A cruel rule

It was snowing like the end of the world. Frederick enjoyed driving and from time to time would take his red baby for an unnecessary long trip while listening to music and singing along. He knew he had a pleasant voice and even used to enjoy karaoke nights with, at first, fellow students and then colleagues. Now he was flying too high to do that with colleagues and friends... he wasn't actually abundant with the latter. It was because of the weather forecast that he decided against driving. Frederick took a taxi to do some holiday shopping in his free time and was going to take another taxi later to get to the party. It was an annual gathering of fellow-minded scholars, at least, Frederick liked to think that way. Not the party you'd be eagerly waiting for the whole year, but something to reminisce about afterwards, enjoying the afterglow of your appearance among colleagues - a best-selling author, a former head of the BSHCI, a man who survived Abel Gideon, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. A miracle, a mystery, a topic of conversation in psychiatric circles... that unpleasantly brushed him against the fur. And now he was going to be late. Not fashionably late like he liked but circumstantially late, and even though Frederick was never the person to be called a control freak - god knows he met some and learned to spot them! - but, you see, he had a plan. He was a man with a plan. He was going to arrive a little bit late without explaining why and it was going to be taken for granted because he, Frederick Chilton, was a miracle of a sort. Not your stereotypical Xmas miracle involving elves and gifts and a big fat guy with arguably diabetes. But a living and breathing miracle that managed to return from the dead twice - take that, any biblical story! For a moment, Frederick was even considering the unspeakable horrors of the public transport… but the bus packed with people passed by and Dr. Chilton aka the best-selling author decided against that. So he raised his hand to try one option left. Frederick Chilton was going to hitchhike. Half an hour later Frederick was cold and furious. The nerve of some people! No one, not a single soul stopped! Frederick was there, signalling that he needed a lift, and not any of the cars stopped. He lost his faith in humanity, he lost his faith in miracles, he lost his faith in… “Hey there,” the car stopped and the window rolled down. “How much?” “How mu… How dare you?!” The car left, and at that moment Dr Frederick Chilton was a perfect cosplay of Grandpa Simpson with his fist above and shaking it to the dark evening sky. “Hop in” “I am not a sex worker!” was the first thing that Frederick, still traumatized by the previous driver and fuming, said. “I kind of got it… You need a lift or not?” Frederick needed a lift, so he started moving towards the front seat of the car when the driver called: “No, the back. My dog is in the front… otherwise, he gets sick.” “Charming,” thought Frederick but forced a smile, and got in the car. There was a dog in the front seat, an Afghan Hound, that looked with sleepy eyes on Frederick. It was gorgeous, with its creamy and silky coat, and it kind of resembled Saruman the White from the movie. Its eyes were wise and understanding but disinterested, and it turned away when the driver started the car. “Thank you, you really saved me in a way,” Frederick decided to break the silence after he showed the address on his phone to the man. “In a way,” echoed the driver. It was dark in the car, and the man was wearing a huge scarf covering half of his face. That made Chilton mildly uncomfortable. What if the guy was ill? “And I apologize for my remark earlier. You won’t believe it, but someone actually thought I was a… a hooker!” The driver snorted amusedly. “You don’t look like one,” his voice was hoarse, and Frederick suspected cold. On the other hand, standing in the middle of a blizzard (Chilton was known for exaggerating things, and in his mind, he was already lucky enough to survive a snowstorm) would have been even more dangerous than a short trip with a possibly ill driver. And it’s not like they were going to exchange any fluids. “Too posh for a hooker. Your clothes.” “Huh… I’ll take that as a compliment. You missed a turn, by the way.” “Yeah. I kind of need to pick someone on our way. Is that alright with you?” Chilton thought of another dog sitting next to him and then he thought of his new and very expensive coat. “And that someone will be…” “My husband.” “Oh… by all means.” That was a surprise. He had assumed… but that was the thing, wasn’t it? The infamous Crawford’s saying. When you assume, you make an ass of me and you. Frederick didn’t feel like an ass but nonetheless, he had assumed his driver to be married to a woman. “The mystery of the hoarse voice unfondles,” thought Frederick and smiled at this very thought. “My-my, Frederick, what are you thinking about?” “He was out shopping, you see. Not unlike you, I suppose,” there was a smile in the driver’s voice, invisible but present, and something stirred in Frederick’s mind. “He is a picky fellow, I tell you what.” “It’s not a bad thing.” “No, it’s surely not… fasten your seatbelt, by the way.” He obliged with a frown that had nothing to do with the security precautions. That voice… It sounded familiar. A little bit too hoarse, and with a kind of an accent - “I tell ya hwut”, but still familiar. The murmur of a radio station in the background changed. The dog in the front seat excitedly barked once, as if approving of the Goldberg variations flooding the car. They stopped, and a tall figure immediately opened the door. It took the man no more than two seconds to get inside and close the door. The car doors locked, and the driver started the car. It all happened so fast that Frederick felt the urge to make a joke about a heist, and then he looked at the man next to him. A polite smile on his lips faded. “Hello, Frederick. How nice it is to finally have you,” Hannibal Lecter smiled, and that smile brought it all back. The most elegant and passionate relationship Frederick had ever had. The best dinners a lover had ever cooked for him. The most sophisticated discussions his bedroom had ever known after the sex part was over. “Don’t add “for dinner”, you’ll freak him up,” the fake accent was gone, as was the hoarseness of the voice. “Hi, Frederick. Long time no see… no, sit, boy, sit.” It took Frederick several moments to realize that the final part Will Graham meant for the dog that tried to greet Hannibal from the front seat. Will Graham was a different kind of lover but he was a lover. “And a husband now,” thought Frederick and let out a long sigh. “What… is it?” “I told you, Hannibal is very picky when it comes to gifts and presents.” “You see, Frederick, this year Will and I talked before the holidays. And we agreed that one gift we’d like to share was our common affair…” The weight of Hannibal’s palm was now on his thigh. A familiar warm weight. “If you, of course, feel the same.” It took Frederick less than two seconds to give his final answer. The dog was allowed in the bedroom only after. It took his place in the corner and curled gracefully there, more like a cat, really, than a dog. “A creature of sublime beauty,” commented Hannibal on that and offered a glass of wine to Frederick. Will was half-asleep on his shoulder, and Chilton had to move him carefully on the pillow to get the drink. “What’s his name?” “Saruman.” The dog opened his eyes and closed them again. “Tell him about the rule, Hannibal,” Will yawned and turned to his side. “Oh, yes, the rule…” Hannibal sat on the bed next to Will but never took his eyes off Frederick. “We allow only one medium suitcase for a person.” “That is cruel!” “I know. But we have to be able to move fast and unnoticed.” “You in?” Will sat on the bed, and his eyes were serious… hopeful. Frederick gave it a thorough thought… and even before the warmth of Hannibal’s embrace enveloped him, he made up his mind. “I’m all in.” The most outrageous thing, though, was that the dog also had a medium suitcase.