This is what a snow day and a sprained ankle can come up with – please enjoy. No sewing – characters below are property of Thomas Harris. I am but a humble minion. - M

The land lies barren and waste --
the wake of unprecedented devastation.
It is the dying of the day.
He stands, at the penultimate hour of tribulation!
and even the air is fraught with a deathly still.

- Premonitions, Laurie Efrein Kahalas

It was December, and the snow was falling. The trees were blanketed in white fluffy snow. She had preferred to come alone. She stopped her rental car before a wrought iron gate. The figure of Clarice Starling was strange against the falling white. It is not because she is a contrast, she herself is not sunny, is not happy, and blends in well.

            No, it was strange because she was stepping foot onto ground that no one had stepped onto in many decades. It was strange for her as well. She felt alone, and she was, for miles around. The estate here was very large.

            She walked to the gate, disappointed by the lock, excepting something more of a challenge. It was mangled by rust and she broke it easily. The gate was heavy and made an awful screeching sound when she pushed it.

            She shivered. It was harshly cold and she pulled the heavy gray wool coat around her to protect her from the chill. She continued walking, and stopped suddenly.

            It was there, that the oddest flash struck her. It was one of the oddest feelings she had ever experienced in her life. Her chest tightened and she gasped. She closed her eyes tightly.

Men yelling, carrying torches, yelling things in some language Clarice couldn't understand. They were in uniforms of some kind, one man, who seemed to be the leader, was pointing his torch at the gate. The men behind him looked gruff and hungry, which, on some level was a bit frightening. They bared their teeth, revealing horrid, rotted gums.

            Clarice, who had stopped, shook her head at herself and cursed out loud. She walked forward a few steps and felt another jolt of feeling.

            The men had cut down a tree and were using the trunk to try to bust down the gate. BAM. BAM. BAM. Repeatedly. And the gate screeched open.

            Clarice blinked. She had never had visions before. Never had a premonition in her life. And she didn't believe in them whatsoever. Believing such foolishness while growing up in a Lutheran Orphanage can get you into trouble, and Clarice Starling learned quick there, not to get into trouble. Standing there, feet cold in the snow, she thought her imagination was running away with her.

            She walked on, enjoying the quietness of the land. The dirt road was in need of repair, and Clarice felt shielded by the trees on both sides.  She held the coat close to her. What was it about what she had seen? It seemed haunting…somehow disjointing and she felt cautious, as if another jolt of this feeling could come on at any minute.

            She dared not turn around and go back. What would she tell Crawford? "Sorry, sir, I've spent a week in Lithuania, managed to find to estate Hannibal Lecter was born in, and when I got there, I got a weird sensation and ran back to the states with my tail between my legs." She sighed. That just wouldn't do. She just had to think happy thoughts, and she'd be OK.

            She trudged though the snow for another mile or so, reviewing what the Italian police had given her. What she had seen made sense: Nazi deserters overtook estate, killed parents, and moved on after the winter.

            She was just imagining what happened. That had to be it.

            The road turned, slowly revealing the Lecter estate. Clarice gasped. It was huge! Vines covered the front, and weeds grew around it, but it was still beautiful. The house was stone, with pillars in the front and wide steps leading up to double doors. The glass was broken on the door, and one of the pillars looked demolished. It looked sad, like an old opera star, worn out and faded glory. Clarice stood back, observing it, sort of sizing it up. It was most likely bigger and in better condition even after the years and the damage the deserters did to it, than the gray, old orphanage she'd spent her childhood in.

            But probably, the most beautiful thing on the property had to be the fountain in the front. It was stone, filled with leaves, snow and ice, but Clarice was sure it had been beautiful. On the top, a statue of…Leda And The Swan… "Hmm…" Clarice pondered. She reached in the pocket of her coat and brought out a note pad and pencil. She scribbled down "Leda and the Swan." And returned the note pad to her pocket.

She looked past the statue. There was an archway, leading into what looked like a garden. She walked past the fountain and felt another bolt of feeling.

A woman. She had beautiful black hair flowing into soft curls on her back. She was young, but had a look of severe maturity in her face. She was wearing a beautiful,

torn evening gown and a set of pearls around her neck. She was on her hands and knees next to the fountain. A man in a uniform was standing above her, holding her neck. He yelled something gruffly at the woman and Clarice could not understand. He looked angry and threatening.

            She did not. In fact, she looked calm. Worried, but collected. Behind her, men were holding a small boy, and another man was holding a little girl, about two or three years old by the wrist. The little boy was struggling, watching the woman intently. The little girl was crying.

            The woman whispered something to the man above her, which Clarice could not hear, jerked her head up to look at him in the eye and spat in his face. While the man wiped this off his face, calmly, she screamed something at the small boy in Italian.

            The man smiled unpleasantly and shoved her head into the icy water of the fountain, as if he was politely doing her a favor.

            She did not struggle.

            It must have been the moment she died, Clarice thought, that the woman managed to look up into the boy's eyes from under the freezing water of the fountain, and Clarice saw something strange:

            The woman's eyes were maroon.

            Clarice looked at the boy:

            His eyes were maroon.

           

Soooo…whatcha think? I  think I'll go on, I have a few days off because of me foot. Thanks. As always, reviews are appreciated. - Morb