Coincidence
Clarice did not normally frequent the opera. Normally frequent... that's a laugh. She had never been in her life, and had never had much inclination to go, no matter how much she enjoyed music. She didn't go to the theater much, period, whether it be on the stage or on the screen, so for her to go to the opera was a peculiar thing indeed.
Yet it was where her date wanted to go, and she had not dated in so long that she felt she ought to oblige and give it a go. She rather liked the fellow that she was going out with, though this was to be only their second date... but she knew from the beginning that he was not the sort that she could ever devote her live to.
She was a thing of beauty, when she stepped out of her car in front of the theater that the opera was being hosted at, dressed in an elegant blue evening dress, with her sun-kissed red locks swept back from her face and held in a French twist. Despite how lovely she looked, it felt completely and utterly false. The delicate diamond studs in her ears sparkled, but they felt cheap to her. All of her felt cheap to her, though the smile on Charlie's face as he offered her arm indicated that he thought quite the opposite.
The opera, Starling thought, taking a deep breath as she looked up at the doors leading into the theater. Well, onward ho.
They had good seats. No expense had been spared on the part of her date. Front row of the balcony, giving a perfect angle to see everything that happened onstage, without the fear of any big-haired tall people coming and plopping themselves down right in their line of view. They'd arrived just in time, too. Only moments after they sat themselves down the house lights dimmed, and the red velvet curtains draped across the stage pulled off to the sides... and the orchestra started the opening number.
Clarice could tell right away that there was a reason that she was never a huge fan of the theater. Only seconds passed, and she was squirming in her seat. The music was beautiful. The singers were talented. But to sit still that long listening to people belting songs out at the top of their lungs... no. No, no, no, no. She'd be far more content to buy the CD, and listen to it on her own time. At home. With a glass of wine.
But she was surviving, and she was staying awake through the epic songs of love and passion... though she thought that she might not make it much longer when she realized that it had only reached the halfway point. At that point she gave up on trying to follow what little plot there seemed to be, and allowed her eyes to roam the faces of the others sitting in the audience in the dim light cast off by the stage.
That's when it happened.
One man sitting in the balcony beside theirs happened to look towards her just as she was about to start examining those in the next balcony. He turned towards her, and their eyes locked... and she felt her heart stop cold in her chest, her blood still in her veins, and her breath was stillborn in her lungs. She was frozen, timeless, couldn't move even if she had really wanted to turn away.
She knew those eyes. Even in that lighting, even at that distance, she knew those eyes. She knew them better, perhaps, than she even knew her own... for they were the only eyes she'd ever seen looking at her with such honest, painful, agonizing truth. As though they knew every damn thing about you, and were mildly amused by it. No façade to hide behind, just pure... him.
Him.
Clarice felt slightly dizzy, and at last began to breathe again, not once breaking the eye contact that had been established. She knew it was far too late to look away and pretend that she hadn't seen him, he recognized her as well as she recognized him. She was in no doubt about that.
The rest of the opera was torture... and she could not tear her eyes away for more than a few seconds at a time. Every time she looked at him, he was looking right back at her.
The one plus of this distraction was that the remainder of the opera passed with surprising speed, much more quickly than she would have expected it too, with the music only faint noise in the back of her frantically buzzing mind.
She didn't even realize it was over until the lights came up, forcing her to squint her eyes against the sudden brightness. When she looked back... he was gone. The seat that he'd been in was empty... and she was instantly tense. She knew that when they left the balcony that he would be out there, he'd be waiting out there. She was not afraid of him, no, feelings of fear had departed long ago... but the knowledge of him being there, if she could not find him, it was enough to leave her completely unsettled. Understandably.
Charlie had to go to the bathroom once they were out in the lobby. She was not sorry to see him go. All her nerves were on end, every sensation heightened, and adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream from the merest glance from those eyes... in comparison Charlie was dull, tedious.
Ridiculous to compare them Starling, Clarice thought to herself. It probably wasn't even him. It probably wasn't... you're losing your mind. Soon you'll start hearing voices.
"Hello, Clarice."
Well, there you go. Clarice stiffened up at the sound of those words whispered behind from behind her. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion as she turned, as though underwater, to find herself face to face with those self-same eyes, smoldering under the shadow cast by the hat he was wearing. She hadn't imagined him. She'd known that, really, in her heart... but was subconsciously preparing herself for not seeing him.
But there he was. Smiling at her.
Just the same.
His voice was just how she remembered it, and the memories that it stirred up were enough to send chills down her spine.
"It's good to see you. You're looking lovely, as always," he continued in his usual amused and unflappable tone, when seeing that she was too jarred to offer an acceptable greeting in return.
Still she remained quiet, shocked into silence by his sudden appearance, not even quite able to say something as simple as thank you, or hello, or you're under arrest. Nothing came to her mouth.
But what was there to say , in actuality? All the questions she wanted to ask him, all the conversations she longed to have with him, none of it could be done. Not there, in a crowded room, surrounded by people, any of whom could possibly recognize him at any moment, and her date was due to return to her side at any moment. He couldn't linger. It would be unthinkable for her to go with him.
The realization that he was going to leave again hurt, and she couldn't quite reconcile that fact inside herself. Or the fact that she hadn't once thought of calling to notify the authorities of his presence, or of arresting him herself, or any of the other things that her morals would dictate that she do. Not one of them crossed her mind.
She wished only that time could stop, if only for an hour. So that they could talk, just talk, in a situation in which neither of them were in any danger, and obligations were forgotten, and no one was dead or being killed.
Just as that thought flashed through her mind, he reached out his hand and slowly ran his fingers along the soft skin of her cheek, with a tangle of fondness and sadness written in his expression. "Take care... Clarice."
She could feel a tear escape her eye, despite the effort she was making to hold it back.
Then he was turning. Walking. Leaving.
He was out the doors, and she knew how unlikely it was that she'd ever see him again, no matter what sort of investigation was put into finding him. He was gone.
Charlie returned from the men's room with a broad, idiotic smile plastered on his face. The tear rolling down her cheek didn't give him pause for even a second, he merely beamed at her and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "Made you cry, did it? Yeah. Yeah, opera can do that to a girl."
Clarice just nodded mutely, eyes closed to try and capture forever the look of his eyes. Picture of him couldn't give that intense gaze the proper justice. His eyes made you feel as though he could look into you and see everything. Everything.
"Take me home, Charlie. I'm tired," she finally murmured, stepping away from his embrace.
She was, too.
She was suddenly very tired.
**********
Author's Note: Well, I'm not really sure where this came from. It just came at random, and even though it's short I really quite like it. Just an interesting tidbit. I hope you enjoyed it!
Clarice did not normally frequent the opera. Normally frequent... that's a laugh. She had never been in her life, and had never had much inclination to go, no matter how much she enjoyed music. She didn't go to the theater much, period, whether it be on the stage or on the screen, so for her to go to the opera was a peculiar thing indeed.
Yet it was where her date wanted to go, and she had not dated in so long that she felt she ought to oblige and give it a go. She rather liked the fellow that she was going out with, though this was to be only their second date... but she knew from the beginning that he was not the sort that she could ever devote her live to.
She was a thing of beauty, when she stepped out of her car in front of the theater that the opera was being hosted at, dressed in an elegant blue evening dress, with her sun-kissed red locks swept back from her face and held in a French twist. Despite how lovely she looked, it felt completely and utterly false. The delicate diamond studs in her ears sparkled, but they felt cheap to her. All of her felt cheap to her, though the smile on Charlie's face as he offered her arm indicated that he thought quite the opposite.
The opera, Starling thought, taking a deep breath as she looked up at the doors leading into the theater. Well, onward ho.
They had good seats. No expense had been spared on the part of her date. Front row of the balcony, giving a perfect angle to see everything that happened onstage, without the fear of any big-haired tall people coming and plopping themselves down right in their line of view. They'd arrived just in time, too. Only moments after they sat themselves down the house lights dimmed, and the red velvet curtains draped across the stage pulled off to the sides... and the orchestra started the opening number.
Clarice could tell right away that there was a reason that she was never a huge fan of the theater. Only seconds passed, and she was squirming in her seat. The music was beautiful. The singers were talented. But to sit still that long listening to people belting songs out at the top of their lungs... no. No, no, no, no. She'd be far more content to buy the CD, and listen to it on her own time. At home. With a glass of wine.
But she was surviving, and she was staying awake through the epic songs of love and passion... though she thought that she might not make it much longer when she realized that it had only reached the halfway point. At that point she gave up on trying to follow what little plot there seemed to be, and allowed her eyes to roam the faces of the others sitting in the audience in the dim light cast off by the stage.
That's when it happened.
One man sitting in the balcony beside theirs happened to look towards her just as she was about to start examining those in the next balcony. He turned towards her, and their eyes locked... and she felt her heart stop cold in her chest, her blood still in her veins, and her breath was stillborn in her lungs. She was frozen, timeless, couldn't move even if she had really wanted to turn away.
She knew those eyes. Even in that lighting, even at that distance, she knew those eyes. She knew them better, perhaps, than she even knew her own... for they were the only eyes she'd ever seen looking at her with such honest, painful, agonizing truth. As though they knew every damn thing about you, and were mildly amused by it. No façade to hide behind, just pure... him.
Him.
Clarice felt slightly dizzy, and at last began to breathe again, not once breaking the eye contact that had been established. She knew it was far too late to look away and pretend that she hadn't seen him, he recognized her as well as she recognized him. She was in no doubt about that.
The rest of the opera was torture... and she could not tear her eyes away for more than a few seconds at a time. Every time she looked at him, he was looking right back at her.
The one plus of this distraction was that the remainder of the opera passed with surprising speed, much more quickly than she would have expected it too, with the music only faint noise in the back of her frantically buzzing mind.
She didn't even realize it was over until the lights came up, forcing her to squint her eyes against the sudden brightness. When she looked back... he was gone. The seat that he'd been in was empty... and she was instantly tense. She knew that when they left the balcony that he would be out there, he'd be waiting out there. She was not afraid of him, no, feelings of fear had departed long ago... but the knowledge of him being there, if she could not find him, it was enough to leave her completely unsettled. Understandably.
Charlie had to go to the bathroom once they were out in the lobby. She was not sorry to see him go. All her nerves were on end, every sensation heightened, and adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream from the merest glance from those eyes... in comparison Charlie was dull, tedious.
Ridiculous to compare them Starling, Clarice thought to herself. It probably wasn't even him. It probably wasn't... you're losing your mind. Soon you'll start hearing voices.
"Hello, Clarice."
Well, there you go. Clarice stiffened up at the sound of those words whispered behind from behind her. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion as she turned, as though underwater, to find herself face to face with those self-same eyes, smoldering under the shadow cast by the hat he was wearing. She hadn't imagined him. She'd known that, really, in her heart... but was subconsciously preparing herself for not seeing him.
But there he was. Smiling at her.
Just the same.
His voice was just how she remembered it, and the memories that it stirred up were enough to send chills down her spine.
"It's good to see you. You're looking lovely, as always," he continued in his usual amused and unflappable tone, when seeing that she was too jarred to offer an acceptable greeting in return.
Still she remained quiet, shocked into silence by his sudden appearance, not even quite able to say something as simple as thank you, or hello, or you're under arrest. Nothing came to her mouth.
But what was there to say , in actuality? All the questions she wanted to ask him, all the conversations she longed to have with him, none of it could be done. Not there, in a crowded room, surrounded by people, any of whom could possibly recognize him at any moment, and her date was due to return to her side at any moment. He couldn't linger. It would be unthinkable for her to go with him.
The realization that he was going to leave again hurt, and she couldn't quite reconcile that fact inside herself. Or the fact that she hadn't once thought of calling to notify the authorities of his presence, or of arresting him herself, or any of the other things that her morals would dictate that she do. Not one of them crossed her mind.
She wished only that time could stop, if only for an hour. So that they could talk, just talk, in a situation in which neither of them were in any danger, and obligations were forgotten, and no one was dead or being killed.
Just as that thought flashed through her mind, he reached out his hand and slowly ran his fingers along the soft skin of her cheek, with a tangle of fondness and sadness written in his expression. "Take care... Clarice."
She could feel a tear escape her eye, despite the effort she was making to hold it back.
Then he was turning. Walking. Leaving.
He was out the doors, and she knew how unlikely it was that she'd ever see him again, no matter what sort of investigation was put into finding him. He was gone.
Charlie returned from the men's room with a broad, idiotic smile plastered on his face. The tear rolling down her cheek didn't give him pause for even a second, he merely beamed at her and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "Made you cry, did it? Yeah. Yeah, opera can do that to a girl."
Clarice just nodded mutely, eyes closed to try and capture forever the look of his eyes. Picture of him couldn't give that intense gaze the proper justice. His eyes made you feel as though he could look into you and see everything. Everything.
"Take me home, Charlie. I'm tired," she finally murmured, stepping away from his embrace.
She was, too.
She was suddenly very tired.
**********
Author's Note: Well, I'm not really sure where this came from. It just came at random, and even though it's short I really quite like it. Just an interesting tidbit. I hope you enjoyed it!