Hannibal- 10
The characters are not my own. That honor belongs to Thomas Harris
10
"Dr. Melissa Hughes, 41, Veterinarian Technician for the Chesapeake Zoo, had been splayed like a marionette doll." According to The Tattler's latest headlines. Another victim of the 'Chesapeake Butcher'.
Interesting.
The newspaper delivered just this morning had been handled by a jelly-donut eating twerp. Dr. Abel Gideon threw the paper down in disgust and jolted at the specter before him. Who had seemingly appeared from the cave-like walls of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
Though, his visitor was a bit zealous, he appreciated the soothing company. Visitors were few and far between. Most didn't possess an IQ higher than 110. It wasn't every day that a conversation with the man who introduced him to fine cuisine stood before him.
"You still own that awful fedora?" Abel taunted through the bars.
Dr. Lecter quirked his white fedora hat and took in the view.
The cell held 2 barriers; the first barrier, iron bars. The second barrier, stout nylon netting from floor to ceiling. The table, chair, and twin bed were each fastened to the floor with bolts. And a pass-through drawer to send food and documents to the inmate. Not to mention, a camera in the top corner. Watching Abel's every move. His daily bowel movements.
"No hockey mask today, Dr. Gideon?"
Abel chuckled and leaned his elbow on the heavy table. "They reserve that only for the most special occasions like showers, fake heart attacks, and murder confessions. They move me on a wheel-dolly, fasten my arms, legs, and shoulders back and then place the mask on." He sighed dramatically.
"You've begun confessing for sins you haven't committed." Lecter tisked.
The 'Chesapeake Butcher', of course.
The Director of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane had been most surprised at his confession.
"My, my. Right to the point this morning, Doctor." Abel looked a bit more closely at Lecter. He was bright eyed, agitated. "You didn't even bother checking with how the patient is feeling this morning or my favorite one… how does that make you feel?" Abel suddenly bellowed. "I'll tell you how that makes me FEEL!"
Lecter didn't flinch at his outburst.
A beat.
"How is dear ole Frederick? Have you been passing him my letters? They only allow contact to you or my attorney using butcher block paper and felt tipped pens." He paused as he remembered how neglectful Frederick was as a therapist. How he had a keen eye for Abel's wife. "What was I to do when Frederick neglected his duties? When he put his nasty hands on my angel! What was I to do?!" Abel slammed his hands on the table and calmed almost instantly. "She had to die. So did Frederick."
"But he is not dead, Dr. Gideon and neither is Mason."
Oh yes, Abel pretended that he forgot the little sadist monster that tortured Margot Verger and countless others. Mason bought Frederick for next to nothing. Money ran the world. And Freddy's therapy with the little wifey was just a ruse for Mason's pleasure… He snapped his head towards the double barrier and noticed Lecter's eyes were narrow maroon pinpoints. Lasers. And lethal. What was Lecter playing at? "Well, you can't say that it wasn't for a lack of trying." Abel finally answered.
A moment passed and instantly, the mood lightened.
"Dr. Gideon, I must confess, my visit with you today is double-sided."
"You have my fullest attention, Dr. Lecter." He sat with a straight back and crossed his legs.
Lecter's red lips pursed together; deep in thought. "A woman may come to visit you. Do not provoke her. Answer her questions as truthfully as possible, skating over certain… truths." He paused to make sure Abel got his fullest understanding.
"And what is this woman to me?" He flicked his wrist as though a mosquito had buzzed close.
"It isn't what she is to you, Dr. Gideon."
Ah, so the eloquent and charming Dr. Lecter has at last found a match. How interesting this day has turned out to be.
"Why ever would she visit little ole me?" He toyed.
"Because I'm going to suggest it."
(O)
Clarice's evening with Dr. Lecter had been short lived. After supper, he guided her to an extravagant room in the western wing that smelled slightly stale from disuse. But once she had taken a luxurious bath, the room had been aired and flowers added. She had hoped for a few more hours of studying the confidential files that Chief Grant had disclosed for the secret team. However, once her limbs soaked and the fancy soap caressed her skin, Clarice's eyes pleaded for rest.
In the morning, the Doctor had prepared a fine breakfast, left it under a silver platter cover, and a short note written in beautiful scrawl.
He was not present.
Somehow, during the night, Dr. Lecter had retrieved her motorcycle.
The man was full of intelligence, wiry strength, and beauty.
Like a lion. Lethal.
She drove to the zoo to meet Director Goldstein early to discuss the HMO insurance policy for distressed employees. It covered everything from debt, drugs, divorce, and death. A regular D-Day intervention, she thought darkly.
Nothing about a brutal homicide.
Nothing about a co-worker finding another co-worker split in half.
The Director was kind, not overly intelligent, but had a respect for law and order that she liked immediately. He bragged hard about ex agent Will Graham and he openly detested Congressman Paul Krendler. Whose government issued vehicle squealed into the parking lot of the zoo in front of their picnic table under the willow tree.
His aftershave was overly strong and reached her nostrils first. "Well, Mr. Goldstein. Clarice."
"You can refer to me as, Miss Thrush." She saw Mr. Goldstein's eyes widen with shock and respect. It would be the only respect shown to her today.
Krendler leered a few moments before cursing offensively at the sight of Chief Grant, who had walked out of the glass doors holding coffees for Clarice and Mr. Goldstein. She thought that Chief Grant had enjoyed taking the opportunity to publicly shun Krendler. He had possibly waited to do just that. His chest puffed out when the Congressman's teeth clenched.
Score 1 for team Chesapeake, she thought.
"Congressman, have you decided to take a tour of our lovely zoo?" Chief Grant offered a small grin.
Krendler rolled his eyes, "There is a discrepancy in agent… I mean… Miss Thrush's report. Show us to an office or something." He said rudely to the Director.
Grant began to protest until Clarice held up her hand. "It's no problem, Chief."
Mr. Goldstein showed them to a decent sized conference room reserved for board meetings, birthday celebrations, and retirement parties. A green deflated balloon was still attached to the pull cord of the ceiling fan.
Her nemesis sat at the head of the table. His hyena ears, long giraffe neck, and prickly posture irritated her. It wasn't enough that he had to ruin her career as an agent of the FBI, he wanted to ruin her attempt at a new life too. There was nothing wrong with her report and everyone, including Krendler, damn well knew it.
"How've you been?" He dribbled.
She chose not to answer.
"You just can't stay away, can you Clarice? You've been demonized and you don't even know it."
Clarice noticed a tiepin microphone attached to Krendler's button down. If it had been anyone else wearing that ancient piece of equipment, she'd just candidly acknowledge it. Then she spotted the F-Bird in his breast pocket. She smiled as seductively as she knew how and leaned forward on the table. Reel him in, Starling. She thought. Let him think he's got you.
He smirked as he watched her hand crawl forward appealingly.
Fuck you, Krendler.
Suddenly, she ripped the wire from his tiepin and F-Bird, disassembled the components, and laid it on the table in pieces. It took less than 2 minutes. He had fallen backwards over his chair in an attempt to get away. Oh yes, he was definitely afraid of her. "Krendler, the engineering department quit making these years ago. Why did you feel the need to wear a wire? Are you so threatened by my presence? I'm sure that if you're in fear for your life, we can have a third party arbitrate."
He stood against the wall trying to compose himself. Krendler's face turned purple with anger and disorientation.
"You had orders, Starling! Stay out of law enforcement." He slammed down the packet with the forged indictment. "I warned you!"
"You can't make up for your second-rate intelligence by playing dirty. You're a crook. A gofer. And you aren't fast enough, Mr. Congressman. What have I ever done to you to deserve my exile?!"
He waited a few moments before walking to the door.
"Stay out of the FBI investigation. That is my last helpful tip to you."