Hannibal Lecter, Starling and Pazzi belong to Thomas Harris, the rest of the characters in this fiction belong to everyone. Sadly none are mine...
I posted this little fiction in response to the november 2003 quest at Visions of Hannibal. The Quest was based upon the scenario in the church of Santa Reparata before Hannibal Lecter gathers his belongings out of the Devil's Armor.
After a while, I decided to post it in here for the enjoyment of all. My apologies to those who read in Visions of Hannibal
This piece is not religious in nature, just a response to a literary challenge, please don't try to find any religious implication or be offended by it.

Holly Mass

At first sight, the small boy looked angelic in his white communion suit. His dark thick hair neatly trimmed in the fashion of the 1940's, fingers interlaced in prayer, head devotedly bowed. Yet, a closer look revealed a zeal so extreme that his pious attitude appeared almost frightening; his tiny body barely able to contain the passionate ardor of his devotion for this God he has learned to trust without reserve. The intensity of his anticipation for the moment when he will become one with his God was undisguised on his maroon eyes veiled by thick long lashes.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
[In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.]

Introibo ad altare Dei. [I will go to the altar of God.]

Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meum [To God, the joy of my youth. ]

The voice of the young priest resounded and then echoed in the nearly empty village church of Santa Reparata in the south of Florence.
Dr Hannibal Lecter was sitting on a pew in the back of the church. Only two other people were in attendance in the early morning of the day after he sent Inspector Pazzi to meet his judgment. At the sound of the still familiar words, the doctor opened his eyes, extricating himself from the seldom visited room of childhood memories, deep within his Memory Palace.

Through the years, he had remained in close and very personal communication with God. Not the structured God of his childhood, or that of organized religion, but rather the one in whose image he believed to have been fashioned.
The one he tried to emulate when he attempted to contribute his own individual efforts to administer his version of Divine Retribution; his own interpretation, which, he knew, paled by comparison to the indiscriminate rage often displayed by the Creator.

"Has it ever occurred to you, Hannibal, that I specially crafted you to resemble me the most?" boomed a voice in his head. "As you accurately guessed, I have been following your rather disappointing strives to mimic my actions. A losing proposition, considering you have no endowments in the natural disasters department." The last statement was followed by a Goodly chuckle.

Dr Lecter's gaze drifted toward the altar, he hoped to find an ally there, but the glassy eyes of the man on the cross gave nothing.

"My humble efforts pale by comparison, Lord" responded the doctor sarcastically. "I am aware that my attempts to emulate your example failed to gain your approval. I blame my failure to lack of exposure to God's Love. Frankly, in my experience your displays of cruelty far outlast the few displays of love, or even compassion… Personally, I found the practice of cruelty rather tedious. Surely, there are more satisfying activities than the contemplation of human suffering."

"Is that so?" Asked the voice scornfully, "get off it Hannibal, what could be more rewarding than watching the range of human emotions at play. The individual reactions to natural disasters, suffering , love, greed, physical pain, lust, loss, envy, depravation…" he trailed off. "Why don't you try to find more rewarding activities? show me how to divert from the pattern and find better entertainment than the theater of human passions to make eternity less tedious?"

The speech was followed by a booming laughter "God's Love, indeed! You are too busy nursing old grudges to see beyond your situation, let alone recognize signs of 'God's love' when you see them.
Do you think is possible, Hannibal, that my disapproval might derive from your self destructive insistence to interfere with my work rather than with the nature of your endless, boring, feeble efforts to try to do better than me?"
Hannibal remained silent for a few minutes, his head bowed as he reminisced.

Almost 60 years earlier, this same God made him witness the savage slaughter of his entire family in a debauchery of unnecessary brutality, the violence of which seemed difficult to attribute to the same God that this young priest was exulting.
He mulled over his answer

From the altar the voice of the young priest went on with the mass
Kyrie eleison [Lord, have mercy on us.]
Christe eleison [Christ have mercy on us.]

Old, familiar words, empty of meaning, like the un-answered prayers of his childhood; meaningless like his crumbling memories more than half a century old, his loved ones only dust now… Still he couldn't let go.
Hannibal Lecter felt himself growing angry.

"How do you manage your rage, Hannibal?" roared the voice, invading the deepest chambers of his mind.
"Obviously with more restrain than you manage yours," he answered accusingly, looking again for inspiration from the figure revered at the Altar, yet, the eyes of the man on the cross were still blank.

"Precisely," answered the voice in his head, "your efforts to emulate me are far too restrained, too contrived. Excellent efforts but human nonetheless, you lack the force of Divine Rage. Even my own son had limitations when he walked the earth as a man. Maybe is time for you to stop your childish efforts to do as I do, and find activities befitting your own age and station."

Dominus vobiscum. [May the Lord be with thee.]
Et cum spiritu tuo. [And with thy spirit.]

Hannibal raised his eyes to the cross again, hoping to get help from 'The Son' who walked the earth as a man for a thirty two year stretch before ending up on the cross. This time, the glassy eyes seemed to return his stare.
An image of Mount Golgotha filled his head… "And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"

The words resounded in his head, and Dr. Hannibal Lecter silently translated them "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"

The significance of the words made him pause. "Thank you," he whispered meaningfully to the man on the cross, whose eyes appeared almost warm now. They gazed into each other's eyes, and in that instant each knew everything they needed to know about the other.

Hannibal chuckled as he appreciated his own human limitations, realizing that unlike his Creator he would never abandon those he loved.
With that thought, his attention shifter to Starling, whom he had no intention to forsake, whatever the risk. Not now, not ever. Not even to preserve the headway that had taken him years to attain.

Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam. Amen.
[May the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve your soul unto life everlasting. Amen.]

Consecrated or not, the wine was of inferior quality; reluctantly, Dr Hannibal Lecter touched his lips to the cup.

He felt compelled to look at the Cross. The glassy eyes still showed warmth, and perhaps a glint of mischief .

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Dr. Lecter sat on his pew apparently engaged in his devotion until everyone left the church. Only then did he approach the Devil's Armour and retrieved his emergency kit with documents, account numbers and codes, a considerably large amount of cash, keys and bank books.
He hid the package under his coat jacket. He felt good, looked ahead to a new beginning, a new adventure as it were, and believed that if he played his cards right, he might capture the distant star he sought for so long.
As he was leaving, he turned his head and nodded at the altar. He didn't get a response, and didn't expect one, but Hannibal Lecter didn't mind, he already had all the answers he needed.


FIN

Holly Mass by Clariz, uploaded to FF.net on 1/26/04

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I hope you liked. Let me know. Comments are welcomed and encouraged.

C