V. Miggs was
boring Doctor Lecter to an extreme degree. He had been listening to Miggs whine
and carry on with a crazy man's demeanor throughout the morning. He was
apparently excited because he heard news of a new rehabilitation/therapy
program that could represent the freedom of select individuals at asylums
throughout the States. Within his limited sanity, Miggs was relishing in the
hope that he would be chosen.
Lecter had made it
quite clear that he did not wish to speak about the program's potential
anymore. It was becoming tedious, and he could not conceal his anger much
longer. He quickly dismissed Miggs's current babblings and pursued what had
been agonizing him since Clarice's visit.
"Tell me, Vincent,
what did you think of Agent Starling?" Hannibal was standing up, pressed close
against the brick boundary that set him apart from Miggs's cell.
"Did you think she
was pretty? Did you like her outfit?" He paused a while, waiting for a
response. Near a minute passed until he continued the questioning, "Did you
like her scent?"
Finally, he
received the low, psychotic laughter from Multiple Miggs. Lecter could tell he
had been sitting or lying on the ground, also pressed against the wall. "I can
smell your cunt!" Miggs needlessly reminded them both of what he had said to
Clarice. He repeated himself one more time, in the break of his fits of
hilarity, and then quoted himself on his second attention to her, "I bit my
wrist, so I can die! See the blood…"
"Oh you did let her
see it my friend. But who could blame you? A pretty young women, flaunting her
tight little body, strutting past your cell as she did. Can you remember it
Vincent, can you remember her smell?" He talked slowly, to ensure Miggs could
hear and process every word.
Lecter took the
silent opportunity to take a deep inhalation of the air, just as he had done in
Clarice's presence. This time, he made more of an effort to produce sound,
ending with a slightly orgasmic sigh. He heard noise now, coming from the
joining cell, and knew instantly the actions of his crazy "friend". The barely
audible moans reinstated Lecter's initial assumption. He grimaced at the
thought of the greasy man envisioning scenarios, exchanges, fucking her…
"What do your find
most exciting-your verbal harassment to the young woman, or your vile and
degrading act of marking her face with your cum?" Lecter took a break to let
the doomed man's lack of thought process catch up.
"You are hated and despised by the
rest of us, especially since your actions against Clarice." Hannibal's bitter
tone was unrelenting and pierced the solid barrier between them.
"Who—who is
Clarice?" Miggs's voice was shaky, drawn out…edged with tears.
"Agent Starling,
Vincent. Please try to keep up now, I assure you, this conversation is soon
coming to an end."
"She's mad at me
isn't she? She wanna kill me. Why does everyone wanna kiiill me? He..he..I'm
already dead!" Miggs was sobbing through his strained whispers.
"No, no, no. You
are far from it. You are living and obnoxious, and also wrong. I have no
knowledge of Agent Starling anticipating your death, nor do I know if our
neighbors want the same. I, however, must admit that it is my every intention
to promote it." Lecter gave no time for a response.
"You and I both
know that you have no chance at succeeding in a rehabilitation-therapy program.
Just as well, Chilton and the entire Justice board think the same. They have
written you off as manic-depressive, multi-personality, and schizophrenic. This
means, of coarse, that you have no chance whatsoever, of leaving this dungeon.
Vincent…you are nobody. To everyone around you, you are only known as is 'the
crazy fuck' in cell 9; Multiple Miggs."
"You have nobody.
No chance of freedom. No reason to be here. And, what's more important is the
fact that you are fully aware of this. You may try to pull off the insanity
plea with the others, but it won't work on me. You know very good and well that
you are a worthless, disgusting disgrace for a man, and will forever be a nuisance
to yourself and everyone else while you're alive. I'll pardon your ignorance of
my case history. I'm sure you are too preoccupied with your own perverseness to
interest yourself with me. What you do need to know, Vincent, is that I will
not tolerate the kind of blatant rudeness you twice displayed to Agent
Starling."
Lecter stepped away
from the cold brick, just enough for Miggs to hear him. "I'm sure you can come
up with a suitable means of suicide."
Hannibal was
pleased to hear the genuine fear in the sick man's voice as he stuttered,
"H-h-how?"
On cue, Lecter
finished the conversation. "I advise that you come up with a solution, my dear
friend, it will be in both of our best interests. You have ample intelligence
to know that I will make no promises without the intention of fulfilling them.
I'm making a promise to you now, that if you cannot muster enough of your
blubbering depression to remove yourself from my presence, then I will complete
the task for you. I pity you if you do not think me capable of doing so. I
sincerely hope you choose wisely."
Lecter spoke to the
weeping man no more. Throughout the rest of the afternoon he would whistle
along with classical tunes that only he could hear, but he did not speak
another word. His thoughts found themselves on the FBI Agent, Clarice Starling.
Ambitious, eager, beautiful…battered by Hannibal's own harshness. After Miggs's
assault, she was fully broken. Desperately she tried to hide the defeated look,
but her attempt was no match for the wet milky poison that clung to her skin
and shining hair.
Sometime during the
night, Vincent Miggs would be dead. Lecter wished he could see the look on
little Starling's face when she heard the news.
