doctor Lecter got aware of, was the cold. It pinched him in his face, and he had totally lost the feeling in his hands and feet. It forced its way deep into him through his thin clothes, and he shook violently.

His heart pounded like possessed and he could not breathe normally; his body began to make itself felt of that he had run for his life only a few seconds ago.

He had been supplied with superhuman strength and speed when he ran from the demons, but now, when he no longer was in the same panic-state, the exertions claimed their due.

He couldn’t take another step.

Gasping and panting for breath he sank down on his knees at the side of the road. His head and chest hurt. When he tried to stand up, his legs had been turned into rubber, and he was lying flat on his stomach on the cold street.

The cold from the asphalt pierced its way into him, and Hannibal knew that he should get up so that he would not get pneumonia.

But he had no strength to manage that.

How long had he been out?

The distance from his house to the highway, could be done by a good marathon runner in about 20 minutes, but doctor Lecter had finished it in less than a quarter of an hour.

Now he had to pay the price.

- No, he whispered inaudibly while he was lying with his face against the ground. The demons...

He oscillated between consciousness and unconsciousness the following minutes, fought to stay awake, fought not to fall asleep, and then freeze to death, as he knew he would do, if he feel asleep.

When he at last slipped into unconsciousness, the difference was barely noticeable, just a very tiny difference in his way of breathing.

Another eight minutes passed before a car stopped to see how he was.

- Hurry! Call for an ambulance! a brunette woman called to her traveling companion who stayed in the car which had stopped.

The only thing doctor Lecter remember of the ride in the ambulance on the way to the hospital was the sound of hooting sirens and a cacophony of voices that seemed to be scream right into the mouth of each other.

He saw nothing, since he was only faintly aware on and off.

While doctor Lecter was lying on the stretcher, wrapped up in blankets, the ambulance crew checked his pulse, blood pressure and his body temperature.

Hannibal woke up during the arrival to the hospital. He had been transferred from the stretcher to a hospital bed on wheels, and now four or five people dressed in white were pushing the bed along a long, long corridor. He was on the casualty department.

- What do we know? the voice of a woman said.

- White male, in his mid-fifties, pulse 74, BP 120 over 60, suffering from hypothermia. No ID on him. He doesn’t seem to have other body-injuries, except for...-

Hannibal opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, hoping that his sight would clear up. It didn’t. He saw everything like through a thick, gray cloth, but he was no longer unconscious.

He heard upset and hectic voices chatter now too. But suddenly the white dressed people stopped pushing the bed, and a man standing on his left side, told the others:

- Look, he is coming around.

Four pairs of eyes were now focused on him. A voice said:

- What’s your name? Can you tell us your name?

Doctor Lecter heard the words, but he didn’t respond to them. The nurse repeated what she just said.

But doctor Lecter was far away from the rest of the world. Even if he had understood what the nurse asked him, he could in this very confused moment not remember his name. Neither his real name (which perhaps was lucky) nor the false identity he used.

- The demons...,was all he said. The demons, they’re coming...-

- What was that? the nurse asked and leaned over him so that he could smell her hair and breath.

Suddenly doctor Lecter became wild. He pushed away the nurse and knocked her down. She hit her shoulder against the wall and smashed down firmly on the floor.

- No! doctor Lecter screamed and tried to flow up from the bed, but many strong hands immediately pressed him down again.

The demons. Run or die. Now he remembered everything as clearly as if a videotape was played on before his eyes.

- They’re coming! he cried and tried to break free. Let go of me! They’re going to kill me!

He threw on and off and those three - two doctors and a nurse, got trouble holding him down. Even if he was strongly chilled, and in the need of medical care, doctor Lecter was strong, and another two people dressed in green, hurried to rescue.

- Has he taken anything? one of them asked.

- I don’t know, one of the people who had stood there the entire time said. Probably. He is extremely strong. Hysteria caused by PCP often occurs together with abnormal strength.

Doctor Lecter managed to get one arm loose, and tore the shirt of one of the men holding him, in rags. After that, he pushed the man away.

Upset voices:

- Give him something sedative!

- Considering his condition, I don’t know if...-

- I know. Do it. Right away.

Doctor Lecter felt a pinprick in his left arm, and slipped back into unconsciousness again, only two minutes after regaining it.

"The demons" he said before it all went dark.

Hannibal Lecter regained his consciousness for the second time the same night, and found himself lying on his back in a hospital bed.

He didn’t move an inch; he was lying still, waiting for the world to clear up.

He took a deep breath, and grimaced when he felt the acrid smell of hospital in his nose.

He had a drop cannula in one of his arms and a hose supplying him with oxygen in his nose.

Doctor Lecter sat up from the bed hastily, into sitting position, faster than he actually should have done, considering his condition, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Then he had to stop. The nausea came over him like a wave, and made him put his hand over his mouth and lean his head between his knees, not to throw up.

He waited a few seconds, till the nausea was gone, and then straightened his back again. This time more slowly. He also felt that he needed to visit the toilet, and was just about to disengage the drop and go, when he heard steps coming towards his room.

Considering how it sounded, at least two, or more people were headed towards the room where he was.

Doctor Lecter quickly lay down again and pretended to sleep. He turned his back at the sound, and therefore did not see them come in, but he heard them. They were two, a man and a woman. They came in and began to converse a few feet from his bed.

The man said:

- Have we found out anything about him?

Doctor Lecter knew they were speaking about him.

- No, absolutely nothing, the woman replied. He was registered as a John Doe. He had no ID on him. I guess he is homeless. Or a dope. Maybe both.

Homeless dope! doctor Lecter thought. Oh sure!

- Did he say anything when they brought him in?

- Something about that some kind of "demons" were about to kill him. He was raving of course. Or then he was high on something.

- Nothing else?

- No. But he was difficult to hold down. It took five men to do that. He had gotten some really bad shit, probably.

- How are his other vital signs?

- Oh, they’re stabile. He has recovered surprisingly well after almost frozen to death. We’ll have to talk to him when he comes around. Let’s see what he has to say. Just hope that he has cleared up a little till we do.

Doctor Lecter listened to the conversation. He tried to breathe like a sleeping person, and succeeded. They didn’t suspect anything.

Could they not leave soon? This started to get boring.

After another minute of low speaking, the man and woman finally left. Doctor Lecter opened his eyes when their steps no longer heard.

Has was going to leave the hospital as quickly as possible. He knew he was in danger.

Hannibal had no trouble remembering what had happened the last few hours. He was entire clear in his head now, although he felt a little woozy; if it was because of he had been chilled or the sedative he had gotten, was impossible to tell.

When he was sure of that those two who had been there earlier wasn’t coming back in a while, he pulled out the cannula from his arm and even removed the hose from his nose.

The floor felt cold against his bare feet, when he got up and pattered into the toilet, which was connected to the room.

He relieved himself and then turned against the mirror. He didn’t look very sick. But he was extremely pale. And he had chased expression in his eyes that he did not like. He took a few heavy breaths while he was standing in front of the mirror. Was he strong enough to leave the hospital? Yes? He had to be.

Hannibal went back to his hospital bed and sat down on the edge of it. What would he do?

He got goose pimples on his bare legs and felt vulnerable dressed only in the thin hospital shirt.

He went to his closet to see if his real clothes were there. They were. Quickly he pulled on his jeans and his sweater and his socks, as if it was possible to lure the danger by being properly dressed.

But if he was going to leave the hospital under the current weather conditions, her also needed a topcoat and real shoes, something he did not bring with to the hospital. Besides that, he needed money. He didn’t have a nickel.

Doctor Lecter’s roommate was a 72 year-old man, connected to drop and a squeaking cardiogram monitor. A green line bumped steadily and stably on the monitor.

The other patient was asleep, thank god, and doctor Lecter sneaked to his closet to see if there possibly could be any of the things he needed.

There was a black leather jacket, doctor Lecter felt in its pockets, in case there would be some money, and pulled out a wallet. Hastily he went through the contents of the wallet. There were the ID cards, a Visa card, come receipts, and ninety dollars in cash.

Doctor Lecter took the jacket and the money, left the wallet and the rest of the things in it, because he wouldn’t have any use for it. He also needed shoes. This man’s shoes had to do, even if doctor Lecter at the first sight of the jogging shoes marked Nike, noticed that they were too big for him.

There was nothing to it. He quickly put them on, and tightened them as much as he could, so that he wouldn’t step out of them when he raised his feet.

The patient in the bed next to him, rattled in his sleep, and for a moment doctor Lecter thought that he had woken up. Then he noticed that the man only had changed his sleeping position.

Doctor Lecter left the room and went into the corridor. He glanced at his wristwatch. 2:24 A.M. In the middle of the night. Hopefully there wouldn’t be so many people walking about at this time of day.

Correct. Maybe just some alone doctor who was doing his round. Since Hannibal was a medical doctor, and had previously worked at a hospital, he knew the routines used there.

He walked calmly and collectedly. Doing that, he wouldn’t draw so much attention to himself.

He met a young, blond nurse who was pushing a carriage with towels in the corridor. She gave him a friendly smile and he smiled back; probably she thought that he was a doctor, or perhaps a patient, who had in mind to stretch his legs a little, because she didn’t seem to pay so much attention to him.

Doctor Lecter did fine, until he reached the stairs in the end of the corridor, which led downstairs to another floor.

The demons were headed at him, and they were only one landing away. The leader demon was ahead, then came the woman with the metallic android-voice, and the two grotesque, mute creatures made the rearguard.

The leader demon was looking up towards him and captured his eyes, and for a moment doctor Lecter stood staring into the black eyes of the demon, as riveted by his eyes.

They kept coming up, did not hurry, but approached inexorably. In just a few seconds they would have him caught. Hannibal was wondering if he was awake. Perhaps this whole bizarre hunt was the part of a nightmare, maybe he actually was lying home, sleeping in his own bed, safe under a warm cover.

But he knew that was not the case.

Hannibal broke put from the paralysis, turned back to the direction he had come from and ran.

This time he was not in the same amorphous "fugue-state" as he was when they chased him before; now he was fully aware of what he was doing, which was good. But he was afraid of that it meant that he neither had the same strength and velocity as then.

Doctor Lecter was now physically exhausted and felt it; that was not good. He had a pain in his chest and an assiduous buzzing had begun to sound in his head. He wasted no time in screaming, because he doubted it would help him in any way. Beside the screaming would make him lose speed, and he would perhaps be caught and silenced before anyone reacted on his screams.

Hannibal had never ever been in better need of his good physical shape, strength, fast ability to comprehend, and mental activity as now. They were the only things that could save him, because he had no faith in good luck.

Doctor Lecter searched for an elevator. He got around the winding in the corridor and continued running at the right.

He ran pass a multitude of rooms where the names of the patients and doctors were on the doors.

He found what he was looking for in the end of an about 100 feet long corridor. Three elevators were standing quiet and still in the sharp illumination from the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling.

Hannibal pushed the buttons on all three of them, one by one, and waited to hear the jingle when an elevator door slipped open. He turned around and watched the demons just appear around the winding in the corridor.

He pushed again, again and again. 70 feet to go.

The elevator door didn’t open.

50 feet.

He could see the female demon draw a knife, which she lifted over her shoulder.

Then, like through a miracle, one of the elevator doors opened. Doctor Lecter sneaked inside and began pushing the door closer button frantically.

25 feet.

The demon woman threw the knife at him, and hit the elevator door, just when the doors were gliding together.

Doctor Lecter leaned against one of the walls and pressed the button to the entrance floor. The elevator slowly began moving down. While the elevator was moving, Hannibal sank down in one of its corners, mumbling inconceivably to himself.

He was horrified. There was no other word to describe his feeling. Just simply horrified. In only a few hours, his now calm, quiet life had been turned into a nightmare.

He made no attempts trying to figure out who the demons could be. What he must do now, was to accept that the impossible had become reality. As a scientist and psychiatrist, it was hard to accept this as a fact. But it was true.

If he was lucky, the demons would not be on the place where he stepped put from the elevator next time. Had they perhaps counted on that he maybe could get away from them this time too, and placed someone to wait for him down there?

No. They could not be that fast. Provided that they couldn’t teleport of course, but doctor Lecter came to the conclusion that they could not, since they had to chase him by foot.

The elevator stopped and the doors slipped apart.

He could get a glimpse of the main entrance through the slit, which increased in time with the doors opening.

But no demons. As soon as the gap between the doors had gone big enough for him to get through, he pushed his way out of the elevator, ran pass the surprised lady in the reception desk, out through the main entrance and out in the cold night.

Doctor Lecter ran away from the hospital, and knew that he had to find a really good hiding place in case he wanted to survive this night.

He crawled in under a parked truck, one block from the hospital. Lying there, in the dim light from the streetlamps, he peered out from his place of refuge, but saw only the lower parts of the cars that were parked across the street.

No demons. Yet. He didn’t know exactly how long he had been lying there, but his hands and feet had again gotten cold. He could not lie there all night, if he did, he would freeze to death, eve if he now had both jacket and shoes.

- Hey! Hey there, what are you doing?

Doctor Lecter blinked and turned his head towards the voice that came from the back of the truck. A man was lying on all four, looking down at him.

It wasn’t one of the demons. They had obviously given up at the moment when they could not find him and gone away. He had never seen this man before.

The man said:

- What the hell are you doing there?

When Hannibal didn’t answer, he said:

- Well, however, let me help you out of there. I don’t want to risk running you over. Come on now.

He reached out a gloved hand against doctor Lecter.

With some hesitation the doctor crawled forth to him and let himself be pulled put from under the truck.

The man was young, had brown hair and brown eyes, and was wearing a thick overall. He pulled doctor Lecter up on his feet and then asked what was going on. Doctor Lecter didn’t know what to respond. He was absolutely not going to say anything about the demons now, because the he would be classed as either crazy or high.

- What are you hiding from? asked the man.

But doctor Lecter never answered. He didn’t want to stay on the same place longer than what was necessary. He turned around and ran. The man was calling after him.

Hannibal usually didn’t feel sorry for himself, but now he was filled with self-pity. He understood how he must have looked like, running through the whole block, and then crawling under a truck like some poor agora phobe. All his former dignity was gone.

This was not the kind of trouble Hannibal was used to deal with. To escape the police was not a problem for Hannibal, had never been, but this was something totally different. An encounter with the unknown, as if he suddenly had been snatched away from the real world, and thrown headfirst into the supernatural.

But how could they find me this quickly? was a question doctor Lecter asked himself. How could they?

He knew he absolutely couldn’t return to his home. The demons certainly had the house under surveillance.

The time was almost three in the morning. No motels were open at this time. He had to wander about in the city, at least until the morning. Doctor Lecter believed, that the demons’ chances of locating him would decrease if he kept on the move. But he couldn’t continue like this for very long.

In a couple of days his cash would already be gone, and in the current situation, it was almost impossible to get new ones. He also had to leave his car.

It definitely did not look good for doctor Hannibal Lecter.

Clarice Starling had after a hard day on the FBI, returned late to her home, and was lying in her bed sleeping, at the same time as doctor Lecter was pulled out from under the truck where he had been hiding.

He had taken his refuge in a night open laundromat, four blocks from the hospital. He wanted to be in a place where it was bright, and the strong fluorescent tubes in the ceiling left no room for shadows.

He was all alone in there now, sitting on a green plastic chair, staring at the rows of tumble driers, and inhaled the keen smell of detergent, bleacher and soap.

He tried come up with something, a plan for what he would do next. Run. That was the only alternative. He had lost all his resolution to try to fight against the demons. In a combat like that he would be turned into meat.

What he first and foremost had to try to do, was to live through the night in one piece. Then maybe leave the city.

Hannibal thought, that so in the hell he would walk on foot from the city. With some luck, he could get a ride out on the freeway by some decent truck driver.

He was going to try that as soon as the morning came.

Hannibal sat inside the laundry, fully aware of that he had no reason what so ever to think that he would be safer at this laundromat just because there was bright, than anywhere else.

Because the hospital had still been a quite public and illuminated place, and they had attacked him anyway. But however, he wasn’t going to stay where he was.

He was still without a plan of action, other than to sit and wait inside the laundromat, and wait for the dawn. And then what? Go out and get mutilated?

Good Hannibal! Excellent strategy!

He realized himself how pathetic his plan was compared to the problems. He actually should be able to do better. Had he not been at large, escaping both the police and the government for several years now, and besides that done very well? Should he now founder the first night when he was running from these demons? But those who were after him now, weren’t of course in any way comparable to ordinary polices and people.

These...creatures would never give up, they would just keep coming and coming, and not stop before he was dead.

Unlike human beings, that were driven by money, vengeance, or maybe love these creatures were driven by something far stronger and more powerful, and doctor Lecter doubted that they would ever give up. He couldn’t name what was driving them. But he knew that the only way to lose these stalkers was to kill them. And to kill four demons alone, was easier said than done, even for Hannibal Lecter, multiple killer.

But why him? He did not believe that they wanted him because he was Hannibal Lecter. Probably it was a mere coincidence that they had chosen exactly him.

But, he thought, if it was a coincidence, and had nothing to do with him personally, then why were they so determined to get their hands on him? It made no sense what so ever.

Even if he would live through this night, and the next, he would need help, eventually. Since he was a wanted criminal, he could not turn to the police or the state authorities, but he didn’t believe anyway that they could protect him. Instead they were a part of the problem.

He needed somebody he could trust, someone who was prepared to help him and not tell anybody if they met. But that was trickier. Doctor Lecter had no friends or connections that he could turn to, in a situation like this.

Besides...Clarice Starling. Could he ask Clarice Starling? Doctor Lecter quickly dismissed the thought. No, absolutely not.

With her perfect moral sense of right or wrong, she would not even consider it. And even if she would, he didn’t want to pull her into this. Oh, god, he really didn’t want that! If anything would happen to Clarice because of him, then...

But at the moment she appeared to be his only hope. Doctor Lecter weighed the pros and cons about contacting Clarice at each other. The scales were quite even.

He began to carry on a dialogue with himself, inside of him:

It’s possible to arrange without risks for her.

No, it is not.

She is your last hope.

No

Where else could you get money?

I will have to find a way, something that won’t take a lot of money.

You need money in any case. Even if you come up with another plan.

I won’t expose Clarice for any risks.

It’s possible to arrange safely.

Bullshit.

Then you’re history.

Doctor Lector got up, watched the pay-phone which was placed at the far end of the long row of tumble dryers.

Call her, a voice from inside encouraged him. Call her. You won’t lose anything on calling her. If she says no, she says no. But try. The time is running out.

Doctor Lecter stood up and went over to the pay phone. When he lifted the receiver, he first didn’t get any dial tone in his ear. He put in a quarter, hoping it would start the dial tone.

It did.

After a quick visit in his memory palace, he brought forth the phone number to her home in Washington DC.

Doctor Lecter’s hands shook when he dialed the number to the woman who at the time seemed to be his only hope. It was 5:07 A.M.

Clarice Starling was woken from her well-deserved sleep by the phone, which began to ring. It took some time before she realized it actually rang, partly because it was in the middle of the night, and on the other hand because she first had thought it was a telephone in her dream, which rang, half-awake and confused as she was.

She sat up in her bed and gave the luminous green digits on her alarm clock a quick glance.

5:08 A.M.! Who had in mind to call her at this time of night? The sixth signal was coming.

Clarice Starling sat on the edge of her bed, blinking sleepily, wearing panties and a T-shirt.

The seventh signal. The caller was a stubborn individual. Most people had hung up if they didn’t get an answer after seven signals.

She got up and started to lumber towards the phone. She snatched a robe to her when passing. She answered first after the eighth ringing.

- Hallo?

After some seconds of silence, a voice on the other side said:

- Is this Clarice?

- Yes, this is Clarice Starling. Who’s calling?

- It’s me, Clarice. Hannibal Lecter.

A thrill went through Clarice when she heard the metallic, although familiar voice again. She put a hand against her chest, as to stop her heart from jumping out from her thorax and sat down on the floor with a bump. She barely had any voice left.

- Doctor Lecter? she whispered.

- Yes, Clarice. Is this a bad time? Please forgive me.

She could hardly believe it. She hadn’t heard from him since that time when he called her after he escaped from his guards in Memphis. And he had promised not to call on her.

- Doctor Lecter? she said again. She wasn’t dreaming or what?

- I’m sorry to call you like this in the middle of the night, but I just did not have anywhere else to go...

His choice of words and even the intonation in his voice confused Clarice. It sounded like doctor Lecter, but still not. Her grip of the receiver got harder.

- What do you mean, doctor Lecter?

- I’m in trouble, Clarice. A very serious trouble, he said with emphasis.

- Are you, doctor Lecter?

- I know that I absolutely don’t deserve to ask you for anything, but now I am desperate. I beg you, Clarice, please help me.

- What happened, doctor Lecter? What have you done?

- That is a long story, and I don’t want to get into it over the phone. Do you think we possibly could meet?

Clarice couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her throat felt dry and her heart was pounding like a whole machinery.

- Meet...? she stuttered. Are you serious? I...you know that I have to rapport everything you say hear and now, don’t you?

- Yes, Clarice, I am aware of it. But do you think you could help me?

- Doctor Lecter, I’m afraid of, that if you have gotten into trouble, I can’t do so much to help you. The best thing for you is to turn yourself in to the police. They will protect you.

- They cannot protect me against this, Clarice.

- And you think I can?

- They couldn’t be able to protect me, because they wouldn’t believe me, but I sense that you would.

- Then tell me, doctor Lecter. What have you gotten yourself into?

- Not over the phone. Clarice, please, let me see you, face to face. You do realize that I wouldn’t hurt you? Bring a gun if you don’t believe me now, but I beg you Clarice; come alone.

- Do you realize what you’re asking me, doctor Lecter? she said. If I see you, I will be a criminal.

- Yes, I am fully aware of that, and I would not ask you if it wasn’t so that you are my only hope. Let me see you, that is all I’m asking. Let me tell you, and then decide for yourself what you will do. What do you say, Clarice?

- Where are you, doctor Lecter?

She had not expected him to answer that question, and that’s why she got very surprised when he did it at once.

- Right now, I am at a night open laundromat in Baltimore, he said. But I cannot stay here for very long. Have you made up your mind?

- I don’t know, doctor Lecter. Let me think.

- All right, he said. I can’t stay here much longer, but shall we say...I will call you again in...One hour? Have you considered my offer till then, Clarice?

- There is no need, I’ve made my decision, she said.

- Well?

- Where shall we meet, doctor?

What the fuck am I doing? I must be out of my mind!

That was a question Clarice Starling had asked herself over and over again, ever since she had sat in her Mustang and driven a way.

The meeting with doctor Lecter was set to eight sharp in Baltimore, outside Baltimore State Hospital, the institution for criminally insane people, where doctor Lecter had been locked up before he escaped. It was his idea to meet there.

She asked herself why. Why would doctor Lector want to meet at a place where he had so many unpleasant memories from?

But she didn’t spend anymore time thinking of that, but focused on the driving.

She would absolutely get fired because of this if anyone knew, perhaps even go to jail. What could she do about that?

Make sure no one finds out, was her best advice to herself. Actually she wasn’t so worried. Not because she thought doctor Lecter would hurt her. He had told her that he wouldn’t, and she expected him to keep that promise.

No, if only doctor Lecter behaved himself, there wouldn’t be any trouble. Besides she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, after she heard how imploring and uncertain he had sounded over the phone.

She also wondered, what the hell could have happened to him, that he could not deal with himself. Just the curiosity urged on her strongly.

Clarice gave her watch a quick glance. She would be in Baltimore within this hour. This could actually be really exciting.

She carried of course her pistol in her usual holster at her hip. Not so much as protection against doctor Lecter, really, more because she was used to having it there.

Clarice Starling switched on the car radio.

Soon she would be reunited with doctor Hannibal Lecter, who she hadn’t seen since he escaped from his guards in Memphis, and then she had always seen him through a thick pane of glass or through bars. Never out in the world, among other, mortal humans. Now soon she would. But the thought of that did not scare Clarice.

Soon.

She had no trouble finding the old, brown building, which had been Baltimore State Hospital, even if she had not been there since her interviews with doctor Lecter.

The hospital was shut down now, and there were no more patients. The building was locked and closed down, and was probably waiting for to be tore down. No maniacs were held captured there any longer.

She parked her car in front of the building, and stepped outside.

It was 29 October, and the weather had already gotten intensely cold. Although Clarice didn’t freeze. She was warmly dressed in blue jeans, a black pullover and long, green coat and leather gloves.

She looked at her wristwatch. Five to eight. Would doctor Lecter come soon? She leaned against her car. She held her bag under one of her arms.

The time went on. Clarice took out a juicy, green apple she had in her bag and took a bite.

Eight. Still no doctor Lecter. When she had eaten her apple, and threw away the apple-core, the clock was already thirteen minutes past eight, and doctor Lecter had not shown up.

Clarice considered to get back in her car and drive home again, when she suddenly heard creaking footsteps behind her.

She turned around and groped for the gun at her hip.

About eight, ten feet ahead of her, stood a small, slender figure, that she after a closer check-up identified as Hannibal Lecter.

- Good morning, Clarice, said doctor Lecter and raised his head and looked into her eyes. First then she really recognized him.

- Good morning, doctor Lecter, she replied, but she saw right away that the doctor’s morning had not been very good.

To be the cultivated, educated, refined doctor Lecter, with an exquisitely consummated taste for almost anything, he now looked shabby. He was wearing a pair of washed out, black jeans, a leather jacked which looked borrowed, and under that, a sweater which hood he had pulled over his head. No gloves, even if he looked to be in need of a couple.

His reddish brown eyes were looking at her from a face that wasn’t very alike the doctor Lecter she had come to know.

Rings of swollen, dark skin surrounded his eyes. He could not have gotten a wink of sleep last night. He looked tired.

- Pardon me if I scared you. Did I scare you? he asked.

- Not at all. Now I’m here, doctor Lecter. Now tell me why you wanted to meet me.

He approached her. Instinctively her hand went down to the gun.

- Stop! she said. I don’t want you to come closer.

Doctor Lecter held up his empty hands.

- I won’t hurt you, Clarice.

She raised her hand again and instead approached him, until there only were three feet between them.

- If you don’t mind me saying this, doctor, but you don’t look very well. Now tell me what is going on.

Doctor Lecter waited a while before he answered.

- Some are after me.

- Who?

- I don’t know who, Clarice. But they don’t leave me alone. He took a deep breath. Where ever I go, they come. And I don’t know what to do to get rid of them.

- How long has this been going on? she asked.

- Since yesterday evening. I was forced to run from my home, just managed to get away. I almost froze to death out in the cold, since I had neither warm clothes nor my car, and went into hospital. I would believe that the time was about eleven when that happened.

- Go on, said Clarice.

- They found me at the hospital, only three hours after I got there. I ran again, and after that, I have been wandering about in the city by foot. I came here by bus, Clarice. That is the reason I was late.

- Okay, okay, she said and tried to see a connection in his story. Who are these guys that are after you?

- I don’t know. I have never seen them before.

- Can you describe them? How many are they?

- I think they are four, unless there aren’t more that I haven’t seen.

- Four? Okay. How did they look? Men? Women?

- A man and a woman, and...The man appears to be the leader.

- I thought you said they were four?

- That is accurate.

- A man and a woman, you said. What about the other two?

Doctor Lecter looked at her for a moment, without answering.

- Clarice, I don’t know how to say this, without risking to sound crazy.

- Tell me the truth, she said straightforwardly.

- The people following me now, are not human. I couldn’t answer what gender the other two were, because, well, it wasn’t possible to see that on them. They were so...distorted that it was impossible to tell.

And the first two, the man and the woman, they were not human either. The man’s head was full of nails. And the female...yes, well, they were indeed far from human.

Clarice Starling observed him quietly for a while, and doctor Lecter could not tell what she was thinking. The she said:

- Doctor Lecter, it is soon Halloween. If you saw some freaks in a costume...-

- It wasn’t a mask! doctor Lecter broke in on her. They are real.

- But -

- I don’t imagine things.

- I know you don’t. But at the hospital, perhaps you were confused, and...-

- I saw them already in my home previously, and then I was neither confused nor sedated. They are coming, Clarice. I know that.

Doctor Lecter looked upset. Clarice could tell on him that he did not believe that she believed him. This was the first time she could remember seeing doctor Lecter this upset. He wrenched his hand, and she didn’t know if he did it because she was freezing, which was likely, or if he was just so anxious.

- Are you cold? she asked.

- Yes, Clarice. I’m cold. Very much.

She opened her shoulder bag and picked up a pair of blue knit cotton cloves, that she handed to him.

- Here, doctor Lecter. Take these. I don’t want you to freeze.

- That’s not necessary. You need those yourself?

- No, I already have a pair. She held her gloved hands visible. Come one, now. Put them on.

Then he did. His fingers brushed against hers when he accepted the cotton gloves. Just like in the cage in Memphis, when he reached out his hand through the bars to give her Buffalo Bill’s case file.

He put the gloves on.

- Thank you, Clarice.

Doctor Lecter’s eyes looked into hers. Their trouser legs flapped in the piercing wind. Now even Clarice Starling had began to feel the cold bite her cheeks and chin.

- Clarice, said doctor Lecter. Could we continue this conversation at some café or a restaurant nearby? It starts to get uncomfortable out here in the cold, he said and then shivered as a demonstration of how cold he was.

- All right, Clarice said almost immediately. She didn’t like either to stand out there, and she was curious to hear what else the doctor had to say.

Doctor Lecter walked around the car to sit down in the front seat, but she stopped him.

- You drive, she said.

He gave her a puzzled look, but did as she had asked him, and instead sat down in the driver’s seat. Clarice herself sat down at his right as a passenger. The reason was that she wanted to keep him under observation, so he couldn’t do anything foolish.

- I like your car, Clarice, he said while he started he engine. You must like it, don’t you?

- Yes, it’s okay, she answered, but she really did not feel inclined to discuss cars right now, even if motor vehicles were one of her greatest interests, usually. But it was of course not comparable to the feeling to sit next to Hannibal Lecter in flesh, in a car.

The car slowly rolled away.

- Where do you want to go, Clarice?

- I have no idea. You’re the one from Baltimore. Which place would you recommend?

Doctor Lecter was driving the car, and after a short while Clarice could relax in the front seat. She was now almost sure of that he would not do anything stupid. He seemed stabile.

They stopped at a café with the name Treasure House Café, and which doctor Lecter said, he had never been to before. Just one look at the café was enough for Clarice to see that it made perfect sense. It would be an insult to his "sense of taste" to go there, but now it didn’t seem to bother him. He had enough trouble already, not to care where he went for a coffee.

Obviously.

A young waitress with long, curly dark hair and pale skin escorted them to a booth. She had long and narrow, green eyes.

She was wearing a black, low-necked uniform, and a white apron over it. A nametag with the name "Helen" was attached to her chest.

- One moment, please, Helen said and walked away with quick steps, probably to serve someone else before them.

Doctor Lecter caught a faint smell of musk perfume from her.

- We can eat something while we’re her? Have you had breakfast? No? Neither have I, doctor Lecter, Clarice said while they were waiting for the waitress to come back.

Helen hurried back to them.

- Would you like to order? she asked.

Clarice nodded, but still she turned to doctor Lecter first.

- Sir, what would you like?

- Just a cop of coffee, please, the doctor said. Black, without cream and sugar.

Helen wrote down his order in a pad, and then faced Clarice Starling.

- And you, miss?

- A bottle of Corona, please, and then I take two eggs, bacon, French fries, and some toast, she said and gave the waitress a forced smile.

But Helen did not notice it. She was much more interested in checking doctor Lecter, that was obvious. But the she still went off, and they were left alone. They were sitting at a table, facing each other.

- Doctor Lecter, would you...-

- I beg you, Clarice, call me Hannibal, doctor Lecter said softly. Because I’m going to keep calling you Clarice.

- Doctor Lecter, I...-

- I insist, he said resolutely.

- All right, Hannibal...she said, a little unaccustomed to calling him by first name. He had just always been "doctor Lecter" to her, as long as she had known him.

- Hannibal, now tell me, what else has happened to you lately. These people who are after you, are they...-

- They are not people, he broke in.

- What else could they be, than people?

- You haven’t seen them. If you had, you would not doubt me. But certainly I understand your doubts. I would do to, if I had not seen them with my own eyes.

He lowered his voice down. "I hope, Clarice, that you never have to see them!"

- Did they show up yesterday evening, is that right?

- Yes.

- Just like that? Without any particular reason whatsoever? Have you felt threatened lately? Have you got letters, or menacing phone calls, or something that could indicate...-

- I have, he said. A few days ago I received a phone call, when the caller hung up the phone when I answered.

- What did you do about it?

- I did nothing. I assumed that it was wrong number.

- Could it have been?

- That’s what I thought, but I had one call just like it yesterday evening, before they came to my residence. That cannot have been a coincidence.

- No, Clarice agreed. It’s very unlikely. But didn’t he say anything?

- No, he, or she, hung up straight-away.

- Anything else?

- Yes, I received an anonymous packet yesterday afternoon. It contained a small box, with cubic-shape. Nothing else. Just a box.

Clarice raised her brows.

- That sounds odd, she said. Was there anything inside the box?

- No.

- Was it empty? Just an empty box?

- It was solid. It was not possible to open.

- Doctor Lecter, sorry, Hannibal...what exactly makes you think that they are not human?

Doctor Lecter looked thoroughly at her with his reddish brown eyes.

- Clarice, he said, they are not human. They way they act...they female’s throat was split. And one had nails in his face...

- Of course they’re twisted. Sick, abnormal, completely bizarre. Perhaps some sect or a murdering cult, like the Manson-family. Religious fanatics, who have distorted themselves.

It’s unusual, but it happens. You don’t know how far a religious fanatic can go. They aren’t scared of anything, and they suffer from megalomania. They live in another reality, one they’ve made to themselves, and have they built it up well, it can be almost impossible to break it or make them lose their faith in it. They just seem to think that they are invulnerable, and they move through mountains to get their will through.

Doctor Lecter chuckled.

- Who’s the psychiatrist here, anyway?

- But admit that my theory can be accurate.

- Sure, the doctor admitted, it could, but I don’t think it is.

- Then let me hear yours, Clarice said and leaned back in the chair.

- I have none. Not at the moment. I have been forced to let the analysis of my experiences wait until later.

Then Helen returned to them, carrying a mat with several plates on it. She gave doctor Lecter his cup of coffee, and simultaneously gave him a seductive smile.

He was aware of her interest, but ignored her. She was completely uninteresting to him. She leaned one hip against the edge of the table, and slightly leaned forwards against him.

- There, here you go, she said, even if she had already given him the coffee.

- Thank you, miss...

- Lomack. Helen, she the she added, as if he had not already read it at her nametag. Then she remembered having another guest at the table, and gave Clarice her bottle of beer and the plate with her food.

- Here you are. Have a nice meal, she said courteously.

Before she went away she gave doctor Lecter another seductive glance. When she had gotten out of reach, Clarice couldn’t help laughing.

- I think you’ve got yourself a fan!

Doctor Lecter said: - Oh her? Well. Yes, I couldn’t help noticing it.

- How old do you think she is? Twenty-three? Twenty-five?

- That is possible.

- Did you like her?

- Beautiful young woman, but not attractive to me, he said and considered he had answered the question comprehensively enough.

Suddenly the doors to the café were thrown open and a cold draft swept along through the whole place. Both Hannibal and Clarice could hear people screaming. Something flew into their booth with a whistle and hit the back wall, just a few inches from Clarice’s head. A knife.

- Get down! screamed doctor Lecter, but Clarice didn’t react quickly enough.

Another knife came whistling, and doctor Lecter managed with the help of an impressing reflex throw himself over the table and floor Clarice Starling, just some tenths of a second before the knife would have ended up in her head or throat.

He pressed himself tightly against her, while they were lying there, on the dirty floor, and gave her the little extra protection, which his body could provide.

At first she didn’t at all know what was going on, but he did, even if he hadn’t time to think.

The demons. They had found him. This was the worst possible occasion Hannibal had been through, since he now wasn’t alone.

Clarice screamed, where she was lying under him, pressed against the floor.

He could not see the demons, only their feet. But still he saw that they were not coming at his direction. They were headed towards the kitchen.

They could both hear the waitress named Helen scream. Did she scream by fear, or had the demons done something to her?

Doctor Lecter didn’t dare to take his eyes off the demon’s feet, which he saw moving in the kitchen area, so far quite far away from them. They could not see him, but they would find him - and Clarice.

His whispered in her ear:

- Clarice, I can get us out of here, it’s possible, but you have to do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand? They are here now, but I don’t think they know where we are. Get up and try to run, when I tell you to. Nod if you understand.

She nodded as much as possible, when one’s head is pressed against the floor.

- Good, Clarice. We will get through this. Trust me.

She nodded again.

One of the windows shattered together with a deafening clatter. A waterfall of pieces of glass gushed out on the floor. Splinters rained down over doctor Lecter and Clarice Starling.

The feet of the demons vanished from doctor Lecter’s sight. He and Clarice were lying on the floor on the long side of the table.

It wasn’t possible to see anything else than feet from that angle of view. He had to get up if he wanted to see where the demons were.

Again he whispered in Clarice’s ear:

- Clarice, I’m going to rise and check out how we are doing. Lie down. Absolutely lie down. Be as quiet as you can. Get up and run when I tell you, but only when I tell you. Clarice?

She nodded again, panicking.

- Okay...she whispered.

Doctor Lecter sat up, straddled over Clarice. He raised his head over the table edge, risked to get a knife or something through his frontal bone, and noticed that the leader demon was far away, in the far end of the place.

He was alone. The woman and the two mute demons had gone through the swing door into the kitchen, not too long ago, since it still swung back and forth.

Would they make it to the entrance before he reacted and stopped them? Maybe, but this was their best chance. Doctor Lecter didn’t know for how long the other three would stay in the kitchen; not so much longer, and they could never escape all three. The best thing was to make a try now.

He leaned down again, over Clarice. Her beautiful hair was covered with dust and pieces of glass.

All around the room, people were screaming. From the kitchen they could hear the sound of a scream that seemed to originate from someone who was being butchered alive.

- Now! Hannibal cried and bounced up on his feet. He expected Clarice to do the same thing, but her reflexes were not by a long way as good as his. When he already had raised from the floor, and was ready to run, she hadn’t even gotten up on all fours. He grabbed her by the upper arm, and pulled her up, at the same time as the leader demon turned his head at their direction.

A howl went through the room.

- Get him! Him and the woman!

The rest of the pack rushed through the swing door, but at the time doctor Lecter had already headed towards the exit. He partly dragged, partly carried Clarice. It had gone faster if she had run for herself, but with the help of strength and speed strengthened by adrenalin at Hannibal, it went pretty quickly anyway.

There was a ringing in his ears, and therefore the angry shrieks of the demons sounded distant and distorted. But he could hear them. He wished there had been time to take the gun from Clarice and put some bullets through the fuckers, but there was not.

The female demon threw herself at his legs. He watched her come, and jumped aside, and she grabbed Clarice by the ankle. But the grip wasn’t strong enough to keep them there.

Clarice managed to kick herself loose on her own, and the demon threw her arms wildly to keep her balance. Then she fell, crashed into one of the tables, and and you could hear a smash when the table she crashed into, fell over.

Then doctor Lecter was, together with Clarice Starling in his arms, already outside the building, running towards the Mustang, which was parked outside.

Please Clarice, you didn’t lock the car? he thought while they approached it, and the he recalled that he had been driving, and had the car keys, fished them out with his right hand, holding Clarice by her waist with the left.

He ripped the door to the passenger side open, pushed Clarice into the car, and then hurried himself to the driver’s side.

Right then, the demons rushed out from the building, in the usual order, the leader demon ahead, then the female, and last came the two mutes. In the middle of the day. They did not seem to care that people saw them. It was in some way even worse to see them in daylight.

When something diabolical haunts you during the dark hours of the night, it does not come as unexpectedly as it does in the day that only confirmed that this was really happening.

The creatures were not, even though he had never believed so, brought up by the quality of the night. They existed and they were coming.

He started the car and drove away before they could reach it. Clarice moaned where she lay on her side in the front seat. Her face was white, except for a little wound on her left cheek, caused by a broken piece of glass, probably.

Clarice ripped out her gun from the holster at the end of her back, but he was too fast for her, tore it out of her hands before she could point it at him.

- Clarice, he said, sounding disappointed, what did you do that for? I am not going to hurt you.

She pressed herself against the car door, still shocked, after what had happened at the café, and stared at him. She was shaking.

When he reached out a hand against her, to comfort her, she jerked.

- Clarice, he said gently. Honey, we are safe now, he tried, even if he knew they only were safe temporarily.

- Can I please have my pistol back? she whispered, almost inaudibly.

- Not if you are going to point it at me. I would rather not have a gun at my head when I’m driving. It makes me nervous. Do you think you could not point at me?

She nodded.

- Promise?

- I...I promise.

Then he gave it to her, more or less prepared for that when she’s get it, she would point it at him, but instead she gently accepted it and put it down in her lap.

- You got me wrong, she said faintly. I...I wasn’t going to point at you. I just thought, that I have to keep it ready, in case...in case they’d follow us in a car.

- Oh, Clarice, forgive me! I am so sorry, Clarice. Please, forgive me.

She didn’t answer. She held her right hand pressed against her chest, as if she was in pain.

- Are you hurt, Clarice? asked doctor Lecter.

- My hand...

The doctor Lecter noticed that she had a fresh scratching that went over the whole back of her right hand. It had probably been cause by him when he snatched the gun from her.

- I am so sorry, Clarice...I didn’t mean to...

- No, it’s all right, she said. I understand you. I should maybe have told you before I took it out. Never mind. I would have done the same. You saved my life. Thank you, Hannibal.

- You didn’t for one moment think that I would leave you there, did you?

- I don’t know. Where are you headed?

- We have to leave the city immediately.

- But I want to go home! she exclaimed.

He shook his head.

- You cannot go home, Clarice. Not now. They know who you are, and they are after you. They are probably waiting for you at your house, and they will kill you.

- How can you know?

- Because I know what they are capable of. They will not give up. They will kill you if you go home, Clarice.

- How could they do that? They don’t even know who I am.

- Don’t ask me how they do. I only know that they will do. They have seen you. That’s enough.

- Come on! This isn’t "Terminator"!

- You are right, Clarice. This is a lot worse than Terminator.

- I want to go home.

- Clarice, haven’t you been listening to what I said?

- The FBI can protect me. And they can protect you too.

- No, they cannot. Not against them.

The Mustang rolled down the streets.

- Where did you have in mind to take us, then?

- I don’t know. We’ll see. We lost them for now.

How could they find me this quickly? was the question he desperately asked himself while he was driving.

How? How are they doing?

- Stop the car, Hannibal, suddenly Clarice said.

- What?

- You heard me. This is my car. Stop. I’m driving home to Washington DC.

- No, he said.

- No?

- No.

Now she raised the pistol and pointed it at him.

- Do it, or I will shoot you.

- Good, because the only way to make me stop this car is to shoot me. He looked at her. "And you will not do that."

- Try me, she said.

He kept on driving. To all appearances unconcerned.

- Please, she said.

- You know how I feel about having a pistol against me when I’m driving, he said. Please take that away now.

- I’m warning you...she said, but her extended arm had already begun to lower.

She put the gun away.

- Good girl, said doctor Lecter and stroked her over the cheek.

She sighed.

- Prey for yourself that you’re right, she said.

- I am so sorry for pulling you into this, Clarice. I didn’t want you to get between, he said honestly.

- But it’s too late for that now. I’m stuck with you, and there is nothing to it, she said.

After driving around without structure for several hours, driving west from Baltimore, doctor Lecter suggested that they should try to find a motel, a right kind of motel, a place where they could keep hidden.

He didn’t want any modern, glittering motel of good repute and a heated pool, since they at those kinds of establishments certainly demanded identification and credit card. (He had neither on him) and he did not want to leave any papers that could be tracked by either the demons or the police.

They needed a little shabby, inconspicuous place, which didn’t get so many customers, and where they were happy to have one, and neither did ask a lot of annoying question, in fear of scaring the guests off.

A motel named "Sleep Tight Motel" seemed the fit their description exactly.

The motel consisted of two houses at right angles to each other, with parking in the middle. Doctor Lector parked the car and went to wake Clarice Starling up, who had laid down to sleep in the back seat. She dropped off several hours ago. He had taken the gun away from her, so that she wouldn’t risk firing off an accidental shot in her sleep.

- Get up, Clarice, he said and opened the car door. She had taken her neckerchief off and held it against her cheek like a little child holding her teddy bear. Now she woke up and looked to begin with confused. Then she remembered what had happened and sat up.

Doctor Lecter held out his hand to her and helped her out of the car. She said nothing. Neither did he. In silence they walked across the asphalt.

They entered through a door, above which it hung a sign with blue, luminous letters that formed the word "Office".

There was no one in the reception.

After little more than thirty seconds of wait, doctor Lecter rang the bell which was on the counter.

A door opened, and a man, wearing a robe and slippers slowly came out. He was thin on top, in his early fifties, and had a tired, bloated face. Doctor Lecter immediately felt on the man’s breath that he was an alcoholic, even if he perhaps at the moment was sober.

- Can I help you? he said without looking neither of them in the eyes.

- Yes, please, we would like a room, Hannibal replied.

- I only have one big double room. You take it?

- Yes, that will be fine. Or what do you say, Clare?

Doctor Lecter looked at Clarice Starling. She nodded.

- Yeah sure. We take it.

The man didn’t ask them for any identification, and accepted cash. He gave them a form to fill in, and they signed it with an invented name.

- Very well, the man said. Room number sixteen, Mr. and Mrs...Smith.

Their room was on the second floor. It was small, but clean and tidy. The motel offered clean sheets every day, cleaning, and TV. In the middle of the small room was a big bed, with a chequered bedspread, which was a little wore in its edges, but smelled freshly of washing detergent.

There was a bedside table on each side of the bed. The TV was a 14-inch TV, which was screwed tight into a table, which was screwed into the floor, so that no one could take the TV with when they left the motel.

They had nothing with them, except for Clarice’s shoulder bag that miraculously had followed them from the café where they were attacked.

Doctor Lecter sat on the left side of the double bed, turned on the TV, trying to find a program that interested him, perhaps a documentary film or a scientific program, but he didn’t find anything like that.

He let the news stay on, even if he didn’t really care so much. But he wanted to see if it said anything about them or the demons, who must have been seen by more people than them, by now. He did not know how many at the café had survived to tell about their experiences. But some should have done it.

Nothing was said. The woman in the TV mostly just kept on repeating about a smaller earthquake which had claimed about ten lives in India.

Hannibal drew his attention to Clarice, who was sitting in one of the armchairs on the other side of the bed. He put his head on one side, and watched her thoroughly. She looked worn and haggard and tired, and was very pale, also she had a small scratch on her left cheek, but all this only made her more beautiful. Doctor Lecter thousand times rather looked at her than at the quacking television screen.

Clarice had noticed his look, and after a while she began to feel unpleasant.

- Can you stop that? she felt forced to say.

- What?

- Looking at me! It gives me the creeps.

Doctor Lecter immediately lowered his eyes.

- Forgive me, Clarice.

- I don’t want you to look at me like you’re going to have me for dinner.

- I would never do that, Clarice.

- So I hope, so I don’t want you to look at me like you were going to.

- I was not!

- It felt like it!

Doctor Lecter said quietly:

- You are very beautiful, Clarice. I like looking at you. But I will stop if it’s bothering you.

- Thank you, doctor Lecter.

- Doctor Lecter?

- Sorry. Hannibal.

She had still not gotten used to addressing him other than "doctor Lecter", but it was coming.

- Does anyone know that you were supposed to meet me? he asked her.

- No, she replied.

- Should you not be at your work now? Do they miss you?

- No, I called there, and told that I was home down with gastric flu.

- And you’re here with me.

- Yes, she said, smiling.

Clarice was wondering how this really would work out. Not so much about how it would work out with "the demons", since she had not yet realized the gravity of the situation, but what she was considering, was, how she would handle to be forced together in a small motel room with Hannibal Lecter.

She no longer thought at all, that he would hurt her, but would he let her leave if that was what she wanted? She didn’t think he would. Of course he kept her there with the best of intentions, but still, she didn’t like being a prisoner.

She leaned back in the chair and watched her hands, which were lying slack in her lap. She suspected that doctor Lecter was staring at her again, but when she raised her eyes, she discovered that she wasn’t doing it at all.

- I think you should take a shower, he said suddenly. You look like you need one, Clarice.

- What is the difference? I have no clean clothes to put on anyway, she said hesitating.

- I know, but I guarantee that you will feel much cleaner even without clothes.

She gazed at the bathroom door, hesitating, and doctor Lecter knew what she was thinking.

- I won’t sneak in after so look at you, he assured her. I’m not rude. You should know that.

She didn’t come up with anything to say, since this was exactly what she thought. She felt a little embarrassed.

- No, of course you won’t do that, she said. And you are right; I will feel better after a nice hot shower.

She went into the bathroom, closed the door, but did not lock it, since there was nothing to lock it with. The key which should have been in the keyhole had fallen out and never returned.

While Clarice was showering, the news ended, and "Ricki Lake" began. Hannibal wasn’t really watching, he let the TV be on as a background.

He was asking himself the same questions over and over again, and got back the same answers he had gotten during the last 24 hours.

Where did the demons come from? Another planet, another galaxy?

No. He did not believe they were extraterrestrials. Instead maybe they were time-travellers? Did they come from a future world? Or...from...

No. This didn’t make any sense at all. Too many paradoxes, no matter which theory he tested. He let it be for now.

The TV’s gabbling became more and more obtrusive, where people were screaming meaningless taunts at each other, gabbled and went on, and there were bounds, even for what Hannibal Lecter on the run could tolerate, so he switched the TV off.

He was tired, both physically and mentally, and was dozing off to sleep, to the sound of running water from the bathroom, when Clarice suddenly called his name.

- Hannibal?

He twitched his eyes and sat up.

- Yes, Clarice?

- I’ve gotten myself in bit of a situation here. I forgot my towel. Could you hand me one? Please?

He got up and took one of the motel’s towels that lay neatly folded-up at the bed.

- I’m coming Clarice, he said and went quickly over to the bathroom. He opened the door carefully and put in his arm, which was holding the towel. He didn’t try to look in.

She immediately grabbed it.

- Oh, thank you!

- Not at all, Clarice.

He went back and sat down in the armchair where she had been sitting before, and waited for her to come out.

Clarice wiped herself with the towel doctor Lecter had given her, and then got dressed. She stood at the bathroom mirror and pulled her fingers through her wet hair.

She was thinking about what she would do. She assumed that she could spend the night at the motel with doctor Lecter, but after that....

And he told that those following him now were after her too, and that they would kill her if she went home.

Could that be accurate?

She thought, that logically, it couldn’t. They did not know who she was, or what her name was, and could therefore not know where she lived, either. She had not left any information behind her, which could lead them to her.

Was doctor Lecter lying consciously, or did he overestimate them?

She had caught a glimpse of them when they rushed out of the café, and even if that was only one quick glimpse from the corner of her eye, she did not want to see anymore. They had looked exactly like doctor Lecter described them; monstrous.

In this current period of time, she yet didn’t believe that they were demons, but stuck to her theory about a murdering cult or a fanatic sect who distorted themselves.

Clarice stepped out of the bathroom, and sat at the edge of the bed. She made a direct approach:

- Hannibal, am I kidnapped?

- What do you think? he asked.

She thought for a moment. - Let me tell you this; if I’m not free to leave when I wish, then...yes.

The doctor sighed. He looked into her eyes.

- You are free to leave anytime, Clarice. I feel that I have not the right to keep you here against your will.

She was surprised at the answer.

- Really?

- Yes, but -

- Thank you, Hannibal.

She got up directly and started to see if everything was still left in her bag. Doctor Lecter also got up and approached her, grabbed her by the shoulders and watched her gravely into the eyes.

- I beg you, Clarice, don’t go. You will be killed. Trust me. They will find you, then kill you. You will be safe if you stay here with me for now.

- Considering, she said, it was you they were after in first place, it will be safest for me to keep as far away as I can from you.

- Please Clarice.

- I have made my decision, she said and fought to sound more confident than she felt.

- Are you taking the car?

- Well, yeah, I won’t walk away from here.

She then got aware of what an exposed situation she left doctor Lecter in. She didn’t want him to get hurt, definitely not; and she was forever grateful to him because he had saved her life, and because he cared for her.

She said:

- Hannibal, here, take my money, and opened her wallet and gave him those 200 dollars she had in cash. It’s at least enough for you to get out of here with. Rent a car, or... Do what you want.

He accepted the money, but said nothing. He looked imploringly at her.

But Clarice was implacable. She put her topcoat and shoes on, and went towards the door. Her hair was still moist.

- Hannibal, she said with her most friendly voice, I am forever grateful to you because you saved my life. You are more than welcome to come with me if you want.

- And where would you take me?

- To the police, of course. They could protect you...

- No. Thank you, Clarice, but no thank you.

- Well then. Good bye, she said.

- I beg you Clarice, don’t go.

- Good luck. I mean it.

Then she said nothing more, but resisted his plea and shut the door to room number sixteen and went off.

Hannibal started already the minute after Clarice Starling had gone off, regret that he did not hold her against her will anyway. He definitely loved her as much as one can love someone, and his love to her was so total and intense that he found no words to express his feelings.

Her well being was more important than her free will.

When he came to this conclusion, it had already passed three minutes since she left, and probably it was already too late to run after and bring her back.

Why didn’t he hold her? Those demons would find her and kill her; Clarice was as good as lost.

He could not stand the thought.

He approached the window and spread the curtains enough to gaze out over the motel’s parking lot, to see if Clarice’s Mustang still stood there. Perhaps she had not driven away yet.

It was there. He almost couldn’t believe it was true, she had not gone yet, and maybe there was time enough to catch up with her. He took one step towards the door, when it was thrown up by itself, he first thought, but then he could see Clarice standing in the doorway.

Her face was red and her hair bristled. Hannibal knew at once.