I decided to give a shot at writing a story about Hannibal Lecter, M.D. and Clarice Starling. I hated how the movie ended. Rated M for later chapters.
Chapter 1
I came halfway around the world to watch you run, Clarice. Let me run, eh?
"Hey, girl. Are you okay?" Ardelia plopped herself onto the couch next to Clarice.
"Yes, of course I am," Clarice replied without looking from her laptop.
"I know you better than that, you know." Ardelia yawned lazily. "Your dark circles are terrible. You don't eat. You don't go out. You've been here, like this every time I come home." She gestured to the mess of papers and folders lying in various places around the couch.
"Mhm." Clarice clicked furiously at her touch-pad.
"You shouldn't worry about him, Clarice. You said yourself that he wouldn't come after you." Ardelia paused waiting for her apartment-mate to acknowledge her. She picked up a folder and flipped through it. "This is exactly why the bureau let you go. You're obsessive." Ardelia reached forward and pushed the screen of the laptop down.
"What?" Clarice asked, annoyed.
"You gotta let this thing go—let him go. It's been almost a year."
"I can't. I have to find him."
"You're letting him drive you crazy! He could be halfway around the world or dead for all we know!"
"He saved my life."
"He stripped you naked and drugged you! Oh, and dressed you in that slutty dress!"
"He did so to remove that bullet! You know that—he saved my life."
"He didn't have to remove your panties to perform surgery on your shoulder," Ardelia countered.
"He didn't remove my panties!"
"How would you know, Clarice? You were drugged the whole time. Don't be stupid."
"You'd think it weird, but he would do anything like that—he thinks it's rude behavior."
"Whatever, Clarice," Ardelia laughed. "He's made you crazy."
"Has Mr. Crawford said anything about Dr. Lecter?" Clarice inquired, ignoring her friend's previous comment. "Any news? Leads?"
"No. Trail's gone cold." Ardelia shook her head. She stood up. "I'm tired. Get some sleep, huh? For me?"
"Fine." Clarice closed her laptop and set it on the coffee table, amid the mess of papers.
"Try not to let him get in your head." Ardelia walked off to her bedroom.
"To late for that," Clarice said to herself. She looked at her laptop longingly. Sighing, she turned off the lamp, stretched out on the couch, and pulled a blanket up to her chest.
"Where are you, doctor?"
Closer, please. Clos—er.
"I'm trying..." She closed her eyes as she savored the sound of his metallic voice in her head.
Tell me Clarice, would you ever say to me; stop. If you loved me, you'd stop?
Not in a thousand years.
Not in a thousand years... That's my girl.
Clarice awoke with a start. She glanced at the time on the wall clock.
2:37pm. Guess Ardelia was right. I was tired.
She rose from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. She sat on the counter while she waited for her coffee to brew, scanning today's paper for anything that might be related to the doctor—finding nothing significant, she poured a cup and walked to the front door to grab the mail.
This was her morning ritual: coffee, the newspaper, check mail in vain for a letter from Dr. Lecter, search over every case file and record she had for some detail that could lead to him. Perhaps there was one crucial detail she had over looked—something important—something insignificant.
Closing the front door with her hip, she thumbed through the envelops quickly.
Junk-mail. Bills. More junk-mail. A letter with my name scrawled on it—
"Doctor Lecter," she gasped. She rushed over to the couch, discarding the other mail and her coffee—quickly putting on rubber gloves in hopes she might preserve some evidence that might help her in her search of him. She held the envelope to her nose, inhaled deeply. There was no scent—no pleasant smell. She was immediately disappointed. She held the envelope away from her face, examining the way her first name was written so elegantly in the center of the envelope. She opened it slowly and carefully—not wanting to damage the contents within. Unfolding it with utmost care, it read:
Dear Clarice, I would first like to apologize for not contacting you much sooner. Please do not consider it rude of me. You know how I feel about rude people, don't you, Clarice? I've read in the papers that your F.B.I. career is very much over. How does that make you feel, Clarice? Do you feel as though you have failed yourself? How about Jackie-boy Crawford? No. It's much profounder than that, isn't it, Clarice? You feel as though you have failed your father—the good policeman. Memories, expectations... What is the worst part about this failure? How it will reflect on your daddy and mommy? Tell me, ex-special agent Starling, do you feel as though you have failed me? Is your lamb screaming now?
"Fuck you." She wiped the tears from her eyes. She hated how he knew her—hated how right he was. He was always right—about everything.
You haven't given up hope have you, Clarice? You've gone over countless reports and files, searching for something—anything—the smallest hint to my whereabouts. You think of me often, don't you—even what might have been. I'm flattered, Clarice. I really am, but it is better for both of us this way. You would turn me in even now, wouldn't you? Your will for justice is great—too great. If it were the other way around, I would let you run, Clarice. You believe that don't you?
Ta-ta,
-H
P.S. You haven't changed your number now have you? I certainly hope not.
As if on cue, her cell phone rang. She fumbled for it quickly, still holding the letter in her hand.
"Hello?"
"Are you alright, Starling?"
"Mr. Crawford? Yes—I'm fine." She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, thankful that he couldn't see her—disappointed that it was not Lecter.
"Are you sure?" His voice with obvious with concern.
"Yes." The was a rather long pause.
"I called to check on you. I know it's been a long time, but Agent Mapp has been worried about you. I'm willing to push your papers back threw, if you think you are up to it."
"You'll give me my job back, Mr. Crawford? It's been almost a year. Why now?"
"We need your help—I need your help. Another case. We believe Lecter has returned to his old ways-"
"That can't be right." She interrupted.
"I'm afraid so, Starling. The crime scenes have Hannibal the Cannibal written all over them. Do you want back in?"
"Yes, of course, Mr. Crawford."
"Good. Come in tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Meet me in my office and we will start going over the case files."
"Thank you, Mr. Crawford."
"You're welcome. See you tomorrow, Starling." She clicked her phone shut. Now, unsure of what to think, she placed the letter and envelope from Lecter into a plastic bag. She couldn't see him risking his new found freedom, but then again he was a psychotic.
Before her alarm could sound, Clarice opened her eyes. This was the first time she had awoken in her bed in months. She quickly dressed and made her way to the kitchen.
"Good morning, girl," Ardelia greeted from the kitchen table. "I poured you coffee."
"Thanks." Clarice sat across from her friend.
"Glad to be going back?"
"Yeah, very," Clarice replied with a slight smile.
"I haven't seen a smile like that in a while! C'mon then." Ardelia stood and grabbed her keys. "Ride with me."
"Good morning, Starling," Crawford greeted as Clarice walked into his office. He admired her close fitting black suit. "Please, have a seat. I had to pull a few strings, but I think it was worth it."
"Thank you, Mr. Crawford," she replied, taking a seat across from his desk.
"As you know, we have some paperwork to go over."
"My reinstatement?"
"Exactly, Starling." He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a folder a placed it on his desk. "This form states that you are back on the force with full health benefits and such...sign here and here. There, too." He handed her a pen.
"Thanks." She signed her name quickly and handed his pen back. "Is that it?"
"Almost." He reached into his desk again. He handed her a XDM .45 and her badge. "Welcome back, Agent Starling." He smiled.
"What about Doctor Lecter?"
"Right, of course, Agent Starling." His smile faded. He reached into his desk once more and handed her a red folder. "All we have so far is in there."
"Is it all right if I go over this alone?" She ran her fingers over the spine of the folder.
"Yes, Starling, but I wanted to ask you a question." His face became very serious.
"Yes, sir?"
"There are many here who still think you aided in Lecter's escape."
"I understand that, sir."
"You haven't had any contact with Hannibal Lecter since you were...let go?"
"No, sir," she lied.
"I hope for your sake, Starling. I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Please don't prove me wrong." He stood and crossed the room, opening his office door. "You may use my office to look over the file, Starling. Your office hasn't been cleaned out yet."
"Thank you, sir."
"Starling?"
"Sir?"
"It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back, sir," she said with a smile. He closed the door behind him. She immediately opened the case file and delved into its contents.
The more she read, the more she was convinced that Doctor Lecter was not responsible. Crawford had sounded so sure that Hannibal the Cannibal, as he said, was written all over it. The crime scene photos were wrong. The mutilation was wrong. There was no motive she could see other than pure cannibalism. She was sure Hannibal wouldn't strike out at random just to consume human flesh. There were five known bodies—two women and three men. She knew that Lecter had never harmed let alone killed a woman before. That was a obvious red flag.
All five victims were disemboweled, found hanging just like Inspecter Renaldo Pazzi. She reread everything—confused as to why Crawford had believed it was Hannibal who was responsible for these crimes.
Three hours later, there was a knock at the door.
"Yes?"
"Hey, Starling," Crawford greeted as he entered. "What do you think?"
"Doctor Lecter is not responsible."
"You are sure?" He took his seat opposite of her.
"Yes, sir. He doesn't kill women."
"Did you see the photos of the bite-marks on the bodies? Their were chunks missing. He's the only criminal that is out there to our knowledge that indulges in human flesh."
"It's got to be a copycat."
"If you are sure, I will believe you." Crawford leaned forward onto his desk. "You are the Lecter expert after all."
"May I take this file home?"
"Of course. I hope this means you will take this case."
"Yes, sir." She stood up to leave. She tucked the file under her arm and turned to the door.
"Agent Starling?"
"Mr. Crawford?"
"If you need anything at all, and I mean anything, please give me a call."
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Crawford."
"One more thing."
"Hm?"
"Call me Jack, Clarice." He smiled.
"All right, Mr. Craw—Jack." She felt uncomfortable.
A week had passed since Clarice Starling had rejoined the F.B.I. and took on her new case. Many of the other agents had avoided her. Some looked on her with disgust. She spent most of her time at home, reading over the case file and researching it online. She always made sure she never went anywhere without her cellular phone.
Now, she sat in bed—reading an article about her murderer—her new case. Her phone rang. She answered it on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Clarice." Her breath caught in her chest.
"Doctor Lecter," she greeted.
"How's my girl?" His voice was low.
"I'm fine."
"I trust you received my letter."
"Yes." She felt heat flood to her cheeks. She immediately felt anger toward him. What is the worst part about this failure? How it will reflect on your daddy and mommy? Tell me, ex-special agent Starling, do you feel as though you have failed me? Is your lamb screaming now? "I want to ask you something."
"Quid pro quo, Clarice."
"Very well, doctor. Do you know anything about the man who currently is copycatting you?"
"I wouldn't call it copycatting, Clarice," he replied flatly. "From what I have deducted from the papers, this person kills sloppily and at random. Inspector Pazzi was the only person I've ever disposed of in that manner of hanging."
"I know that, but do you know anything?"
"No more than you, Clarice. I haven't cared to follow crime lately. You are far more interesting."
"Thank you. It's your turn, doctor."
"Tell me, Clarice, why did you go back to the FBI, hm?" His voice was metallic. "Do you believe that this is a chance at redemption? That you might redeem yourself for the sake of saving your father? Is that it, Clarice? Is that why you agreed?"
"No."
"Then why? They will never further you beyond your rank that you are now. There are too many doubts—your career; too sullied. They believe you assisted me in escape. Did ol' Jackie-boy offer you something you couldn't refuse? You know he still desires you sexually—"
"Stop that, doctor. Or I'll—I'll..."
"Or what, Clarice?" His voice was threatening. "You cannot deny the truth."
"I'll hang up."
"We both know you won't. I suppose this could be a far more pleasant of conversations. Too much time has passed. Won't you agree?" His voice softened.
"Yes... Why wait so long to contact me?"
"I could ask you the same."
"The FBI had been following me for months...I didn't want to lead them to you, doctor."
"Were you worried about me, Clarice? I'm flattered."
There was a long pause as Clarice fought back her emotions. If it were the other way around, I would let you run, Clarice. You believe that don't you?
"Clarice?""
…
"Clarice?" His voice never wavered.
"Yes. I'm—I'm here." Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. She hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Nothing makes us more vulnerable than loneliness." He paused. "Are you lonely, Clarice?"
"Doctor..."
There was another pause.
"Clarice, would you like it if we met?"
"Yes," she answered quickly.
"If we were to meet face to face, would you deny me my freedom, Special Agent Starling? Tell me, Clarice, would you turn me in to redeem yourself? Your sense of justice precedes you."
As a FBI agent, Clarice knew it was her duty to turn him in. It was right. It was justice. She thought of her last attempt to turn him in. As he kissed her, she in turn handcuffed him to her. Where is the key?
"Clarice?"
"I'm sorry, doctor. I think it's best that I hang up."
"Why, Clarice? I thought we were having a nice little chat."
Another long pause.
"Doctor, can I ask you one more question?"
"Yes, Clarice."
"Is your...your hand—is it..."
"Go on, Clarice," he urged.
"What became of your hand, doctor?"
"Why do you ask, Clarice? Do you feel guilt, perhaps? It would have been much less painful if you had simply given me the key, but you couldn't do that could you? You had to capture me, as was your duty correct? You thought I would hurt you—never, Clarice. I thought you might recognize that—"
"Bye, doctor."
"Clar—"
She clicked her phone shut and buried her face into her pillow—overcome with emotions. Her phone rang again, but she refused to answer it. It stopped after ring number eight. Then started to ring once more. She answered it.
"Clarice?"
She didn't respond—just held the phone to her ear.
"I understand you are angry with me. Justified as your anger is, do not underestimate what I say. I wouldn't lie to you, Clarice, not in a thousand years."
Some would say we're in love.
"This is wrong."
"Why is this wrong, Clarice? Who deems it so? Is it because of your agent status? Your morals, Clarice? Your protestant god? Stop me when I am right."
"Doctor, please, I don't want to do this right now. I'm tired."
"Yes, I know, Clarice. Do as I say now, hm?"
"Fine."
"Turn off your bedside light. I want you to lay back down, Clarice. Rest your pretty little head." She did as he instructed. "Now pull your coverings up to your chest. Better?"
"I suppose."
"Do you wish for me to hang up now, Clarice?"
"No," she said quietly. A yawn escaped her lips. "Stay with me until I fall asleep."
"Very well, Clarice." He tone was soft, almost tender. "I will do as you ask. I cannot deny you."
"Thank you, doctor," she said sleepily, pressing one side of her face into her pillow. She held the phone, lazily to her left ear.
"You're welcome, Clarice," he purred.
"Mhhmm." she replied, closing her eyes.
Within several moments, Doctor Lecter heard her rhythmic breathing. Obvious to him, she was asleep. He savored the sounds of her inhaling and expelling breathes. He imagined her chest rising and falling with each passing one. He allowed himself to listen for several minutes.
"Goodnight, Clarice," he whispered softly. "Goodnight."
I enjoyed writing it. Please tell me if you enjoyed reading it-especially if I wrote the good doctor's part well enough. Reviews are wonderful.
-E.O.L.