[Episode 121236] [Episode 121236]Dr. Hannibal Lecter leaned back in his hotel room chair, his eyes closed. He focused on the music in an effort to block out the textures and smells the room provided. He wondered how people could allow themselves to be subjected to such poor quality.
Still, he had his own way of dealing with life's issues. Dr. Lecter was a man of refined...tastes.
The music, which had up to this point been played flawlessly, stumbled badly across one wrong note. Dr. Lecter winced and opened his eyes, once more subjecting them to his less than adequate surroundings.
An eleven year old boy lowered his violin. He sat hunched over, looking down, reflecting every bit the disappointment his gaurdian must be feeling.
"Sorry Dad."
Dr. Lecter smiled graciously. "Quite all right, Harold. We all must learn."
"I have learned. It should be perfect."
"Harold. Strive for perfection. Never achieve it. Once must have a goal in life."
"Yes, sir."
Headlights streamed through the blind for a moment, leaving both the boy and the man motionless.
"Are we still going to the exhibit, tonight, Dad?"
"Of course, son. Mr. Tatum's antics won't keep us from our entertainment."
Harold rose from his chair, slightly jostling the table. Mr. Tatum's eyes spun in the open glass of slightly reddened water sitting next to the boy.
-----
Dressed in silk jackets and black ties, Harold and Hannibal entered the opening exhibit at the local museum. Father and son. They greeted. They smiled. They made the local paper.
Harold stood, looking at a collection of caught butterflies. His hands clasped behind his back. He focused on the wings, outstretched, unmoving. Perfect.
The boy turned and observed. People, all of them rich. All of them small. Stood huddled in groups. speaking avidly about next week's dinner parties or this morning's tennis match. He stood and watched the blind surrounded by death and unaware.
Hannibal placed a hand on his father's shoulder.
"We really should do something about Mr. Tatum, sir." Harold's voice was clear.
"What would you suggest?"
"I have a few ideas."
-----
The window was open.
The Father, sharp eyed, silently crept into the darkened hotel room. He palmed a small, well made knife. He took in the air.
Something rustled. Clicking on formica. He stood inhumanly still. He felt Harold move in behind him, padding across the carpet with the lightest of feet.
Hannibal let his knife slide into his grasp. Harold flipped the light switch.
An Owl stood on the table, pecking unsuccessfully at the eyes in the glass. They bobbed. Spinning and swirling. Water pooled around the bird's feet.
Hannibal noticed a small scroll tied to the Owl's clawed feet.
"Quite intriguing" Hannibal purred.
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(Posted Tue, 12 Oct 2004 18:46)
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