Conspiracy

"Hey Clarice!" Richard Derrington was back down in 'Hannibal's House', looking for her.

"Mmm?" Her head emerged from under a desk where she'd dropped several tapes. "What?"

"You got a shit load of mail here. And Noonan wants to see you up in his office."

What does that slimy little fuck want now? "Okay. I'll be up in a few seconds." She got up, dusting her cargos off and walking up to where natural daylight lay. She was up at Noonan's office within a few minutes, and she knocked on the door.

"Come in." She entered, to see Pearsall, Noonan and two other men she didn't know. "Starling." Noonan said. "Sit down."

She pulled up a chair and sat. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. Agent Pearsall, Agent Prescott and Mr Tripp, as well as myself want to ask you want happened during the eight weeks you were absent from work."

"Everything?"

"Blow-by-boring-blow." Pearsall said. She felt his gaze bore into her. It was common knowledge that the two hated each other. Pearsall thought she was incredibly cocky, Starling thought his parents made the mistake of not wearing a condom.

"Well, the last time I was here, I'd been here for a few extra hours and decided to go home. So I got in my car and drove off home, but I fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into another car."

"What happened to the other driver?" Mr Tripp asked.

"I'm not sure, but the nurses told me that he was the one who pulled me out of my car before it blew up, so I'm sure he's fine." Mr Tripp nodded and Starling went on. "I was unconscious for a few days before I woke up in the hospital-"

"Which hospital?" Pearsall asked.

"St Margaret's." Starling said, glaring at him. It was clear he didn't believe her. "A couple of days after I'd woken up, my sister came to collect me. How she found out about the accident, I don't know, but she came and took me back to her place." The lie was working well, so far.

"Why didn't you return sooner?" Sneered Pearsall.

"I had temporary amnesia, Sir. I also had a broken arm and a broken leg. Would you like proof of that, too?" "If you wouldn't mind." Oh I mind, you slimy fuck-wit.

She pulled up the leg of her cargos, to show proof of her broken leg. Then she showed him her arm. Once he seemed satisfied, she continued. "I recovered my memory only four days ago. And I needed time to gather my wits. That's why I only returned yesterday."

"Thank you, Starling." Noonan said, glancing at Pearsall to shut up his next comment. "You may go."

"Thank you sir." Starling got up and left. Agent Prescott looked at each of the men in turn.

"That suits me." He said, plainly. Mr Tripp nodded.

"Her story is quite believable. And she has the 'battle scars' to prove it."

Noonan turned to Pearsall. "Look, I know you don't like her, but just let it go, this once."

Pearsall glared at him and stormed from the room.

A few hours later, Clarice sat at her desk, staring into space. She couldn't work. She couldn't think. She felt so lonely. She looked around the room, dark and shadowy, illuminated only by a flickering computer screen and a few light panels. The only sounds were the gentle hum of the computer and her own heartbeat.

She propped her feet up on a table and chewed the end of her pencil. Her mind wandered to the house where she'd lived for eight weeks of her life. She remembered the plush carpet, causing feet to make no noise when walked upon. The simple, but elegant furnishings of the house. The furnishings that matched the man. His maroon eyes, the faint scar on his right hand, the familiarly comforting metallic rasp of his voice.

See, I told you...

Don't you ever shut up?

Uh, knock-knock, Clarice. This is your subconscious talking. So, the answer is no.

Then what do you want?

I want you to get your ass back to 'Dr Lecter' and tell him what your real feelings are.

But-

No buts about it, Starling. Get off your lazy ass and go back there. Pearsall will be curious about why I'm leaving early.

Who cares what that little fuck-wit thinks? He's a slimy little bastard. Remind you of anyone?

...Chilton.

Yah. And look what happened to him.

She remembered the article splashed across the front page of the National Tattler. 'Dr Fredrick Chilton, found dead in Beanos Ares.' Or what was left of him was found dead. She chuckled inwardly. At the time, she'd been horrified. Now that she looked back, she laughed at what Dr Lecter had said.

I'm having an old friend for dinner.

That was true in a whole new way. She closed her eyes for a minute, before opening them and staring straight into Pearsall's eyes.

"You're story may have fooled the others, Starling. But it doesn't fool me."

"What about my story is so unbelievable, sir?" Clarice raised an eyebrow curtly.

"The fact that I don't like you."

"Hardly grounds to accuse me of lying, Sir." Clarice said, standing up. "Excuse me. I'm going on lunch. Or do I need special permission to do that?"

"Just remember, Starling. I'll be watching you." Pearsall's eyes glinted in the dim light as he went back upstairs. Clarice rolled her eyes and held up her middle finger in the direction that Pearsall had left. She then grabbed the spare money she kept in a drawer, hidden under piles of paper and other stationary, and went upstairs and out on the street to go and buy some lunch.

She walked down the street, looking at the sights around her. Tall trees, taller buildings. She entered a coffee shop and bought a coffee and a sandwich. Sitting out on the balcony that stretched around the front and sides of the shop, she cautiously looked about.

Seeing no one who looked remotely suspicious, she ate her sandwich slowly, watching all the time. If she knew one thing, Pearsall would have men tailing her within seconds of his threat.

She finished her sandwich and took the paper cup that had her coffee in it, before coming down the stairs and cruising down the street, looking at odds and ends stalls.