| Every day I come
out here and just sit, watching the gentle waves,
listening to the ocean. Where there was once Molly's laughter and Josh's delighted cries, there's only silence. They are well, living in Atlanta close to Molly's parents' farm. I can't help but mourn them. Or maybe I'm just mourning myself. A part of me didn't survive Dolarhyde's attack. Apparently there's still blood on the carpet, his and mine. I haven't been up there. Jack called this morning to tell me that Dr Lecter has escaped. He asked me if I wanted protection but I just hung up on him. He's been trying to call all day, when he's not too busy. I'm waiting now for Hannibal to find me - he knows where I live - to finish what he started and what Dolarhyde continued. Between them they've carved me into pieces, shredded my dignity, destroyed my confidence. Weeks spent in hospital with every bodily function assisted by a machine leaves little ego left to speak of. The doctor told me I was too weak to leave their care, but I'd had enough. I came home, glad then that I didn't have the energy to climb the stairs, and began my meagre existence. For the first couple of days it was a life lived between the bathroom and the front porch, a short walk that exhausted me each and every time. The man from the store in the town delivers my goods once a week - he has done since Molly, Josh and I moved here. He still does. I didn't feel like eating but he told me I looked like 'some kinda skeleton with the jitters'. So I tried cooking and eating, and I started to feel better. It's soothing, standing in the small kitchen following recipes from one of Molly's cookbooks. Only when Jack's phone call reminded me of Lecter did I feel slightly queasy about my new hobby. I'd started to find an odd sort of peace. And with his escape, I've been able to back that up with the certain knowledge that my lonely life won't last for too much longer. I know he's coming after me. He's failed to kill me twice, he won't want to leave the country without finishing the job. I'd spent weeks looking over my shoulder, peering around doors before entering rooms, putting on all the lights when it got dark and not turning them off until the morning. Now I know he's free, and I've just gone into the kitchen without checking behind the door first. I wonder what he'll make of me. He told me, that night, that he was going to eat my heart. Maybe he still will. I think about the ingredients in the kitchen cupboards and decide there's enough for him to cook up a good dish |