Hannibal's Daughter

Okay...

This is like my first type of fanfiction, really... So yeah.

I'm a huge fan of like fictional serial killers and Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins or Mikkelsen) is one of my favourite. Anyhow this is based off the NBC version of Hannibal, just in general.

I wrote something like this a while ago when I first go this account but deleted it, so here is a second shot.

Enjoy :)

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*Lucy's point of view*

May 8th

I've never truly known my real parents. I was raised with my grandparents from my mother's side in England for almost my whole life. I have seen photos of my mother and my father, but never together. It's strange, as if my father knew my mother but more or less one-night stand her. I only know his last name because it's mine, Lecter. My grandparents said that my mother changed her name after she moved out of America, but they don't know to what. What's even weirder is that they don't know where she moved to, just that she's not in America. Also, they've never met my father. Which always made me wonder, how did I end up in their care?

My first entry in a new notebook my grandmother bought for me. She said it would be good for me to document these years in my life. What years? I'm only twenty (yes, I'm going to the university and live with my grandparents still), but whatever keeps her bloodpressure down and her happy, I'll do.

I put the notebook under my desk, where a keyboard should be and stand up, walking away from my desk and going downstairs. I hope none of them are in there, I just hate having to talk when its not needed. Like asking how your day was, that's fine. If you're eating and they ask how the food is, that's also fine. Asking what you do locked away in your room all day, I don't find that fine.

I go into the kitchen and open up the refrigerator, gazing at everything in there before I grab what I came here for, a bottle of water.

"Hey, Luce..." I hear my grandfather's vooice behind me.

I close the fridge and turn to look at him. "Yes, papa?" I ask moving my light brown hair away from my face.

"Would you like to come to my office with me later? The editor wants me to pick up some stories that may good be write and fix some olds."

I hate to seem like a rude, and un-sympathic person, but I don't want to go. Most of the time I just say yes because it seems like my nature to be what some called a 'people pleaser.' "Yes. When are we leaving?"

I only said yes because he tends to get distracted by other stuff sometimes when he goes out, and it worries me a bit.

"In a few, I just have to go put my shoes on and tell Molly that we're going."

"Okay, I'll go find my slip-ons." I say walking past him.

God bless my granfather, he's always seemed so simple even though I know when he was young he had some friend who would always try to keep him grounded, even when he did side work for the police force. My grandmother on the other hand was just quiet almost of all the time, working at a hospital.

I go back up the stairs and into my bedroom, tossing the water bottle on my bed. I open my closet door and find my suade slip-on shoes that match me completely. I go back downstairs to find my grandfather kissing the cheek of my grandmother near the door.

"Ready papa?" I ask.

"Yes, Luce. We'll see you later dear." He says to my grandmother as he opens the front door.

"Bye, grandma.." I say, side-hugging her quickly and following my papa out.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

As we are walking up to his office at the building of where the newspaper was being written, edited, and basically created. It was the easiset job my grandfather could get that had good pay. I walked next to him looking at everyone and everything.

We get to his small corner office and everything he came for is on his desk with a note on them.

He stood reading it and turned around to face me. "My editor wants me to go to America to cover a story."

"What story?" I ask as he walks over and sits down at his desk. I decided to sit in a chair that is across from him.

"Apparently, some-- not some, many people from here are afraid to travel to the northeastern part of America because of some serial killer going by the name of the 'Chesapeake Ripper.'"

Oh yes, send a Brit to see why Brits don't want to go to America, such a smart idea. "Well...are you going to go?"

"I'd like to, but what about you and Molly? I would have to talk to my editor about it actually."

"Well...if you do, you should mention if you could bring a certain granddaughter with you." I say and look around his office.

He chuckled slightly. "I'll talk to Molly first, with you, and then with my editor."

Dear God, talking...