1Clarice stared at the brick walls surrounding her. Her gaze brushed the wide mirror/window and came to rest on the squat man in front of her. He wasn't fat, in fact he was quite well built. He was FBI standard. She recognized the interrogation tactic he was using, trying to be nice then becoming scary all at once. It was meant to unnerve her. She was almost to the point of laughing.
"Clarice, we know that he took you, but you don't need any loyalty to that monster. He kidnaped and raped you. Why are you protecting him?" Clarice sighed and delicately removed her hands from their place folded in her lap. She placed them on the tabel and stood leaning foreward into the man. She towered over his seated form.
"Hannibal Lector did nothing to me I did not consent to completely. I apologize for the confusion, but I am not going to tell you where his money is because I don't know. He didn't tell me for precisely this reason. I have done nothing wrong and you cannot hold me here." She stood to leave. There were guards at the door, but she brushed past them like gingerbread men. Crumble the world. The interrogator saw the trail of her gown last before she was gone.
"Damn." He ran his fingers through his hair.
Clarice walked a few blocks from the FBI headquarters before waiving down a taxi. She went to a hotel, not in the mood to listen to Ardelia give her the same speech the man just had. It wasn't raining like she felt it should have been. It was muggy and hot. The sun was teasing her, break down, only the whole world will see you. Clarice straightened her back to the imaginary challenge and marched regally to her room. She went to take a shower, hoping to burn off some of the pain that she knew was just below the surface, but she ran right into a bath robe like the one he had been wearing when he proposed.
She had been taken by surprise, but he told her he wanted her off guard so that her answer would be what she really felt. Thinking back it seemed a hell of a lot more like him than it had at the time. She fled the bathroom chased by his face. It was carved onto her eye lids.
Clarice fell onto the bed. No no nononononononononono!
Hannibal and Clarice are walking through a crowded street in Morocco. Suddenly a woman screams and the air is full of bullets. Clarice turns to Hannibal for her next move and he is laying on the ground with blood pooling on the ground under him. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around him. He is smiling as he dies.
"Clarice remember the plan. Remember." And then he's gone. Clarice stands slowly to find an American standing behind her.
"Clarice Starling?" She turns to find Ardelia Mapp standing behind her.
"Holy shit Starling it's really you. I thought you were dead for sure. What the fuck are you doing with this freak?" Starling's eyes turn hard.
"That, is my husband you are so kindly referring to."
"Well shit." Mapp sighs. The men with her seem starlted, but they recognize Clarice's name. Clarice flies back to America with Ardelia because she knows Hannibal would want her to play innocent.
"If they think you have been brain washed they won't blame you for anything. They would like to believe whole heartedly that I am the evil in the world. If you help them accomplish that belief they will love you."
Clarice dries her eyes and sits on the bed. She feels hollow. She pulls Hannibal's harpy out of her pocket and begins to flick it open and closed. She stares at the metal as it glints wickedly in the dimly lit room. She remembers what Aredelia said to her on the plane ride back to the states.
"Damnitt Starling he turn your crank or somethin'?" Starling had just stared at the woman.
Now she stared at the metal. It was beautiful. She knew what Hannibal would say right now. He would say that she was being stupid and weak. He would mock her for her pain. She knew he would. A few days ago she would have been mocking herself. Hannibal was dead though. Killed by a stray bullet. Out with a whisper, not the bang she had always imagined he would want.
She sighed and clicked the knife closed. She curled up on the bed and went to sleep. It was pointless to think about. Clarice knew she wasn't going to kill herself. At least not tonight. The next few years were hell. She went through rehabilitation with the FBI. She got a job pushing paper in a lower department of the FBI then she had ever imagined herself. She even went out on dates sometimes. First dates.
She died at the age of 80 with no children or family to speak of. When she died her things went to the state. She was found with a harpy in her pocket. Unfortunately by the time they found it no one in the FBI was left to remember who the harpy had belonged to. Clarice had counted on that. Her headstone said "Clarice Lector. Out with a whisper." No one ever figured out what it meant.