Chapter12
When Clarice walked into the lobby of her hotel and towards the elevator, the receptionist called her.
"Ms. Starling!"
Clarice turned, then walked over to the front desk and the young woman.
"Yes?" Clarice asked and read the woman's name from her name tag.
"There was a delivery for you. Post."
"Post? For me?"
"Yes, I've got it back here. Please wait."
Hollie walked to a cabinet behind her and retrieved a small stack of various items from it. She placed it on the desk in front of Clarice, who put the stack in her bag in two steps. Clarice saw one of the flyers advertised chocolate and she wondered why she would receive that, but she decided to have a proper look in her room.
"Thanks, Hollie," Clarice said and smiled.
Hollie smiled back as Clarice turned and headed for the elevator.
Once inside her room, Clarice pulled the stack out of her bag and dumped it on the desk and thought it could wait for another hour - she really needed a bath right now. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap and poured in a nice amount of bath soap. When she returned she checked her cell phone for texts and missed calls, stripped to her panties and went into the bathroom again. She liked to sit in the bath while the water level rose and the foam developed.
.
Hannibal Lecter, gentleman as always, folded the finished letter neatly in three and slid it gently home in the envelope, though he refrained from buying luxury fine paper and bought plain office notepads and envelopes from one of the most common brands worldwide instead as part of his disguise. Clarice would understand. He had bought a yellow envelope for the occasion, though.
He inserted the yellow envelope just above the bottom of the stack of material on chocolate and children's things he'd purchased and addressed to Clarice. Next he inserted the whole stack in one large envelope and closed the flap. Satisfied with the result, Hannibal rose and took it with him. He donned his long coat and went outside, stepped into his car and drove over to the post office.
At the post office, Hannibal handed the envelope to the woman behind the desk. The envelope would go to a remailing service and Clarice would receive her surprise stack in three days, unmarked, unstamped and untraceable.
Would she recognize his package as a resemblance of a Kinder Surprise?
.
Clarice donned the long hotel bathrobe and took the stack with her to the bed, where she sat down and placed everything next to her. She picked up the first item. It was a flyer from Toys"R"Us. Clarice turned it over and saw it was truly addressed to her.
Must be a joke from Blumenthal.
The next item was a box of Merci chocolates.
Guess he misses me.
Then another number of flyers from various children's toy stores and chocolate.
Idiot.
And then, oddly enough, a yellow envelope with a plain white address label with her name on it, but no address this time.
.
Sitting behind his piano, Hannibal played some delicate Satie in the distinctive style of Reinbert de Leeuw's epic 1975 recording.
.
That's odd… Everything else was addressed.
Slowly, very slowly, Clarice realized what that meant.
This is no coincidence. The letter is the reason for the odd stack of flyers and chocolate. This isn't Blumenthal's work...
Clarice turned the envelope over, nothing out of the ordinary on the backside.
Whose work is it then, and why?
She reached for a pen from the desk and opened the envelope with its clip. Inside was a letter and she could see it was handwritten. Clarice pulled it out and opened it.
Hannibal wondered at what point of the letter Clarice would realize he'd sent the stack.
Dear Clarice,
What a pleasant surprise it was to find your name in the papers once again. With all the drabble in the articles, your name stood out like a desired toy in a decapitated faux-chocolate egg.
Your father treasured you. You were his visible gem in his otherwise underprivileged world. Others may have been less appreciative. Did jealous fellow orphans mock you for your outstanding morals? Has someone called you ruby instead of rube yet?
With a jolt, she suddenly realized who had written this letter.
Shit. Monkeyballs and shit. Why didn't I realize it sooner?
And right after that, Clarice couldn't help thinking about the question. To her frustration she couldn't say someone had.
Hannibal finished Satie's first Gymnopédie. After a thoughtful minute he started playing the calming adagio of Rachmaninoff's successful second piano concerto.
If so, good for you. If not, know yourself. Don't accept your dog's admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful.
Clarice wondered what game Hannibal was playing, praising her and paying her such compliments. It was a rare occasion that he did and it was never that simple.
Speaking of evidence, I understand you got involved in an extraordinary case. I won't draw your attention to the fact the victim was killed suspiciously soon after an incident at a gasstation, but I will disclose I find it enthralling to know we're in such close proximity, if only by chance and for a brief time. The paths of our lives joined once again, Clarice. How could I ignore that?
Hannibal's hands moved gracefully up and down the keyboard. Most often they played their part on their own side of the manual but sometimes they met or he had to cross his hands to play the right notes. He mused playing the piano resembles life in a way. People meet and cross paths. Some notes shouldn't be played together, some agree beautifully.
Can you ignore it? Probably not, either.
Clarice sighed.
Indeed, Dr. Lecter. I can not. You know I can't.
Question is: what now, Clarice? Will you see through the bars of my plight and ache for me, or will you see me behind bars and have me ache? Turn your palms up, Clarice, and decide. Fill your left hand with your duty and obligation to the FBI, your right hand with your… fascination. And let's not forget resentment.
Clarice turned her palms up, in spite of an initial urge to ignore his instructions. Left hand, right hand. She giggled as she suddenly remembered an adage from her childhood that included both hands cupped as well. Valentine had given her a lot of shit lately.
She looked down at her hands.
Either I'm not a good scale, not in the mood for games, or both hands are equally heavy, Doctor…
Hannibal smiled as he finished the last notes and registered the reverb of the sounds in the room. Then he relived Clarice's footsteps in the asylum. Not when she left, her footsteps fading away. No, her first appearance, when he could hear determination in her walk in spite of her initial reluctance. He had recognized and admired her drive from the start.
Virtue she hath, and modest heed,
Is piquant too, and sharp withal.
Are your hands turned up, Clarice? Which one is heavier? Or are they perhaps of equal weight?
What's your game, Hannibal?
I won't feign to know the outcome of this little experiment, Clarice. I can make an educated guess, but I'm not omniscient. And it's of no use for me to know its outcome - this was just a small exercise for your benefit.
I'll tell you what would be beneficial for both of us. Don't denounce me.
Clarice frowned.
Don't denounce you, Dr. Lecter? Why? I can't imagine you fear to flee again. So, what's your game?
Her footsteps, due to her cheap shoes, had been the sound of determination. Emotions had played their parts on her face ungoverned, yet she managed to fuel her drive with her anger. Her unexpected perspicaciousness had not faltered throughout her visits.
First of all, you know I'll be gone the moment I smell anything FBI or like-minded. If catching me is your goal, you'll have to do it yourself.
Second, indulge me and allow me to offer you a trinket.
What the heck?
Third, indulge yourself. The thrill. Your acumen. Me.
Hannibal admitted to himself he could not foresee her decision. Perhaps she wouldn't decide and merely go along in this little game until she made up her mind.
Clarice's mind wandered off from the letter for a moment.
I suspected the murder was by his hands. He shows specific insight in the case in this letter. He admits being nearby. He says it's only for a brief time. He's perceptive enough to smell danger from miles away. He will be gone immediately. He sent me a letter while he could have discarded me as easily.
Her eyes focused onto the letter again. Only a few more lines.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, Clarice. Let's play a little game. The beginning is easy: you continue your duties while I wait for my turn.
Regards,
H.
What now, Clarice?
