Disclaimer- I don't own any of the characters, they belong to Thomas Harris, and I am not doing this for profit.
Ok guys, I just finished immersing myself in The Thorn Birds. It's an amazing piece of work, and I would recommend it to anyone looking for a good read. For those of you who have read (or seen) it, this is inspired loosely off the scene on Matlock Island.
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The breeze was warm, smelling of sea salt and lush trees. The sand was white and soft under bare toes, the surf deliciously cool after the heat of the tropical sun. Clarice's little cottage was fully stocked, and awaiting it's temporary owner. After the fiasco at Chespeake, the FBI psychiatrist had recommended a two month leave of absence, in order to re-structure her emotional balance.
"Emotional balance, fuck that!" Clarice thought, unmoved by the beauty of her surroundings, but more then a little grateful for the warm weather. D.C was cold an drizzling rain when she had boarded the plane, wrapped in a heavy sweater and jacket. This part of the island was virtually isolated, and here she could think in peace.
'Well, I would be in peace, if I wasn't so worried that I'll come back to have no job! Or if I could get the damn sound of his voice out of my mind, or if I still didn't feel the touch—' Clarice slapped a hand to the side of her head, setting down her suitcases on the veranda. "Ok, girl, none of that. I'm here to relax... relax, yep. The land of deep breathing and blue water. Relax.." Unfortunately, the mantra did little to settle her nerves. But in situations when those nerves are ragged to the point of shredding sheer away, anything is better then nothing at all.
First things first, and Starling unloaded her suitcases, putting her mark on her home for the next two months. The trip was a bit of a splurge, but Ardelia Mapp had convinced her that the money she had saved by being thrifty, was more then enough to warrant a little treat.
As she looked out over the water, dotted by the shapes of coral and rock, she had to admit that this was the perfect place to get away from yourself. "Or, to get away from the thoughts inside yourself!" she chuckled, taking a deep breath of the briny air, "Two months of peace and quiet. No cell phones, no urgent missions.. nobody reminding me about Chespeake... aw goddamn it, back to square one again."
Clarice had never been a great cook, but she didn't see a better time to learn. Taking a quick stock of the food in the cottage, Starling decided that dinner was to be peanut-butter toast... Jet lag always made her lazy, and she vowed to start learning to cook in the morning. At least it would give her something to do to pass the time.
Her bed was soft, much nicer then the thrift store frame she had at home. Snuggling under the light duvet, she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the supple material. The room was decorated in soft tan and foam green, a little cliché, but pleasing to the eye. Though the house had electricity it was also supplied with numerous oil lamps and candles, this far out, there were frequent blackouts. But the flickering light held a great appeal for Clarice Starling, she watched as it lit the room with a warm glow, soothing. How it played on the shadows and curves of the room, and played among the creases of the carved wood. The bed itself was honey-colored, and in the lamplight shone as though the life had been restored to the wood it was made of.
In this surreal paradise, Clarice wouldn't have been surprised to see a dryad or nymph appear out of the air. It was as thought the laws of nature didn't apply, that every leaf of every tree was perfect in it's complexity. The sort of place that defied the usual logic of who and what and where, and that the only thing that mattered was what you knew to be true.
Laughing at her own romanticism, Starling rolled over onto her side and let the let-lag and soul-deep exhaustion overcome her. Willingly she surrendered to the syren call of smooth sheets and soft pillows, cradling her in a perfect womb of contentment. Neither too hot nor too cold, but just right. And in that suspended moment between awake and asleep, Clarice's last thought was, "He'd love it here."
The month passed uneventfully, days spent swimming and walking along the beach, peering into the tiny ocean worlds that formed in the tidal pools. The peace and serenity, and truly, the isolation, soothed her fractured mind, a balm to her abused emotions. But despite the joy she found there, it was an empty thing; lonely. For she could not share these discoveries. Here there was no Ardelia, no Jack Crawford, nobody. And Clarice learned in that first month what tranquility can come from being alone with yourself. In those first weeks, she did not bother with in-depth analysis of herself, or her situation. On this island there was no place for prostrating yourself on the altar of denial and self-pity.
But at the end of that month, there came a time when those evasions had to be met honestly. The transition was not harried and stressful, as it had been in the past. More, it was a natural evolution from one stage to the next. Clarice was sitting on the veranda, wrapped in her robe, and sipping hot tea. The fragrance of mint wafted on hot steam, warm and relaxing, under shadowed by the scent of dew and tropical flowers. Her robe was old terrycloth, patched many times and still her favourite garment. The sun had already faded over the watery horizon, and the bats of night already soaring above, searching for their evening meal.
"Well, Clarice, I guess it's time to face the facts." Her inner voice reminded her gently.
"I guess it is. And what facts shall we be facing tonight" she spoke aloud, not worried about any ears overhearing this internal monologue. "Chespeake, I think that's a good place to start."
"Why?"
"Because it's recent, and you need to think about it, otherwise the whole purpose of this vacation is pointless."
"Alrighty then, Chespeake it is. Now for the facts. It was the last time I saw Dr. Lecter, watched him feed Paul's brain to himself, drugged me up of morphine.."
"Ah ah ah, hold it right there. Drugged up on morphine, why?"
"Because Dr. Lecter had sewn up my shoulder."
"And does that bother you, Clarice?"
"Bother me? No, I guess not, it was just the way it happened. Quid pro quo I guess, I had saved him, so he saved me."
"Yet he knew that you would turn him over."
"Ok, that's a fair point. So, he patched me up, and saved my life, even though it put him in danger."
"In danger of what, Clarice?"
She stopped for a moment, sipping her tea carefully, "Well, he vowed that he would never be incarcerated again, and he never lies, so..?"
"So he put himself in danger of breaking an oath he made himself?"
"Exactly, so why did he do it?"
"I dunno, I'm just your inner voice!"
"Oh come off it!"
"But it's true, your really just sitting there, talking to yourself, and trying to figure out what he knew a long time ago; something that you were too blind to even consider."
"And what's that?"
"That he loves you."
"Would you say to me, stop? If you loved me, you'd stop?" Clarice said slowly, testing the words on her tongue. "Does it disgust you the thought that he might be able to love you?" the Voice asked in a faintly mocking tone.
"No," Clarice decided firmly.
"And why not?"
"Because I want him to love me. Because I don't want to think that everything I've done is it vain!" her voice was soft, the word Vain punctuated sharply.
"You let him run, why?"
"I know that if they take him, then he'll be put to death, especially now. He killed Krendler, and the courts won't be lenient about that."
"But they didn't really care that you have been forced to watch it all."
"No, no they didn't. But that's ok, I wasn't really expecting them to. Everything he said was right, you know."
"Oh, I know."
"What part of me are you, anyway?"
"Oh Clarice, I'm that little part of you that makes you consider reading those awful romance novels, the part of you that you've been sublimating since you had your first heartbreak."
"The side of me who remembers what it is to want love, right?"
"Exactly."
"So, what can you tell me?"
"That you've been without love so long that I'm beginning for forget what it's like."
"What, what's like?"
"Giving in, for the first time. Maybe it's high time you set that pride on the back burner, before I've been left there so long that I'm a dried up husk!"
"He'll never give in."
"Don't you see, Clarice? He already has! You just refused to believe it."
"I love him,"
Clarice could imagine her inner voice jumping around like a little kid at a fair, "Finally! Finally she gets it!"
And at that moment, Clarice Starling felt her heart turn over, eclipsed by the feel of relief and joy that washed over her. It was staggering, profound, and in the end, very sad. "Never in a thousand years!" she cried, her tears splashing salty into her tea. Watching the ripples expand outwards, she controlled the vast pain exploding in her heart, "Just like that, I let him run... If only there was a way to know that I never wanted it to be ME he was running from."
Every day at sunset, Thom Harbin dropped by her cottage, just to see if everything was alright. Just a wave from the driveway, and a wave in return, a short conversation if she needed anything from the store. Today it was different. Clarice was sitting on the beach, watching the red and orange light fan out over the water, she rose to her feet when she heard the truck drive up. Thom waved, and she waved back, but he didn't move.
Instead, the side door opened, and another man stepped out, dressed in white. At this distance it was hard to make out who it was, but the incessant beating of her heart against her ribcage told Clarice everything she needed to know. Entranced, she stared as he crossed the expanse of glittering sand, a case in hand. But, Clarice knew no fear, not even as Thom gunned the engine and drove away.
Hannibal set down his case, a little over an arms reach away from her. "Hello Clarice," he said, voice in an undertone without malice. "Dr. Lecter, how did you find me here?"
"A few discreet inquiries, nothing more."
"No! No, goddamnit!" She cried, "I accepted that I love you, but I can't have you, so go! I don't want to see you!" Her feet took flight, tearing across the sand.
"Clarice!" he yelled, running after her, and grabbing her arm. The momentum swung her around.
The feel of his arms, the strength, oh so many years alone! And Clarice gave into that little voice in the back of her mind, the voice that had become such honest company, and she kissed him. This one was not like the last, not hollow and terrifying. This felt like a brand burning in her soul, stripping away the last layers of resistance that she held onto so tightly for years. "I love you, I tried not to, but I love you.." she moaned against his neck, clutching him for dear life. But there was no need for apologies, and indeed, no need for any more speech, as he kissed her again.
To Clarice, the rest was a blur of feeling. Heat and the delicious knowledge that he was with her, in the way she had always wanted, but never confessed. Eyes wide as white hot sparks of pleasure turned her blood to molten lava. Vaguely hearing herself scream his name, and he, hers.
Cradled together, Hannibal slept, and Clarice laid awake, afraid to close her eyes. Around 4am, he finally opened his eyes, and she smiled. "I was afraid that if I slept, you'd be gone when I woke." She admitted, biting her lower lip in a manner he found most endearing, "What are you thinking?" she asked after a moment of silence.
"Honestly, Clarice, I was thinking that I have never woken in a bed with another human being before."
"Is that all?" was all she dared to say, and was rewarded with a shake of his dark head.
"No, not all. I was just realizing that no matter how many times I wake, I shall wish you were with me." Clarice lay her head against his chest,
"After I saw you in Memphis, I realized something."
"And what was that?" he asked, turning to face her.
"That my last thoughts in life, would be of you. But, Hannibal, why risk it? Coming to see me, I mean."
"Ah, Clarice... you have some power over me, that I constantly feel the need to be near you."
"But, at the cost of your freedom?" He sighed, and shook his head.
"No, never; my freedom is not something I could give up, even for you."
"I can accept that, but here, your not free. Your mine." she said, kissing him lightly. She never saw it, but she could feel him smile.
Even if it was just for a few days, Clarice knew that she could live the rest of her life off of those memories. To hear him laugh, and see him at the stove, and those long nights that passed by in the blink of an eye. But all too soon, it was time for him to leave; where he was going, she never knew. It didn't seem important anymore.
They stood on the veranda, waiting for the taxi to arrive. The cooler winds had come, and Clarice couldn't help but admire the irony. "If you promise never to tell, I will write you," he said, taking her hands in his. But she shook her head, letting her tears fall without shame. "No, Hannibal, don't write, it's too dangerous."
"I might never see you again." He said softly, wiping away the wetness from her cheeks, his own pain showing on his face. "I know, but consider it a punishment, for our lives being the way they are." Tenderly, he held her face in his hands,
"Clarice, my punishment is to never know again, whether I love my freedom more then you!"
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Reviews are welcomed with open arms! The credit for much of this goes to Colleen McCullough (?) and her novel, The Thorn Birds.
As for the challenge I promised!
Write a story including the 3 Conversational Evils, you know, the three things that should never be discussed in public;
1)Religion
2)Sex
3)Politics
AND, the weird element... a Slinky! Ok Ok, it's a weird challenge, but if anyone is brave enough to give this a shot, then review and tell me, then I can find it easier!