Clarice Starling was exhausted. She was thankful that it was Friday and she was on her way home. She was looking forward to a weekend of rest - if she wanted to sleep until three in the afternoon, she'd do it. She didn't care. After all, Ardelia was out of town for a few weeks visiting relatives, so she'd have the place all to herself. Starling reminded herself that she needed to keep her eyes on the road and switched on the radio just in time to hear the weather forecast. Heavy showers and thunderstorms, it said.
It was just beginning to mist as she pulled up into her driveway.
Oh great.
She turned off the ignition and tossed her keys into her open purse. She hurried for the door, trying desperately not to get soaked on the way.
Well, at least I can change into some dry clothes inside.
She unlocked the door and slammed it behind her. She sighed. Then, mid-breath, she stopped. What was that sound? Music...she paused. And then, instinctively, Starling drew the .45 that lay on her hip. She grasped it tightly with both hands and discarded her purse in a chair. She silently walked down the hall, trying to find the source of the music. Standing just outside the door to her bedroom, she took a deep breath. She swung around into the room screaming, "Freeze!"
What she saw shocked her. There on her bed lay a complete outfit - from the golden high-heeled shoes to the diamond and ruby earrings. The dress was made of golden-colored silk. Clarice blinked. Then something else caught her eye. Something that made her very, very uncomfortable. Two glasses of wine and a dozen red roses sat on her small bedside table. She backed away very slowly, taking a deep breath.
"No…"she whispered as she shook her head, "no."
Suddenly, she felt someone behind her. Clarice whirled around, holding her .45 at chest level. Lecter was dressed in dark trousers and a maroon shirt that Clarice thought looked absolutely wonderful on him.
What is wrong with you, Clarice? This is a sadistic serial killer, not your boyfriend. You should be wondering when he's going to kill you, not thinking about how wonderful he looks in that shirt!
While trying to pry that thought from her mind, he spoke.
"Do you like the dress, Clarice?" It was more a statement than a question. He knew that she would be absolutely taken with it. And how wonderful it would look on her, the gold silk a perfect compliment to her eyes.
"I...I love it." She smiled uncomfortably.
"Good. I knew you would." He smiled in return. "Dinner in an hour. Is that alright?"
For a moment, she didn't know what to say. "Oh...um...of course." He glanced at the dress and back at her. He stepped past her to retrieve one of the glasses of wine on the table.
"I'll let you get dressed now," he said. She watched him until he left the room and closed the door behind himself. Clarice warily approached the dress, as though it was some sort of foreign object. She sighed.
After taking nearly a half an hour to dress herself, she stopped in front of her bedroom mirror. This was crazy. What was she supposed to do? Have a happy, pleasant meal with Hannibal 'the cannibal'? Yes, and that was exactly what she would do. After checking to see that everything was in its proper place, she opened the door and walked into the living room. Lecter was waiting on her, surprised that it had taken her this long to get dressed. Clarice was not one to primp. As he saw her, he was taken by her beauty. His maroon eyes seemed to devour her.
"Hungry?"
"Yes, very," she replied.
"I do hate to be a rude host, Clarice, but I'm going to have to go check on the dessert and see that it doesn't burn." She watched him leave the room and head toward the kitchen. She sank into her favorite chair and listened to the rain. The heavy, pouring rain. She was so engrossed in listening to it that she almost didn't catch the doorbell. As she approached the door, she could see the silhouette of a man.
What in the world? Who in their right mind would be out in this mess?
She unlocked the door. Clarice felt the wind and shivered. She then looked up to see who could possibly be at her door in this storm. What she saw made her jaw drop and her breath stop in her throat. Jack Crawford stood in front of her, soaking wet and holding a bottle of expensive wine and roses. Her first instinct would have been to welcome him in to her home and out of the rain immediately, but she suddenly remembered who was in the kitchen fixing dessert for her. Crawford was apparently surprised to see her dressed the way she was, she thought, noting his eyes moving over her.
I can't just let him stand there in the rain like that; it would seem even stranger than having him find Lecter here.
She assumed that Lecter would know Crawford was in the house and keep himself hidden…or whatever he felt was best.
"Mr. Crawford, um, please come in." He took her invitation and stepped inside.
"You look wonderful," he said as he hung up his raincoat. "What's the occasion?"
"Oh," she replied, trying to sound innocent, "I was just trying this on, and…you came to the door. Why are you out in this mess, anyway, Mr. Crawford?"
"Jack," he corrected. Noticing the blank stare on her face, he explained, "Call me Jack." She nodded slowly. "And these," he said, presenting her with the roses, "are for you." Clarice didn't know what to do.
Say thank you and sound polite, like you have no cares whatsoever.
"Thank you, Mis-Jack. They're beautiful. Now, why are you out in this mess? You need to be at home." He sat the bottle of wine on a table by the sofa.
"Well, Clarice…I - you're really going to think this sounds stupid, but…"
"But what, Jack?" she inquired.
"Clarice, ever since Bella died, you've been, well, you've been the only one…there." She knew what he was getting at, and she didn't like it at all. He looked at the floor, clearly not wanting to make eye contact with her.
Spit it out, Crawford. I don't have all night, like you seem to think.
"I wanted to know if…you would consider seeing me." He stared at her, not breathing. He began to wonder if she knew what he meant. Of course she knew what he meant. She hesitated, not knowing what to say.
Come on doctor, why don't you ever show up when I need you…?
"I'm going to go and get some glasses for the wine. I'll be right back." He smiled at her, watching her leave the room. He planned what he should say next. Clarice walked into the kitchen and headed toward the cabinet where she kept her wine glasses. As she took two from the shelf, Lecter stepped behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Dinner's almost ready." She turned around to face him and glanced at the living room, where Jack Crawford sat, contemplating his situation.
"Ah. I see now why you are so upset. You're worried about Jack finding me. Why, Clarice?" She was silent. "Don't you worry your lovely head over that. I'll take care of him," Lecter said, his eyes glittering. Clarice began to shake her head.
"No," she said in a whisper. "Please, no." His only reply was a smile. Clarice took the two glasses back into the living room with her. Crawford was in the same position she'd left him in. He looked uncomfortable.
He should be. He's about to be killed.
"You okay?" she asked, trying to sound very cheery. He made an attempt at a half-smile. "Good." She handed him a glass and filled it. Then, she saw something that stopped her breath in her throat. Lecter appeared in the kitchen doorway. For a moment, everything was silent and all she could hear was the rain pounding on the roof. "No," she mouthed.
"What?" Jack asked her.
"Hello there, Jack. Haven't seen you in a while. How are you, hm?" The voice shocked him.
"What's going on here? What's he doing here?" Crawford looked up at Clarice. She was pale, almost completely white. His eyes widened as she fainted.
It was just beginning to mist as she pulled up into her driveway.
Oh great.
She turned off the ignition and tossed her keys into her open purse. She hurried for the door, trying desperately not to get soaked on the way.
Well, at least I can change into some dry clothes inside.
She unlocked the door and slammed it behind her. She sighed. Then, mid-breath, she stopped. What was that sound? Music...she paused. And then, instinctively, Starling drew the .45 that lay on her hip. She grasped it tightly with both hands and discarded her purse in a chair. She silently walked down the hall, trying to find the source of the music. Standing just outside the door to her bedroom, she took a deep breath. She swung around into the room screaming, "Freeze!"
What she saw shocked her. There on her bed lay a complete outfit - from the golden high-heeled shoes to the diamond and ruby earrings. The dress was made of golden-colored silk. Clarice blinked. Then something else caught her eye. Something that made her very, very uncomfortable. Two glasses of wine and a dozen red roses sat on her small bedside table. She backed away very slowly, taking a deep breath.
"No…"she whispered as she shook her head, "no."
Suddenly, she felt someone behind her. Clarice whirled around, holding her .45 at chest level. Lecter was dressed in dark trousers and a maroon shirt that Clarice thought looked absolutely wonderful on him.
What is wrong with you, Clarice? This is a sadistic serial killer, not your boyfriend. You should be wondering when he's going to kill you, not thinking about how wonderful he looks in that shirt!
While trying to pry that thought from her mind, he spoke.
"Do you like the dress, Clarice?" It was more a statement than a question. He knew that she would be absolutely taken with it. And how wonderful it would look on her, the gold silk a perfect compliment to her eyes.
"I...I love it." She smiled uncomfortably.
"Good. I knew you would." He smiled in return. "Dinner in an hour. Is that alright?"
For a moment, she didn't know what to say. "Oh...um...of course." He glanced at the dress and back at her. He stepped past her to retrieve one of the glasses of wine on the table.
"I'll let you get dressed now," he said. She watched him until he left the room and closed the door behind himself. Clarice warily approached the dress, as though it was some sort of foreign object. She sighed.
After taking nearly a half an hour to dress herself, she stopped in front of her bedroom mirror. This was crazy. What was she supposed to do? Have a happy, pleasant meal with Hannibal 'the cannibal'? Yes, and that was exactly what she would do. After checking to see that everything was in its proper place, she opened the door and walked into the living room. Lecter was waiting on her, surprised that it had taken her this long to get dressed. Clarice was not one to primp. As he saw her, he was taken by her beauty. His maroon eyes seemed to devour her.
"Hungry?"
"Yes, very," she replied.
"I do hate to be a rude host, Clarice, but I'm going to have to go check on the dessert and see that it doesn't burn." She watched him leave the room and head toward the kitchen. She sank into her favorite chair and listened to the rain. The heavy, pouring rain. She was so engrossed in listening to it that she almost didn't catch the doorbell. As she approached the door, she could see the silhouette of a man.
What in the world? Who in their right mind would be out in this mess?
She unlocked the door. Clarice felt the wind and shivered. She then looked up to see who could possibly be at her door in this storm. What she saw made her jaw drop and her breath stop in her throat. Jack Crawford stood in front of her, soaking wet and holding a bottle of expensive wine and roses. Her first instinct would have been to welcome him in to her home and out of the rain immediately, but she suddenly remembered who was in the kitchen fixing dessert for her. Crawford was apparently surprised to see her dressed the way she was, she thought, noting his eyes moving over her.
I can't just let him stand there in the rain like that; it would seem even stranger than having him find Lecter here.
She assumed that Lecter would know Crawford was in the house and keep himself hidden…or whatever he felt was best.
"Mr. Crawford, um, please come in." He took her invitation and stepped inside.
"You look wonderful," he said as he hung up his raincoat. "What's the occasion?"
"Oh," she replied, trying to sound innocent, "I was just trying this on, and…you came to the door. Why are you out in this mess, anyway, Mr. Crawford?"
"Jack," he corrected. Noticing the blank stare on her face, he explained, "Call me Jack." She nodded slowly. "And these," he said, presenting her with the roses, "are for you." Clarice didn't know what to do.
Say thank you and sound polite, like you have no cares whatsoever.
"Thank you, Mis-Jack. They're beautiful. Now, why are you out in this mess? You need to be at home." He sat the bottle of wine on a table by the sofa.
"Well, Clarice…I - you're really going to think this sounds stupid, but…"
"But what, Jack?" she inquired.
"Clarice, ever since Bella died, you've been, well, you've been the only one…there." She knew what he was getting at, and she didn't like it at all. He looked at the floor, clearly not wanting to make eye contact with her.
Spit it out, Crawford. I don't have all night, like you seem to think.
"I wanted to know if…you would consider seeing me." He stared at her, not breathing. He began to wonder if she knew what he meant. Of course she knew what he meant. She hesitated, not knowing what to say.
Come on doctor, why don't you ever show up when I need you…?
"I'm going to go and get some glasses for the wine. I'll be right back." He smiled at her, watching her leave the room. He planned what he should say next. Clarice walked into the kitchen and headed toward the cabinet where she kept her wine glasses. As she took two from the shelf, Lecter stepped behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Dinner's almost ready." She turned around to face him and glanced at the living room, where Jack Crawford sat, contemplating his situation.
"Ah. I see now why you are so upset. You're worried about Jack finding me. Why, Clarice?" She was silent. "Don't you worry your lovely head over that. I'll take care of him," Lecter said, his eyes glittering. Clarice began to shake her head.
"No," she said in a whisper. "Please, no." His only reply was a smile. Clarice took the two glasses back into the living room with her. Crawford was in the same position she'd left him in. He looked uncomfortable.
He should be. He's about to be killed.
"You okay?" she asked, trying to sound very cheery. He made an attempt at a half-smile. "Good." She handed him a glass and filled it. Then, she saw something that stopped her breath in her throat. Lecter appeared in the kitchen doorway. For a moment, everything was silent and all she could hear was the rain pounding on the roof. "No," she mouthed.
"What?" Jack asked her.
"Hello there, Jack. Haven't seen you in a while. How are you, hm?" The voice shocked him.
"What's going on here? What's he doing here?" Crawford looked up at Clarice. She was pale, almost completely white. His eyes widened as she fainted.