Disclaimer: All belongs to Thomas Harris.

Daylight Dies ch. 10

The sour stench of fear was strong in the brick shed when Starling hauled the door open. She wrinkled her nose, scenting urine and despair. Her flashlight picked out the Director, strapped upright to his sack-truck. His eyes snapped open, pupils dilated, and he quivered with terror.

'Good evening, Director,' she said, smoothly and deliberately imitating the tone and mannerisms of Hannibal Lecter. The effect was not lost on Noonan, and his next quiver was accompanied by a series of whimpers from behind his duct-tape gag. She ignored the pitiable attempt at communication and seized the handles of the truck, spinning him around to wheel him out of the door. 'Now that you have rested, I think it is high time we had a little chat, don't you?'

Her elegant heels clicked on the yard's dirty bricks-and-concrete as she pushed Noonan's conveyance towards the cottage. Muffled sounds could almost have been words, but she tuned them out, humming under her breath. He tried to turn his head from side to side, but the tightness of his bonds prevented movement. She turned him around at the door and backed him up the step and into the dim hallway. The last thing the Director saw of the outside world was the mongrel tabby, belly to the ground, stalking a small creature across the yard.

She stood the sack-truck upright in the main room, giving Noonan an excellent view of the barbeque with its glowing coals, and the tools laid out on a small table, then stood back to study him.

He strained against his bonds, a flabby and sweaty creature, his plump face pale and blotchy, like badly-mixed raspberry ice-cream. Starling had never got more than a distant glimpse of her boss while still an agent. He moved in a higher circle of golfing buddies, smugly wealthy dinner parties and political pals, while she was crammed in the back of a van with the tech guys on surveillance ops, or getting shot at by drug-smugglers.

The Director struggled, but the tape held him fast. His dark eyes bulged as they flicked between the barbeque and the various items on the table, and she could now see that he had definitely befouled himself at some point in the day. The smell of stale urine was really quite unpleasant.

She studied him, and found him contemptible. While she – and other, good, agents were putting their lives at risk for the people they served, he and others like him were political animals, who had the right friends, the right handshakes, the correct ties and membership of the proper clubs. And for all of that, he was here now, just a terrified fat man in an expensive suit, totally at her mercy.

And her mercy was a commodity in very short supply these days.

Starling took her time, settling gracefully in a chair opposite him. She placed his gun and badge on the table, beside her knives and other tools. The smoky scent of hot charcoal filled the room, almost overriding the odours emanating from her guest. When she was comfortable, she looked up and met his gaze. He kept his eyes fixed on her, carefully not looking at the table or the hot grill.

'You know, sir, I have been looking forward to this since Buenos Aires. It was easier than I would have thought to get hold of you. You really didn't think that there would be consequences, did you, if one of us was left alive?' She cocked her head slightly, icy eyes boring into his. 'Or did you not think that I posed a threat? That he was the predator and that I was merely prey?'

Starling chuckled, a sound without any amusement whatsoever. 'I'll bet you have a stack of reports somewhere in your office that talk about Stockholm syndrome, or abusive relationships. Did your experts consider drugs? Hypnotism? Or just a good, old-fashioned oubliette in the basement?'

Noonan made a variety of muffled sounds. His face was slick with sweat.

'All of those reports would be wrong. I am – I was – exactly where I wanted to be.' Her expression darkened. 'I was his and he...' It was hard to speak, hard to say it to this creature, this pathetic thing before her. She might as well be explaining herself to a slug.

Nevertheless, Starling gritted her teeth and leaned forward. She did not see the fierce pride and hurt in her own eyes, but Noonan did. 'He was mine.'

Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'And you took him away from me.'

Noonan was silent, his eyes huge. Was there comprehension there? She didn't know if he was even capable of understanding her. There were all those years of office jokes, of sly looks and the uncomfortable laughter when they thought she couldn't hear. All those articles in the Tattler, all the embarrassment the Bureau so abhorred...

'I don't expect that you understand.' Starling smiled at him, and he swallowed hard. 'Hence your current – predicament. If you really knew anything about me at all, you would have had your sniper blow my brains out through the back of my skull before Hannibal had even hit the floor.'

She rose to her feet, and the Director visibly cringed. Turning away from the sorry sight, Starling faced the fireplace and held her hands out to warm them.

Noonan's breathing was wet and harsh as he struggled for air his gag would not allow him, but it seemed to Starling that she could hear the breathing of another, warm and familiar at her side.

'Disappointed in him, my love?'

'Yes,' she murmured. 'But hardly surprised. What was it you said? Separated from the herd?'

'Mmm. But this one is hardly a runt unlikely to be missed, is it my dear? The dogs will be out looking for their strayed one by now.'

'Then I suppose we'd better move along to the next part of the performance.'

She could almost feel his hand resting against the small of her back, the warmth of his body as he leaned in close to her. Almost.

'That's my girl.'

She smiled at that. 'Always.'

When Starling turned around to face the Director again, her eyes were bright. 'I have been reminded that time may be of the essence, so I think we'll get started.'

She moved to the table, and picked up his badge. It was much the same as hers had been once, when such things had held real meaning for her. She used one of the smaller knives to prise the shield from its casing, and dropped the metal onto the hot grill. It clinked as it settled, and Noonan's eyes bulged in panic.

In the shadowed garden, Clarice Starling stood by the pool, gazing into the reflected storm. Of all the stars, only Orion remained in the inky sky. She felt that it was time, although that was meaningless here.

Without even really looking she knew she was stalked like prey. Darkness oozed beneath the trees; figures pacing beyond her sight.

But eventually, they stalked into the garden – all save those who declined to cross the stream. They held at the black water, watching.

She was fluid in her anger, raging forwards and tearing the tape from his mouth. He screamed, high and loud.

Noonan gasped for air, throwing his head back against the restraints. He breathed, and she let him. Eventually, he steadied.

Starling watched him, intent as a leopard.

Crawford tipped his head back and downed the Alka-Seltzer. He set the cup on the desk and took his time settling in his chair.

'Mr Crawford...'

'We've spoken about this before. This is your fight.' He studied her closely, and yet seemed grey.

She glanced at the other chair, stacked with books. He shook his head.

'You feel what you are. You always have. Keep it close.'

She knuckled her fists and leaned forwards across his desk.

'Jack.'

He shook his head again. 'Remember to be brave. And you should know one thing.'

She stiffened. 'Tell me.'

'We agree on a certain point of interest.'

'Jack.' This was a growl.

He smiled sadly. 'Live.'

She left, closing the door behind her.

There was the gorgeous sensation of fingertips cascading down her arms, tracing the muscles and lingering warmly in the passing. The trail of hot fingers and the sharp sting that followed. Hannibal and the light.

Noonan was watching her, wary. She felt unclean under his gaze.

'Do you know who I am?' Starling elected to keep her distance despite the question.

'Yes.' He was hoarse, even rusty. But there was little power in his voice.

Starling prowled forwards like the shadows beneath the trees. 'Then you know why you're here?'

'Because you wanted me to be.' He watched her, and his eyes were intelligent.

'You engineered this.' She flicked a hand out to indicate the dusty room. 'This is your design.'

'Clarice.' He seemed gentle, even understanding.

The dark beneath the trees was not a place to dwell. She kept to the bronze-lit clearing, pacing. Orion hunted across the sky, trailed by storms. She was still shadowed by the shapes beyond the stream.

'You didn't think this would happen?' Krendler was the first to step across. 'What did you expect?'

He was the first to be dismissed. The crossbow hummed and he faded; merely smoke and air.

'I didn't expect anything,' she snapped, and the Director flinched in surprise. 'That's where you're all wrong. You think this was the plan?'

She could see the cold fear in his eyes, and the rapid recalculation.

'It was... It just... ' She grimaced, angry with herself and him. 'Is nothing like what you think.'

'Then what is it, Agent Starling?' He was too kind, too soft. Greasy.

'Too damn complicated for you.' She was at him now, close and tense. 'I never wanted him.' She paused and then withdrew. 'He wanted me, and I needed life in my veins again. I needed him.'

'You were part of his fantasy.'

Her smile glittered. 'Perhaps it is more truthful to say that he was part of mine.'

The Director took a deep breath. 'Agent Starling – '

'Don't call me that.' She was quick to interrupt. 'Because I'm not. That part of me...' She trailed off. 'Do you know what I did to Paul Krendler?'

'We don't ever set a place for pity when we eat. Do you feel sorry for the pig?'

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

'You know perfectly well that I'm dead,' he chided.

'So?'

'You're mine, little Starling. And you're so much more than that.'

She couldn't help but smile. 'Elucidating as always.'

'I'm not going to go, you know.'

'I don't want you to.'

She turned from the white pool and studied the night. It was alive with threat.

'Clarice.' He took a deep breath, dark eyes intent. 'Clarice, talk to me.'

She was back at herself again with a shiver. 'Why in seven Hells would I want to do that?'

'Because I want to understand. Don't you want that?'

Starling laughed, entirely unamused, 'Clumsy, sir.'

He was pale. 'I don't know – '

'Yes you do.' She cut him cold. 'If you must know, I loved him very much and now he's gone and I'm empty of everything but ghosts.' She paused. 'Do you understand how that feels?'

A hand on her cheek, tilting her face up to his. Warm lips on hers, an arm twining round her waist, a snare... She quivered under his touch.

'Little Starling.' His voice was fond.

She dug him in the ribs. 'Don't patronise me.'

A chuckle. 'You shouldn't play with your food.'

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. 'Disgusting.'

'Do something for me.' His fingertips traced the line of her jaw, and then he pulled her close. The sting was normal.

'Name it.'

'Remember your kindnesses.'

'No I don't understand,' the Director said. 'But...' He met her gaze solidly, yet his oily pallor betrayed him. 'I would like to.'