Disclaimer- the characters don't belong to me, they belong to Thomas Harris, and his wonderful works of literary art.
Well, here I am, once again. And, as usual, taking a little different view of the world at large, or, in this case, Harris' world at large. As before, this takes place just after the movie of Hannibal, and, again, using the ending they left on the cutting room floor.
(i.e. He doesn't lose a hand, and neither does she) Ok, I know I should just stick to the simple movie ending, but I can't! Ugh,... he loses a hand. No more painting, drawing, music.... It's too sad. cries But, anyway, on with the story!
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Clarice Starling sat in her new office at FBI headquarters. After the untimely demise of Paul Krendler, she was reinstated after a full exam declared her fit for duty. So far, her 'duties' consisted mainly of sorting through boxes of old paperwork from her predecessor. Hopefully a new case would come in soon, but until then , it was pleasant just to be back at work. She had been reinstated with only one stipulation, that she was to stay away from the Lecter case; the psychiatrist had noted that after such an ordeal, it could have lasting damage to dwell on it for an extended period. She couldn't agree more. Unfortunately, the lack of work gave her all too much time to reflect.
So, there she was, just a few hours after lunch, sitting in her new office, and staring blankly into her equally blank computer screen. The familiar knock on the door was a welcome jolt back to reality, at least, until Jesse told her what had happened. When the knock came, she looked over at the door, Jesse was the guy that had delivered her mail down to the basement room she had been using when she was in the depths of the Lecter case file, right before the episode with Mason Verger,
"Hey Jes, what happening?" A sixth sense told her that something was wrong; that he was standing just a little too still maybe, or the set of his shoulder. Regardless, something was wrong. "They got him, Starling," She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself into a professional calm. "Where?"
"Just outside of Calais, France" He stepped into the room, casually draping himself across the chair she kept handy for visitors to her office. "Where are they keeping him?"
"Just to make sure, we're both clear on who 'He' is?"
"Dr. Lecter, the only man who referred to as 'he' can still make you cringe." She smiled at him, tapping the head of her drinking-water bird ornament. "Hey, well, I saw all that stuff you had down there... that was some pretty sick shit." Clarice just shook her head,
"So, where are they keeping him?"
"I dunno."
"Spill the bean, Jes, I know you know, otherwise you wouldn't be here." He squirmed a bit in his chair, "It's on special alert that your not supposed to know... something about repetitive trauma."
"Bullshit, I'm fine, Jes, just tell me the truth."
"Alright, but if anyone find out about this, Starling, my ass is grass."
"Gotcha"
"Elderwood Penitentiary, the one way out on the edge of the city. There not taking any chances."
For a long time after Jesse left, Clarice just sat at her desk, the wheels of her brain spinning like psychotic pinwheels. After she left for the day, her mind was still working, the same as she made dinner for herself, and her roommate Ardelia. Her state didn't change when Ardelia called to say that she wouldn't be home until late, and Clarice was still up when she got home. When she finally fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion, she had not come to a decision.
Once again we find ourselves in her office, and she's tapping her fingers on the desk, waiting for her computer to inform her that 'You have Mail!'. Patience had never been her strong suit, and waiting for the trial information was strenuous on her presence of mind. When the letter did come from the courthouse, it wasn't much help. The trial date was set for early the following month, the 5th to be exact; looking at her calendar, Clarice noted that it was already the 23rd of February.
Not long after the email arrived, she decided that she simply couldn't sit in here any longer, and decided to be a little more pro-active in her search for information, that involved dealing with her superiors. Thankfully, after the Krendler incident, they owed her a few favors.
"You've been a big help!" she said with a grin as she left the office of Mr. Karasotiz.
"Always glad to be of service.." he muttered sourly after her, studying the ink-stained surface of his desk. As soon as she was cloistered back in her own cubby, she flipped open the latest item in the Lecter dossier, the report of his capture.
/The Subject was very calm, submitting to the arresting officers in a most polite manner. No shots were fired, and the Subject. did not resist the restraints in any way. After the subject was properly identified, it lead the officers to believe that something was not quite right about the scenario. No violence (physical or mental) has resulted from these 'bad feelings' and it is strongly advised that the media be given every opportunity to publish the new as early as possible, to dispel and lingering fear in the global community./
Flipping farther into the report, her heart sank as her eye caught on some red pen in the margin.
/To be charged with no less then fifteen counts of murder known, twelve of them already with convictions, the court proceedings will be lengthy. In order to minimize the risk to civilians, multiple life sentences will be the safest route to reduce the numbers of copycat killers./
The only promising news was that Lecter was not being kept in solitary confinement for the last fortnight of his life. Special Agent had taken a god long look at the dossier, and it was her own belief that the court proceedings would be swift, and quite possibly he would not beat the needle. To her, a painless death seemed the most merciful.
Just before she left that day, a letter arrived for her, via Interoffice mail. She was being ordered to the courts on the day of the trial, to give evidence, and to act as a partial character witness; not on Lecter's behalf. Swearing under her breath, it became all too clear that the judge wasn't going to let anything slip through the cracks last time. Mason Verger had turned out to be just too much of a risk.
And so, armed with her wit and an official pass, Clarice Starling went in for one last chat.
The corridors were cement blocks, the floor was gray tile that clicked sharply under her hard-soled shoes. The setup was nearly identical to the way it was, before. Before everything changed for that one Special Agent of the FBI. The only major differences were these; no other inmates in the halls, the doctor, and herself. This time she made sure that they conversations weren't taped, out of courtesy she respected that what they said was not for other ears. Some people would have said she had her own agenda, maybe she did.
Waking down the final corridor, passed the iron gate and the guards, she had a gut feeling that this was going to be a major turning point in her life. He was standing there, still and straight, his dark hair left a little longer than usual, and slicked back from his face. "Good afternoon, Agent Starling." He said, in a perfect mimicry of his tones from ten years before. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor, Doctor." She said, gracing him with a small smile. He closed his eyes for a contemplative moment, breathing deeply.
"I must admit, you're the last person I had expected to see here. I had it in my mind that you would avoid me as though I carried a plague."
"Well Dr. Lecter, I'll be honest and say that I considered it. But, Doctor, I've been asked to give evidence at your trial." He perched at the end of the cot in his cell, looking back at her with such intensity that it nearly stole her breath. "Your destiny was to bring about my death, surely this cannot bother you after all this time?" Shifting her handbag into her lap, she clenched the leather strap tightly. "Not your death, Doctor, the lawyers have been talking, and it looks like their trying to settle for consecutive life-sentences. I never walked to take your freedom, you know that." He just nodded,
"I cannot fight the judgment, and I have no intention of even trying all that hard, to be frank. The law sees things as very black and white, there is very little room for gray; they view me as insane, and to them, that makes me so." She raised an eyebrow,
"You don't think your insane, Doctor?"
"No, not really, Clarice. A little eccentric in my tastes, but not insane. I have killed without remorse, or regret, that alone would seal my fate. I had hoped that they would be lenient and let me die, but they are all so afraid of spawning a million little dittoed crimes."
Starling took a deep breath, "Why didn't you fight the officers who arrested you? You knew what they were bringing you back to!" she said, a little too emphatically.
"Why, Agent Starling, one would almost think you cared." He said in a soft voice, barely touched with biting sarcasm. "I care enough not to want you to rot away in a basement cell." Slipping off over her folding chair, Clarice sat on the tile at the edge of the glass. Smiling a little to himself, Dr. Lecter did the same, leaning his back against the wall. "Your very brave, Clarice, I had thought you'd be terrified of me by now."
"And your probably the most intelligent person I've ever met, Doctor, but it can't help you now."
"No, no it can't. But that doesn't matter, does it?" She looked over at him, searching him face for some clue. "It doesn't matter?"
"I have very little left in my life, Clarice, and I'm tired of living alone, I'm sure you can sympathize." The air holes in the glass were only about the width of a pop can.
"Dr. Lecter?" His eyes moved over to her, his head did not.
"Yes, Clarice?"
"You mocked me before, "Would you stay in my cell with me and hold my hand." I think that's what you said." Now it was his turn to raise a curious eyebrow.
"Hardly verbatim, but essentially correct, why?" She just smiled resignedly and stuck her first three fingers through the glass. "I can't be in there with you, and the holes are so small but, I'll do what I can." He smiled at her then, and she was not afraid as his hand touched hers, and held her there, absently tracing designs on her skin.
"Clarice, if the jury does not agree to be merciful, promise me that you won't come and see me, for any reason. I want your word."
"Such a strange request, why Doctor?"
"Even the most brutal torture of the ancients could never compare to being so close, and yet so far from my life."
"And I remind you of that life?"
"Your gave me that life." She could feel unwanted tears begin to burn behind her eyelids. "Ditto." Was all she could manage passed the lump in her throat.
She left soon after, and sobbed bitterly into the steering wheel of her car.
"Ten years Ardelia! Ten fucking years.." Clarice said, brutally hacking the dinner's chicken. "Well, if nothing else comes of it, at least you finally learned to cut a bird," he roommate replied with a grin, to her credit it was only a little forced. "Ten years working on this case, and now.. and now I'm not even sure."
"Sure of what?" Ardelia asked, measuring out her spices in the palm of her hand.
"Of anything... Of these goddamn jurors who don't have a clue what he's really like. They'll give him life just to prove a point. He'd rather die then lose him freedom like that!" as her voice rose a decibel higher, so higher did the fragments of fat and bone fly.
"You sound like your defending him, Clarice." She noted.
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm just beginning to understand that it is to lose your liberty. You don't get it, do you? Look back at the people he's killed, they've all been rude, discourteous, you know? Barney once told me that he knew Dr. Lecter wouldn't come after him, and I understood what he meant. I would have been able to accept it if I thought he would have come after me to kill me, but he wouldn't. He saved me, said it was only fair because I had just saved him, but it still didn't make any sense!" Ardelia tossed oregano into her simmering pot and turned to face her best friend, her face was unreadable.
"Maybe that's because he's INSANE, Clarice! Pure psychotic evil. You think you know him, but do you? His habits, styles, preferences, yes you know all of that. But if he were here right now, what do you think he'd say?"
Starling smiled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment in reflection, "I know exactly what he would say. He'd say that my sense of morals was interfering with my job." Ardelia smirked, "He'd be right."
"Then I guess the question is, Do I want them to? I'm not so sure he is insane, no more then you or me, I think he just thinks differently."
"Get that thought out of your head girl. I should have said something a long time ago, but I didn't. Ten years ago, you should have never let him inside your head, 'cuz now he's settled in, and your never going to be able to forget." Clarice just nodded in silent agreement.
The day of the trial dawned bright, but inside the courtroom was dim and cool. True o his word, Hannibal Lecter plead guilty to all of the crimes he was accused of, including the murder of Mason Verger. He was sentenced with 17 consecutive life sentences, for a total of 1275 years in a maximum security prison, the Judge said with a smirk that the case could be re-examined after half the sentence was served. Clarice never gave evidence, under the excuse that after the ordeal with the accused, it couldn't be given in an impartial manner. The jury assumed it meant that she could never see him in any light but that of a killer.
We know they were wrong.
Clarice Starling knew that she had only one chance at this. Her plan was shaky at best, and utter foolishness at worst; after he was placed in the cell at Elder wood, her chance would be gone. Bound, gagged and sedated, she watched as the doctor was loaded into the back of the unlabed van that would take him to the Institution. Waiting for the press to clear, she made her way through the crowd to the driver of the van, and motioned for him to lower the window.
"Sorry, Lady, no comment." He said, his voice rasping like nails on a chalkboard. Leaning in closer, she flashed him a glance of her badge, pinned to the inside of her navy blue blazer. "I'm coming with you to the Penitentiary, I want to make sure that he gets there, I want to see him locked in that cell." She hissed back at him, her voice a near-perfect rendition of anger. The driver was unfortunately none too bright, and he just shrugged. "Whatever, Lady, just get in, might be nice to have some, company for the road." He added with a lewd wink.
Starling kept her head down until they were far clear of the media. Her chest felt tight as she watched the city fade away behind them, giving way to tall trees and underbrush. She waited, her nerves on edge until they were far away from anything, then, drawing a small knife from her sleeve, she aimed her hand and drove it into his neck, viciously severing a major artery. Blood spurted from the wound in a cherry-red fountain. Starling hit the brake and tossed the corpse out the door, rolling him down a small incline and into the overgrown bushes at the bottom. Wiping of her leather gloves on a large leaf, she reached into her handbag and removed a license plate that she had taken from the Evidence Locker in the FBI basement, and a small set of tools. They were the type that you usually see under the seat of a car, for mid-trip repairs. Once the switch was made, she hopped into the driver's seat, (silent glad that most of the blood had ended up in the rear of the van) ad drove off toward the state line like a maniac, taking the back roads that she knew so well.
She had been driving for a long time, crossed two states and was deep in the rural country when she heard Dr. Lecter begin to stir. Pulling off the shoulder of the road, she hopped into the back of the van, knife drawn, just in case. Removing the gag was easy, and she had no intention of unbinding him, so she made herself comfortable as she could, and waited for him to fully come around.
It didn't take long. "Feeling alright, Doctor?" she asked, making sure her knife was visible. "A little confused, Agent Starling, I must admit." He said, watching her, "The simple fact that I am here, and you are here, and I see no sign of the driver, leads me to believe that I'm missing some vital pieces of information."
"Your free, Dr. Lecter." She stated simply, he tested his bonds, and found them tight.
"I find that a little ironic, Clarice. I'll assume that our driver will not be talking to anyone, anytime soon?"
"Ever, Dr. Lecter, he won't be talking to anyone anymore." He looked her up and down, taking in the blood on her clothes and the knife in her hand. "My thanks, now, would you mind removing these bonds?"
"Not until I have your word that you won't try to kill me, Doctor." She eyed him levelly.
"You have my word." He replied without missing a beat.
Moving over to him side, she cut the leather straps that held him in place, on to discover that the drugs hadn't completely worn off. Helping him to sit, she then moved to the other side of the vehicle as quickly as she could. "What do you pan to do now, Clarice? You can hardly return to your job at the FBI." He still said FBI with mocking sarcasm.
"I'm not sure, Dr. Lecter. But I couldn't let you rot there, I may have wanted your life, but not your freedom."
"Questioning your decision, Clarice?"
"No, just trying to decide what to do with you."
"Your fate is to bring around my fall, I think you've accepted that." Then it came to her, it might have been a touch of madness, but it didn't matter. "Maybe not your fall, Doctor, just the fall of your current life."
"My current life, Clarice? And what is that?"
"Would you ever try and hurt me, Doctor?" He shook his head, crossing his legs straight out in front of him. "Not intentionally, I assure you."
"Does anything scare you?" she asked seriously, and he tilted his head to the side, intrigued by this line of questioning.
"Your goodness frightens me, Clarice. How I feel right now frightens me,"
"And how is that, Doctor? How do you feel right now?" she could feel her heart beat speed up a bit. He said nothing, just raised a hand and motioned her to come closer. Cautiously, she moved closer. "Closer, now." He said steadily, she moved nearer to him. When she was close enough to touch, he reached out and held her face gently in his hands. "How could any man be so close and not be moved by you, Clarice? The picture of you in my mind has kept me close to the edge of danger, the desire to be closer to you has tormented me. You are both a my salvation, and damnation in such a beautiful wrapper, I never could resist." As he spoke, he drew her closer to him, eyes locked with hers, she never resisted, compelled. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing out the plastic cuff-strips hung on her belt, and snapped her hands together behind her back before she could react.
Her eyes went wide, and she couldn't speak, terror gripped her. Clarice watched as he reached into the bag of sedatives that the court doctor had left 'just in case'. Drawing out the finest needle he could find, he looked up at her. "Now, don't look at me like that. I know this might seem terribly drastic, but I assure you, I will not hurt you." Her legs felt weak as he turned her foot, and slid the needle into her calf. It was a slight sting, but nothing more. Sleep was almost instant.
Kept sedated for a long period of time, when Clarice awoke, she was in a very different place. The ceiling was high, the support beams visible, and carved with leaves and vines. She could feel that she was lying on something soft, a bed or couch, she supposed, her head was a little foggy. She lay still for a long time, allowing her memory and head to clear. Testing her feet, she found that they moved quite easily, though her hands were still tightly bound. It took a few minutes to prop herself into a sitting position, but when she did, she could see that she was not alone in the room.
Her stomach clenched tightly, a mixture of fear and anxiety as she could see Dr. Lecter watching her silently. "Good morning, Clarice." He said in a low voice.
"Good morning." She replied instinctively. He walked over to her, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "Clarice, if I untie your hands, do you promise not to run away?" She nodded. "Good girl," and he cut the ties that held her. Clarice quelled her urge to run, and just watched him very carefully as he sat down at the edge of the bed, drawing her arms out straight. "Does it hurt?" he asked, face neutral. It didn't, and she told him so.
Inside, he flinched at the betrayal in her eyes, none of it showed on his face. It had hurt him to have to take such measures, but he had rationalized it in his own mind, and now set about repairing the damage. "I apologize again, though you have every right to feel angry."
"I'm not angry, Dr. Lecter. Are we safe here?" He could barely contain the joy that her words gave him. "We are as safe here as anywhere." She nodded, biting her lower lip to hold back her tears.
"May I?" he asked, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at her, he didn't wait for a response. Just took her in his arms and held her tightly, as he had wanted to do for a very long time, and his heart nearly burst with relief and bliss as she tucked herself in closer to him, curling her legs beside her with a sweet sigh. They sat like that for a long time. He breathed immersed his senses in the sight sound and smell of her, has he had dreamed of for so long.
Suddenly, as such thoughts are, Clarice began to quiver a bit with restrained laughter. "What do you find so humorous?" he asked, muffled a little by her hair.
"If your were to kill me, how would you do it?" He drew back a little, and gave her a hard look, "I would eat you alive." He replied, unruffled by the question. Her eyes went wide, "You've thought about it." She stated, a little surprised.
"Many times," he admitted, his voice like a caress, 'I have dreamed of consuming you." She stared back at him, strangely unafraid. "And how would you begin?" He locked his eyes with hers, the heat in them unmistakable. He never said another word, but pulled her against him and crushed his lips to hers, deep and searching. "Like this.." he murmured against her neck after a long moment that left her gasping for breath. "Do you think I would scream?" she asked as his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her close again. "Oh yes.." he breathed against her lips.
A pair of porters passed by the room a short while later, smirking as one soft scream was audible (though muffled) from inside the room. Chuckling, they carried on with their duties. You see, screams of pain stab to the soul.
These did not.
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Hehehe... I had fun with this piece. It's a little bit of role-reversal, but still, I like how it turned out.
Reviews are appreciated.