Mist. A deep grey fog rolled over the parking lot, threading in between the cars parked there. Clarice sat in the driver's seat of her grey van. She was resting, to the casual observer, her head tilted back, eyes closed. She appeared carefree.
Clarice was not carefree at all. She had to go see Dr. Lector again, to find clues about Buffalo Bill. Dr. Lector was a puppeteer, and her, the unwilling puppet. He was toying with her, that much she knew. He certainly seemed to enjoy putting her in positions she wanted nothing more than to run from.
She was wasting time, sitting in the driver's seat. She had to go in soon, that much was certain, to deliver this package of papers. This package of lies. An island for Hannibal Lector? A joke certainly made in bad humour, but would he detect it? More importantly, could she really afford to waste this time with that poor girl, Catherine, in Buffalo Bill's captivity? It would not be fair to her if Clarice wasted any more time.
It was that thought that finally made Clarice open the door and step out, out into the mist. She strode up to the security room, not needing to show ID to see the doctor. Who else would ever go see such a madman?
Keeping carefully away from the other cells, ignoring their calls and whines, she made her way down the hallway. Dr. Lector was sitting in his cell, whistling whimsically to what sounded like a very classy tune. His eyes were closed, and though Clarice tried to stay silent, he addressed her as soon as she sat.
"Ah... Clarice. Welcome back."