~Usual Disclaimers apply. Well, well, dear ones. Welcome back for the
second edition to this crazy (no pun intended) journey through the life of
Clarice Starling. These chapters will be more in depth, more complex than
my other story. No, I won't give anything away as I have before. This time
around, I won't be so giving. BUT, I can say one thing. How could I make a
story about two main characters and only use one? With that said, and no
money for me, I welcome you to come with me and step into the story. Let
the show begin! C.S.~
Clarice Starling sat in the T.V. room of the Baltimore Hospital Psychotic Ward. She was perched on the window sill, her slender fingers looped in the holes of the wire that protected the glass. Her eyes where fixated on the green grass below.
She knew she had nothing to look forward to anymore. After a while, the letters from her brother Julian stopped coming, and the phone calls from Delia and some other agents died out as well. No one thought she was getting out, and she was starting to wonder about it herself.
The T.V. was off, which made her wonder why so many patients decided to stare at the blank screen. She suddenly remembered where she was. She took being here as a slap in the face, not really a life, but a watcher, someone looking in on themselves from another world completely. It was getting quiet in there, which was unusual. Most of the time, the screaming or crying never died down, and made her want more of the sleeping pills they doled out at night.
She sometimes filled her days playing the piano in the music room, which substituted as an art room as well, or just laying in her room, listening to the music drown out the sounds of the insane. Other times, she'd sing by herself, thinking up songs out of nowhere that had once filled her house, and in a way, filled this place as well. Which she'd decided to do today.
It wasn't as pleasing as it had been, this place not being as familiar and comfortable. But it was also nice not to be hounded by rumors that where probably true, only to have to lie about them later. She knew thousands where flying around when she first got there, and she wondered from time to time if they hadn't just given up trying to get stories and forgotten her all together.
Clarice opened her mouth to sing, and for a while, her eyes enchanted by the sudden bright green in the grass, nothing came out. She eventually found her voice again, and though she usually sang quietly, she figured it was better to get things loud again. She didn't notice the shock on the nurses faces when she sang so loudly, but not because she was bad. It was because most of the people here couldn't sing, although they tried. She was the first one to actually carry a tune she said she could carry, and not make an ass of herself.
Eventually, she lit a cigarette up, and smoked it slowly. It was her third one in a row. She felt nervous around this time of year, when the leaves where turning and the breeze got cooler. It was HIS time of year. She always seemed to find him around those ten years in this certain time of year, even when she'd been sent to question him.
Mostly, this time of year had made her nervous because it was usually when his case was brought up, and she'd will him away with her mind.
Now, she tried to will him back again.
She couldn't help but wish, which was usually what sent her dreams so out of control and confusing. What really confused her, what really consumed her every sense, was the fact that she wanted him around her all the time. And that in itself was an understatement.
She took another long hit and wondered what he'd say if he saw her now. If he'd be mad at her for giving up, which was what she'd done in her eyes. The lambs always started screaming if he stayed away too long. They'd been screaming since he'd left her at the lake house. Her mind went back to that night.
She was standing against the refrigerator, her hair caught in the door, the handle broken off. He was so close to her she could feel his breath on her skin. He spoke to her.
"Tell me, Clarice. Would you ever say to me, 'Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop.' ?"
She answered him honestly, although she blamed it on the morphine.
"Not in a thousand years. "
"Not in a thousand years," he'd repeated.
He'd come so close to her by then, his teeth bared, that she almost wanted to reach out to him. She was so sorry she didn't.
"That's my girl…"
And then he kissed her. What she'd felt in that kiss cleared her mind, made her truly feel how she needed to feel. It sent her spinning backwards and into a trance. Made her skin dance, her senses increase five fold. But she used instinct. Why the HELL had she chosen against kissing him back? She clicked the handcuffs around his wrist and hers, and was pleased yet saddened when she saw that she'd surprised him. He'd broken the kiss and asked her for the key. The intensity of the kiss still ran through her, and she couldn't speak. Oh, she wanted to, but she couldn't find her voice. That's when he'd picked up the cleaver and held it in his hand high above their bound wrists.
The burning sensation on her fingers brought her back to the present, and she glanced down. The cigarette had burned down, now fully gone, and singed the fragile skin of her index and middle fingers. She dropped it into the ashtray she'd set beside her and held the fingers in her mouth.
From deep within her, she felt that aching, that wanting coming back again. She felt it every time she thought about him. About his deep maroon eyes, and his strong figure. The way he'd stood to greet her when she'd first ever laid eyes on him. She shivered as a thought crossed her mind.
Junkfood tastes so good because it's bad for you.
Oh god, she didn't disagree with that. She still hadn't brought the word love into her feelings for this man, but she was getting closer to blurting it out now and then in group therapy. Random song lyrics floated into her head that reminded her of him.
Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie. Which one is more human? There's a thought, now you decide.
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul.
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye.
Why does the color of my coffee match your eyes?
You make every thought a chain reaction.
You said hello, and the next thing I know, I'm ready to risk being hurt.
Forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness.
God does not endorse T.V. evangelists.
I knew I loved you before I met you.
Never want to fight, never want to leave, never want to say what you mean to me.
Never want to run, frightened to believe, you're the best thing about me.
Clarice sighed. Her eyes went from the floor to back out the window, and she saw that same black pickup. This time, it was facing the hospital, and she blinked a few times as it pulled out. Was it? Could it have been? It looked just like him. Oh god, she thought. Maybe my mind IS running away and leaving my far behind. Or maybe, just maybe, God decided to answer my prayer, and this time it wasn't "No".
Clarice Starling then shivered.
Clarice Starling sat in the T.V. room of the Baltimore Hospital Psychotic Ward. She was perched on the window sill, her slender fingers looped in the holes of the wire that protected the glass. Her eyes where fixated on the green grass below.
She knew she had nothing to look forward to anymore. After a while, the letters from her brother Julian stopped coming, and the phone calls from Delia and some other agents died out as well. No one thought she was getting out, and she was starting to wonder about it herself.
The T.V. was off, which made her wonder why so many patients decided to stare at the blank screen. She suddenly remembered where she was. She took being here as a slap in the face, not really a life, but a watcher, someone looking in on themselves from another world completely. It was getting quiet in there, which was unusual. Most of the time, the screaming or crying never died down, and made her want more of the sleeping pills they doled out at night.
She sometimes filled her days playing the piano in the music room, which substituted as an art room as well, or just laying in her room, listening to the music drown out the sounds of the insane. Other times, she'd sing by herself, thinking up songs out of nowhere that had once filled her house, and in a way, filled this place as well. Which she'd decided to do today.
It wasn't as pleasing as it had been, this place not being as familiar and comfortable. But it was also nice not to be hounded by rumors that where probably true, only to have to lie about them later. She knew thousands where flying around when she first got there, and she wondered from time to time if they hadn't just given up trying to get stories and forgotten her all together.
Clarice opened her mouth to sing, and for a while, her eyes enchanted by the sudden bright green in the grass, nothing came out. She eventually found her voice again, and though she usually sang quietly, she figured it was better to get things loud again. She didn't notice the shock on the nurses faces when she sang so loudly, but not because she was bad. It was because most of the people here couldn't sing, although they tried. She was the first one to actually carry a tune she said she could carry, and not make an ass of herself.
Eventually, she lit a cigarette up, and smoked it slowly. It was her third one in a row. She felt nervous around this time of year, when the leaves where turning and the breeze got cooler. It was HIS time of year. She always seemed to find him around those ten years in this certain time of year, even when she'd been sent to question him.
Mostly, this time of year had made her nervous because it was usually when his case was brought up, and she'd will him away with her mind.
Now, she tried to will him back again.
She couldn't help but wish, which was usually what sent her dreams so out of control and confusing. What really confused her, what really consumed her every sense, was the fact that she wanted him around her all the time. And that in itself was an understatement.
She took another long hit and wondered what he'd say if he saw her now. If he'd be mad at her for giving up, which was what she'd done in her eyes. The lambs always started screaming if he stayed away too long. They'd been screaming since he'd left her at the lake house. Her mind went back to that night.
She was standing against the refrigerator, her hair caught in the door, the handle broken off. He was so close to her she could feel his breath on her skin. He spoke to her.
"Tell me, Clarice. Would you ever say to me, 'Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop.' ?"
She answered him honestly, although she blamed it on the morphine.
"Not in a thousand years. "
"Not in a thousand years," he'd repeated.
He'd come so close to her by then, his teeth bared, that she almost wanted to reach out to him. She was so sorry she didn't.
"That's my girl…"
And then he kissed her. What she'd felt in that kiss cleared her mind, made her truly feel how she needed to feel. It sent her spinning backwards and into a trance. Made her skin dance, her senses increase five fold. But she used instinct. Why the HELL had she chosen against kissing him back? She clicked the handcuffs around his wrist and hers, and was pleased yet saddened when she saw that she'd surprised him. He'd broken the kiss and asked her for the key. The intensity of the kiss still ran through her, and she couldn't speak. Oh, she wanted to, but she couldn't find her voice. That's when he'd picked up the cleaver and held it in his hand high above their bound wrists.
The burning sensation on her fingers brought her back to the present, and she glanced down. The cigarette had burned down, now fully gone, and singed the fragile skin of her index and middle fingers. She dropped it into the ashtray she'd set beside her and held the fingers in her mouth.
From deep within her, she felt that aching, that wanting coming back again. She felt it every time she thought about him. About his deep maroon eyes, and his strong figure. The way he'd stood to greet her when she'd first ever laid eyes on him. She shivered as a thought crossed her mind.
Junkfood tastes so good because it's bad for you.
Oh god, she didn't disagree with that. She still hadn't brought the word love into her feelings for this man, but she was getting closer to blurting it out now and then in group therapy. Random song lyrics floated into her head that reminded her of him.
Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie. Which one is more human? There's a thought, now you decide.
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul.
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye.
Why does the color of my coffee match your eyes?
You make every thought a chain reaction.
You said hello, and the next thing I know, I'm ready to risk being hurt.
Forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness.
God does not endorse T.V. evangelists.
I knew I loved you before I met you.
Never want to fight, never want to leave, never want to say what you mean to me.
Never want to run, frightened to believe, you're the best thing about me.
Clarice sighed. Her eyes went from the floor to back out the window, and she saw that same black pickup. This time, it was facing the hospital, and she blinked a few times as it pulled out. Was it? Could it have been? It looked just like him. Oh god, she thought. Maybe my mind IS running away and leaving my far behind. Or maybe, just maybe, God decided to answer my prayer, and this time it wasn't "No".
Clarice Starling then shivered.