into the Abyss
copyright 2001, by
The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and Ardelia Mapp were
created by Thomas
Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit
of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and
no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to
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"Whoever fights monsters
should see to it that in the process they do not become a monster. And
when you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."
I have looked into the abyss and I have fallen. Your voice still echoes
in my dreams, while the lambs seem to scream louder every night. Two
years since Muskrat Farm, where I blindly stepped over the edge and into
the pit. If only I had let you open my eyes then! I have suffered for my
blindness since. Looking back on that night, I see so many things I
could have done differently. But I made my choices. Not that it matters
- we can never go back.
Two years since that fateful night on the Chesapeake. I have not seen or
heard from you since. I am not with the FBI anymore, so I do not know
about any updates on your case. I wonder where you are now. Do you have
a new hand? Are you somewhere like Florence, enjoying the scenery and
culture, visiting the opera and drinking fine wine? Or are you like me -
bitterly wishing for what might have been, that things had gone
differently? Do you plan revenge? It wouldn't surprise me in the
slightest, doctor. You are not a forgiving man. If you do drop by, I
don't think it will be for a chat and a few drinks for old times sakes.
I may be wrong. With you, I can never tell. And even if you can forgive
me, I don't think I can.
You see, I know now what I only suspected (and feared) then. I love you.
And I looked into your dangerous eyes, and love looked right back. Then
I betrayed you. Still, you cut off your own hand to spare mine. It was
your choice. You could have taken mine. You should have. You spared me
the immediate pain, but Dr Lecter, do you know what you have done to me?
I expect you do. I regret my actions on that night so much. Do you know
that too? I believe so.
I'm still struggling with the burden of my conscience. It tells me I did
the right thing. I doubt it now, but it seemed like a good idea at the
time. My intellect tells me you're a monster. My heart knows I was
wrong. I should have followed you, wherever you led me. You offered me
my freedom and I spat in your face and slunk back to the prison I knew.
If only I had gone with you! Of course, reason tells me I'd probably be
dead right now. You would've gotten bored with me sooner or later - but
better dead than living this miserable half-life.
You have killed me better this way than you ever could with that sharp
blade of yours.
My friends - such as they are - worry for me, I know. I have spent most
of my time since leaving the FBI sunk in this depression, writing
letters I will never send. The actions of my 'superiors' disillusioned
me far more than your words did - but those words hammered the point
home. You were right - as always. Those wolves do not want justice. They
want to stay on top of the pile. Stir ditchwater with a stick and all
the scum rises to the top. But I think my eyes were opened too late. I
can never join you now.
This letter will never get sent, so why do I write? It will join the
rest of the letters I've written to you, in a box safely in the
basement. If Ardelia or anyone should see them, they'd rightly get
straight on the phone to the nearest loony bin. The thing is, I don't
Well, Doctor, you got what you wanted. The complete and utter
destruction of my faith in the institution. I no longer believe in
justice. It's rather ironic, from where I see it.
And how can I express my guilt on paper? With that one blow, you spared
my hand and severed my heart. I like to think you knew what you were
doing to me. If you'd loved me at all, you would have spared me this.
And no, I would never beg for mercy from you. Not in a thousand years.
Because I never want you to stop haunting me, being my demon. Because
you are all there is left. You are the end. When I read in the papers of
bodies found with parts removed, cases with 'Hannibal Lecter' written
all over them, I smile. You are still out there. That is strangely
comforting. I'm afraid, Hannibal, that you have turned me into a
I know one day you will come to take what is rightfully yours - my hand,
my love, or my life. I know all too well the price of betrayal. So I
wait for you now, in my lonely house. Waiting for a letter that may
never come, the creak of your feet on the stairs, the blade of your
knife in the night.
copyright 2001, by
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