Chapter 12:
Sighing with the relief of being home again, Clarice sauntered across the farmhouse living room, shedding her suit's blazer like a model on a runway. Lecter hung back, his head tilted slightly to take in the view.
"All right," he acknowledged. "perhaps I am enjoying this."
She glanced over her shoulder and squinted when she caught his faux innocent expression. "I wondered how you would channel your sadism without your usual outlets," she said dryly.
In a stride, he was by her side,
"I think you will find my motives are those of a very normal man," he murmured as his hand settled on her hip.
They'd spent the day in Roanoke, practicing their new personas, dining at the riverfront and listening to an open air concert in a nearby park. The doctor had leaned close, explaining the musical movements in his low voice, and his words had been flowing with the notes. They had returned to the farm with dusk covering the innocuous sight of a well-dressed couple riding in a dusty Camaro.
Clarice bent into him, one open hand resting on his chest, and her fingers twining in his silk tie. He admired the curve of her cheek as a smile crept over her face.
He cupped her thigh, drawing her closer. His fingertip nudged her chin up to lead her mouth to his. Their lips were just touching when they both heard the crunch of tires coming up the driveway.
At the window, Lecter peered around the sheer curtain. "Police," he said, instantly tense.
"If this were an arrest, they wouldn't just drive up," Clarice pointed out.
She was already tugging her blouse loose from her skirt. "I'll change. Make yourself look like Don-T and stall. I'll be back out in a minute."
Lecter watched a heavy-set uniformed officer haul himself from behind the cruiser's steering wheel. "Bring your gun," he said.
"Of course." She hurried down the hall to her room.
As knocking echoed through the small house, Lecter rapidly stripped off his suit jacket, tie, dress shirt and belt, leaving just his white undershirt and charcoal pants. He kicked off his shoes and toed out of his socks, and grabbed handfuls of his suit's slacks to wrinkle them. Yanking them down low on his hips to give himself a slovenly appearance, the doctor approached the door. There was nothing he could do about the fact that his beard and hair were still streaked with dark dye.
"Yeah?" he said, glaring at the policeman through the screen door.
"I'm Cap'n Carruthers with the Chiswell P.D.," said the uniformed man in his slow dialect. "Mind if I have a few words."
It wasn't a question and Lecter opened the door to admit their visitor.
"Sure, come on in," he said, turning away and quickly checking around the room to see if any obvious sign of their true identities was evident.
The policeman was gazing at the drawing on the wall of Clarice from her Quantico days, holding a lamb. Lecter's fist tightened as though gripping a knife. Of all his possessions, that drawing was one of the few not in a private collection. Anyone who'd studied his case would recognize it, but who knew how well-trained this backwoods cop was.
If he'd been alone, the doctor would have killed the invader right then without a thought, but he knew that Clarice was just down the hall, cradling her gun. She was ready to use it on the policeman if necessary, but she'd also stop him just as easily.
"What you want?" Lecter asked, drawing Carruthers's attention from the wall.
"You Don Lambert?"
"Yeah."
"What is it, hon?"
Clarice's voice came from the dim hall, and sounded high and worried. He wondered how much was her performance.
"This here policeman's come askin' 'bout me," he said, gesturing to Carruthers.
The captain hitched up his heavy gunbelt. "Hello, ma'am," he said comfortably.
"Hi." Clarice leaned on the doorjamb from the hall, pleating her oversized sweatshirt nervously. Lecter knew her weapon was just under the waistband; she was keeping her hand close for a quick draw.
He smiled with a snake's confidence. "Wha' can we help you with, Officer?" he asked.
"Cap'n Carruthers," their visitor corrected. "I'm makin' some routine inquires around the neighborhood."
Lecter and Clarice exchanged interested looks.
"What about?" the doctor asked.
"Lookin' at all the parolees in the area-"
Lecter took a step closer. "I'm off parole," he insisted.
Clarice had created a background for Donald Thomas Lambert in the NCIC database. A lifetime of petty crime, mostly connected to drugs, until he was paroled five years ago. According the false records that she uploaded, Lambert didn't need to be checking in with the local parole board.
Carruthers wasn't intimidated by Lecter's pronouncement. He peered at the tense couple from under his bushy eyebrows. "Just checkin' in."
"I don't have to answer any questions," grumbled Lecter, hunching his shoulders.
Clarice's fingers were like steel on his arm. "Don-" she whined.
"There's been a report of a child in this area bein' molested," Carruthers started to say but Lecter exploded before he could get any further.
"You think I'm a chomo!?" Lecter got in the policeman's face. "I beat the shit out of those little fuckers any chance I get." He poked Carruthers in the chest with his broad finger. "You see a single sex crime on my record?"
"No, sir," said Carruthers, stepping back carefully. "But I gotta check everyone."
"Is some kid saying that Don messed with her?" asked Clarice, her gaze watchful.
"I can't say one way or another. We have a report and I've got to follow up with any man in the area that has had trouble with the law."
"You need to keep lookin'," said Lecter. "Stop pokin' in our business."
The police captain only smiled at them. "Sure." He moved toward the door. "I'll be goin' then."
Lecter and Clarice waited until they heard his patrol car's motor fade away before even speaking.
"Son of a bitch," hissed Clarice, beginning to pace. "We gotta get out of here."
"We can't run now," Lecter pointed out. "He'll be on us."
"Yes, yes-" She continued to turn in small circles.
The doctor grabbed her arm, yanking her to him. "You called it in," he said accusingly.
Her hand rested on her weapon at her waist and he knew she'd gut shoot him before he could grab her wrist.
"I told you that I wouldn't, and I didn't," she growled.
He hissed; a vile sound.
"I didn't," she repeated, wrenching free from his grip.
"Someone did."
She swung around to face him. "You don't trust me," she stated flatly.
"We're even then," he said. "You don't trust me either. I saw that look; you were wondering if I had abused that disgusting child."
She stared back at him. She'd had to watch child pornagraphy, hideous images of grown men engaged in sexual activities with children. And now she'd been the focus of this man's sexual interest. She knew that he was not capable of those hideous acts; they would fulfill none of his needs. He welcomed her attempts at domination and reveled in her physical power. The last thing he wanted was some crying little girl as a passive orifice.
She turned away. But there was something that he was keeping her... "You don't trust me," she repeated, defeated.
He flung his hands in the air. "Only with my life," he said.
"Let's just focus on getting out of here," she said, always pragmatic.
"Clarice-"
She was already walking away. "There's improvements that we can make to the security system. And build in some escape routes in case we're trapped in this house."
When he said, "I won't be taken alive this time," she stopped and looked back at him.
"Don't get dramatic," she said witheringly. "It's not going to come to that."
He let her begin her planning without another comment. After fetching her toolbox, she ducked down into the basement. He knew she would never admit defeat and he normally shared that trait. But he was no longer working alone and could not abandon her to save his own skin. And a hostage to fortune was a heavy burden.
He was sitting at the kitchen table when she popped back up from the floorboard entry, sweaty and grime-covered.
"Come to church with me this time," he said to her. "I think we need to cut off any more problems before they arise."
She hoisted herself back up into the hall. "And I think we need to lay low. It's the end of August. Only two more weeks before the eleventh. I know how long these investigations take. We'll be long gone before the police come by again."
"But they'll be watching us."
"Chiswell has that captain, two sergeants and four patrol officers, total. They also have a bad meth and Oxy dealing problem. They are not going to be doing some stakeout at the end of the road." She moved to the sink and washed her hands vigorously. "He was just fishing. He's hoping that I know something and will flip on my man."
"He doesn't' know you very well, does he," Lecter said, finally finding his sense of humor again.
Clarice could laugh too. "No, he does not."
x
She did join him at Christ's Fire Holy Church the next Sunday, and they took a pew at the back. He nodded slightly toward the choir, pointing out Michelley Kreet to Clarice.
The girl's pale moonface was perspiring and she kept shifting her songbook in front of her, but it could not disguise that her pudgy figure was taking on a tell-tale rounding at the middle.
Clarice's features twisted in disgust.
"Her school must have reported it," Lecter noted dispassionately. "No one in her family would have."
Clarice looked at Ava Kreet's strong profile in a front pew and had to agree with his assessment. These people would keep their shames close, no matter what the cost.
Lecter was watching the Brockers, sitting across the aisle and one row ahead of them. Iris kept her gaze in her lap. Her chapped lips were moving rapidly in prayer, seeming to ignore the day's sermon. Her usually pink cheeks were green-tinged. Sam focused on the tiny preacher bobbing and weaving behind the lectern as he ranted, as though engaged in battle with some unseen demon.
The doctor considered killing them tonight, and if he could reasonably set the scene as a murder-suicide to fool the local authorities. It would tie up several loose ends before they left, and perhaps keep the police from their door. And he liked to think it would be a gift for Clarice.
x
But there was no opportunity to follow through with his plans. Clarice never strayed for his side, always keeping him in sight. Even at night, if he were to stir, he'd spot her silhouette in the dark of the sleeping porch, standing as if on watch. He'd smoke a cigar and return to bed.
The days passed without another visit from Captain Carruthers, but Clarice still continued to fortify the property, even as the time remaining on the farm dwindled down until their day of leaving was the next one.
Clarice picked the last of the sweet corn for dinner. Lecter killed and plucked a chicken. A remaining ripe peaches were made into a tart.
As their final supper cooked, Clarice slipped out of the house, finally leaving Lecter unattended. He watched her from the porch as she sought her horse in the pasture. With the dusk sinking over the farm, the two bright heads came together in the gloom. Her pale hand stroked the mare's nose and fed carrots to the nibbling mouth.
He joined Clarice, and Boudica shied away at his footfall, but returning for more treats when she caught his familiar scent.
"We'll have another garden. You will have another horse," Lecter said, finally impatient with her glum manner.
Clarice didn't turn to face him and her head remained bowed as she patted the horse's silken neck. "Maybe you're used to starting over again and again, but I've finally felt like I had a home for the first time in...a really long time."
"Perhaps this home isn't just the place, or what's in it, but who's here," he suggested.
Her chuckle was rough and she cleared her throat. "I've just gotten used to this you and this me."
"I'll always be me, regardless of the name," he reminded her.
Without looking at him, she found his clenched hand gripping the fence rail and squeezed it. Finally she muttered, "Paul said that I needed more fun out of my life. Out of all the awful things he said to me, that was the only one that hurt."
For a moment, Lecter could smell Paul's skull burning as he cut through it with the electric blade, and he smiled.
"I didn't expect to have fun. Just saw holding you as something I had to do," she confessed. "But it has been fun, Doctor."
His lips grazed her temple but she still didn't turn to him.
"Dinner should be ready," he said, stepping away. "Come along, my dear, before it get cold."
He started back to the house and finally heard her dragging steps behind him.
That night, Lecter slept well, if only for a few hours. But Clarice was already dressed in her role as successful businesswoman Holly Marcel, so out of place in the farmhouse living room, when he came out of his bedroom.
"Never could sleep before a trip," she said before he could ask why she was up so early-or if she had slept at all.
"There will be little travel after this," he said before ducking into the bathroom for one last shower in the awful facility.
When he came out, Clarice was in her bedroom, looking in her closet one last time. All the worn cargo pants and faded tee shirts would remain behind.
"Do you want to see the horse again?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I went out before I dressed. Can't be walking to the barn in these shoes," she said with a sneer.
He was sure she'd also gone out earlier so that he wouldn't see her weep.
"She'll be fine. Bud will assure that she has a good home," he said.
As when they went on their day trips, one of the doctor's acquaintances from the Saturday morning auctions would care for the animals. Bud thought they would only be gone for three days. Once they were safely away, Lecter would call and tell him to sell off the animals and keep the money as his reward.
Carrying their few pieces of luggage out to the porch, they took one last look around the misty farm. Clarice shut the front door and carefully set the trigger hidden within the doorbell. The doors and windows were wired. If the house was entered, Incendiary devices set in the basement would go off, setting the structure on fire. Clarice knew that it wouldn't destroy all the evidence that they may have left behind, but they couldn't risk losing their refuge until they were definitely out of the country. Lecter didn't believe in retreat, but she always liked to have a backup plan.
She'd washed the Camaro to make it as presentable as possible. Their bags in the trunk, she drove slowly and as quietly as the powerful motor would go.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Lecter's fingers impatiently danced on his thigh. Ignoring him, she pulled out onto the county highway, but didn't turn her lights on even as she accelerated to the speed limit.
"I got moonshiners in my background," she told him, keeping her gaze on the road.
"Naturally." He exhaled as the car picked up speed. They were finally on their way, free from the backwoods.
She'd wanted to leave the day before, thinking the airport security agents would be overwhelmed by the Monday morning business traffic. But Lecter has held out for the Tuesday. He enjoyed the synergy of the date, 9-11-01.
End ~ Chapter 12