Return Of The Cannibal(Hannibal x Reader)(Book 2)

Chapter 3

With the gray dawn came the newspaper and early network news. Mapp came over with some muffins when she heard you stirring around and you both watched together. CNN and the other networks all bought the copyrighted film from WFUL-TV's helicopter camera. It was extraordinary footage from directly overhead. You watched once. You had to see Evelda; shot first. You looked at Mapp and saw anger in her brown face. Then you ran to throw up. "That's hard to watch," you said when you came back, shaky-legged and pale.

As usual, Mapp got to the point at once. "Your question is, how do I feel about you killing that African American woman holding that child. This is the answer. She shot you first. I want you to be alive. But Y/N, think about who's making this insane policy here. What kind of dumb-ass thinking put you and Evelda Drumgo together in that sorry place so you could solve the drug problem between you with some damn guns? How smart is that? I hope you'll think about whether you want to be their damn cat's paw anymore." Mapp said, and poured some tea for punctuation. "You want me to stay with you? I'll take a personal day." Mapp said. "Thanks. You don't need to do that. Call me." You said.

The national Tattler, prime beneficiary of the tabloid boom in the nineties, put out an extra that was extraordinary even by its own standards. Someone threw it at the house at midmorning. You found it when you went to investigate the thump. You were expecting the worst, and you got it: "DEATH ANGEL: Y/N, THE FBI's KILLING MACHINE," you read. You screamed the national Tattler's headline in seventy-two-point Railroad Gothic. The three front-page photos were: You in fatigues firing a .45-caliber pistol in competition, Evelda Drumgo bent over her baby in the road, her head tilted like that of a Cimabue Madonna, with the brains blown out, and you again, putting a brown naked baby on a white cutting board amid knives and fish guts and the head of a shark.

The caption beneath the pictures says, "FBI special agent Y/N, slayer of serial killer Jame Gumb, adds at least five notches to her gun. Mother with baby in arms and two police officers among the dead after botched drug raid." The main story covered the drug careers of Evelda and Dijon Drumgo, and the appearance of the Crip gang on the war-torn landscape of Washington, D. C. there was a brief mention of fallen officer John Brigham's military service, and his decorations were cited. You were treated to an entire sidebar, beneath a candid photo of you in a restaurant wearing a scoop-necked dress, your face animated.

You, FBI special agent, had your fifteen minutes of fame when you shot to death serial murderer Jame Gumb, the "Buffalo Bill" killer, in his basement ten years ago. Now you may face departmental charges and civil liabilities in the death Thursdays of a Washington mother accused of manufacturing illegal amphetamines.

"This may be the end of her career," said one source at the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and firearms, the FBI's sister agency. "We don't know all the details of how it went down, but John Brigham should be alive today. This is the last thing the FBI needs after Ruby Ridge," said the source, who declined to be identified.

Your colourful career began soon after you arrived at the FBI Academy as a trainee. An honor graduate of the University of Virginia in psychology and criminology, you were assigned to interview the lethal madman Dr. Hannibal Lecter, dubbed by this newspaper "Hannibal the Cannibal," and received information from him that was important in the search for Jame Gumb and the rescue of his hostage, Catherine Martin daughter of the former U. S. senator from Tennessee. You were the inter-service combat pistol champion for three years running before you withdrew from competition. Ironically, Officer Brigham, who died at your side, was firearms instructor at Quantico when you trained there and was your coach in competition.

An FBI said you will be relieved of field duties with pay pending the outcome of the FBI's internal investigation. A hearing is expected later this week before the Office of Professional Responsibility, the FBI's own dread inquisition. Relatives of the late Evelda Drumgo said they will seek civil damages from the U. S. government and from you personally in wrongful-death suits. Drumgo's three-month-old son, seen in his mother's arms in the dramatic pictures of the shoot-out, was not injured.

Attorney Telford Higgins, who has defended the Drumgo family in numerous criminal proceedings, alleged that your weapon, a modified colt .45 semiautomatic pistol, was not approved for use in law enforcement in the city of Washington. "It is a deadly and dangerous instrument not suitable for use in the law enforcement," Higgins said. "Its very use constitutes reckless endangerment of human life," the noted defense attorney said.

The Tattler had bought your very home phone number from one of your informants and rang it until you left it off the hook, and used your FBI cell phone to talk to the office. You did not have a great deal of pain in your ear and the swollen side of your face as long as you did not touch the bandage. At least you didn't throb. Two Tylenol held you. You didn't need the Percocet the doctor had prescribed. You dozed against the head board of the bed, holding Hannibal's sweater. the Washington Post sliding off the spread onto the floor, gunpowder residue on your hands, dried tears stiff on your cheeks.