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Just as a forethought...this is set to take place after the movie Hannibal, but not the book. The book already has an ending; a very appropriate, articulate one...the movie, however, was just too open-ended and tempting to add to.
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I would like to note that I have made some minor grammatical and lingual revisions...both those mentioned to me by reveiwers and those glaring errors that I have only just noticed and cannot see soon enough without the aid of a spellchecker. (Damn WordPad documents.) I must also add that I'm flattered that you were reading so closely as to notice the spelling mistakes.
Also, I have been having some truly hellish difficulties with the site allowing me to upload. My apologies and thanks to those of you so gracious as to point out the mixed chapters...I'm working on getting them straightened out...hopefully soon! Please let me know if there are any problems...!
And so...
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CHAPTER 1
The echoes rose and fell and then diminished as the various gaurds and custodians came and went through the lower corridors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, finishing their evening rounds. In the last cell, Clarice Starling sits with her back to the cold wall, with the bars to her right. Her breath is as steady and slow as though she were sleeping, and her face is cold and empty. She is reading a well-worn copy of Voltaire's Candide.
She knows the story well, yet she would appear to be completely engrossed. And when Fredrick Chilton comes merrily down the hallway, she can smell the foul cologne in which he apparently bathes even before she hears the swaggering gait of his graceless step. She shows no sign of hearing him.
"I've been informed," he began pompously, pausing for emphasis, apparently, although he achieved little more than sounding rather like a schoolboy with a dirty rumour that he was just dying to spread along, "that you have not been behaving yourself, Miss Starling. I don't think that you appreciate where you are...and why." He stood back on his heels before going on, hands behind his back as he paced in front of her cell. She had stood by this point, and was smiling at him dimly, with her head tilted to the left.
He stopped to glance lewdly at her shapely form, scarcely disguised by the drab prison jumpsuit. She noted this quietly. He went on. "You haven't been injustly confined, Miss Starling, in fact, this proves exactly what I've always belived; that law is a man's job." He smirked self-contently. She smiled at him, thinking that the statement of gender fairly much ruled himself out as well.
Chilton smiled at her patronizingly. "I don't suppose that you're going to tell me why you did what you did to that unfortunate gentleman, now are you?" He blinked altogether too frequently when he spoke, Clarice noticed. She kept looking at him, hoping that he would draw his own conclusions.
Chilton went on, apparently speaking rhetorically, or at least for his own benefit, which he did most of the time anyway.
"A rancher, wasn't he...? Oh yes, he had quite a business. Very popular amoungst the town's grocers, I belive...his products were always fresh and he sold them for a modest price." Had Fredrick Chilton been even fractionally less dense than he was, he might have seen her right cheek flutter and her teeth clench at the word "products". The gentleman in question had slaughtered pigs and sheep, mostly the young, and had a profitable business selling the animals to butchers in the area. The meat was tender because he kept his livestock quite away from the outside world, in safe, horrid little pens.
And when she had gone to investigate the ranch, on request by the humane society, on the charges of poor treatment of livestock, the man had been most unplesent with her, first treating her flippantly as though she were a young child, then denying all charges and threatening her bombastically before finally attempting to "beat some respect for her betters into her meddling hide". She had killed him then, in self-defense, and slit him from crotch to chin with a filet knife that she had found in the drawer. To her displeasure, the knife had been obviously in desperate need of a whetstone and was somewhat dull.
But she had managed to remove his heart; and she packed it neatly in butcher paper and put it in with his meatstocks in the store freezer to be shipped to the butchers the next day.
She refused to disclose it's location; and she was convicted of murder in the third degree, with some lovely little mutilation charges tacked on...
Chilton was wrapping up his lecture. "...nothing that I wouldn't expect from a woman hard-headed enough to converse with Hannibal Lector. Probably unstable to begin with..." at this he gave her a cloylingly sympathetic look "...so who could blame you for cracking, ay?"
His signature ineloquence was faintly amusing, and Clarice Starling could not resist a tiny prod at his bloated self-confidence. Her voice was low when she spoke at last. "Are you going to tell me to what I owe the honour of this visit, Dr. Chilton? I can't imagine that you so often have the time to visit personally with your...patients." Her tone was only slightly mocking.
A sudden frown gave away his annoyance. "I assure you, Starling, that I am not here merely for pleasure." Another leer at her legs. "Someone's been asking about you; apparently interested in researching female psychosis. I do hope that you won't embarress me or my establishment..." He trailed off, and she waited patiently, stepping a little closer. "Why, certainly, Dr. Chilton, sir, I'd be happy to help you improve your appearence!" So perfect was her inclination that he nearly missed the pointed sarcasm.
He, too, stepped closer, and she picked up the scent of his lunch on his breath: roast beef. He did not brush his teeth regularly; bits of food were caught between them. "Don't you mock me..." he warned. She stepped back, nodded her head courteously, and folded her fingers in front of her. Fredrick Chilton puffed himself up like a toad and went down the hall after informing her to wait for her visitor. She was to be ready within the hour.
Just as a forethought...this is set to take place after the movie Hannibal, but not the book. The book already has an ending; a very appropriate, articulate one...the movie, however, was just too open-ended and tempting to add to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I would like to note that I have made some minor grammatical and lingual revisions...both those mentioned to me by reveiwers and those glaring errors that I have only just noticed and cannot see soon enough without the aid of a spellchecker. (Damn WordPad documents.) I must also add that I'm flattered that you were reading so closely as to notice the spelling mistakes.
Also, I have been having some truly hellish difficulties with the site allowing me to upload. My apologies and thanks to those of you so gracious as to point out the mixed chapters...I'm working on getting them straightened out...hopefully soon! Please let me know if there are any problems...!
And so...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 1
The echoes rose and fell and then diminished as the various gaurds and custodians came and went through the lower corridors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, finishing their evening rounds. In the last cell, Clarice Starling sits with her back to the cold wall, with the bars to her right. Her breath is as steady and slow as though she were sleeping, and her face is cold and empty. She is reading a well-worn copy of Voltaire's Candide.
She knows the story well, yet she would appear to be completely engrossed. And when Fredrick Chilton comes merrily down the hallway, she can smell the foul cologne in which he apparently bathes even before she hears the swaggering gait of his graceless step. She shows no sign of hearing him.
"I've been informed," he began pompously, pausing for emphasis, apparently, although he achieved little more than sounding rather like a schoolboy with a dirty rumour that he was just dying to spread along, "that you have not been behaving yourself, Miss Starling. I don't think that you appreciate where you are...and why." He stood back on his heels before going on, hands behind his back as he paced in front of her cell. She had stood by this point, and was smiling at him dimly, with her head tilted to the left.
He stopped to glance lewdly at her shapely form, scarcely disguised by the drab prison jumpsuit. She noted this quietly. He went on. "You haven't been injustly confined, Miss Starling, in fact, this proves exactly what I've always belived; that law is a man's job." He smirked self-contently. She smiled at him, thinking that the statement of gender fairly much ruled himself out as well.
Chilton smiled at her patronizingly. "I don't suppose that you're going to tell me why you did what you did to that unfortunate gentleman, now are you?" He blinked altogether too frequently when he spoke, Clarice noticed. She kept looking at him, hoping that he would draw his own conclusions.
Chilton went on, apparently speaking rhetorically, or at least for his own benefit, which he did most of the time anyway.
"A rancher, wasn't he...? Oh yes, he had quite a business. Very popular amoungst the town's grocers, I belive...his products were always fresh and he sold them for a modest price." Had Fredrick Chilton been even fractionally less dense than he was, he might have seen her right cheek flutter and her teeth clench at the word "products". The gentleman in question had slaughtered pigs and sheep, mostly the young, and had a profitable business selling the animals to butchers in the area. The meat was tender because he kept his livestock quite away from the outside world, in safe, horrid little pens.
And when she had gone to investigate the ranch, on request by the humane society, on the charges of poor treatment of livestock, the man had been most unplesent with her, first treating her flippantly as though she were a young child, then denying all charges and threatening her bombastically before finally attempting to "beat some respect for her betters into her meddling hide". She had killed him then, in self-defense, and slit him from crotch to chin with a filet knife that she had found in the drawer. To her displeasure, the knife had been obviously in desperate need of a whetstone and was somewhat dull.
But she had managed to remove his heart; and she packed it neatly in butcher paper and put it in with his meatstocks in the store freezer to be shipped to the butchers the next day.
She refused to disclose it's location; and she was convicted of murder in the third degree, with some lovely little mutilation charges tacked on...
Chilton was wrapping up his lecture. "...nothing that I wouldn't expect from a woman hard-headed enough to converse with Hannibal Lector. Probably unstable to begin with..." at this he gave her a cloylingly sympathetic look "...so who could blame you for cracking, ay?"
His signature ineloquence was faintly amusing, and Clarice Starling could not resist a tiny prod at his bloated self-confidence. Her voice was low when she spoke at last. "Are you going to tell me to what I owe the honour of this visit, Dr. Chilton? I can't imagine that you so often have the time to visit personally with your...patients." Her tone was only slightly mocking.
A sudden frown gave away his annoyance. "I assure you, Starling, that I am not here merely for pleasure." Another leer at her legs. "Someone's been asking about you; apparently interested in researching female psychosis. I do hope that you won't embarress me or my establishment..." He trailed off, and she waited patiently, stepping a little closer. "Why, certainly, Dr. Chilton, sir, I'd be happy to help you improve your appearence!" So perfect was her inclination that he nearly missed the pointed sarcasm.
He, too, stepped closer, and she picked up the scent of his lunch on his breath: roast beef. He did not brush his teeth regularly; bits of food were caught between them. "Don't you mock me..." he warned. She stepped back, nodded her head courteously, and folded her fingers in front of her. Fredrick Chilton puffed himself up like a toad and went down the hall after informing her to wait for her visitor. She was to be ready within the hour.