Christmas lights are strung along the length of Via dei Condotti, and in the night, heavy with impending rain, they appear as dew along the gossamer of a lengthy laddered web. The cobbled street of Rome's principle shopping channel is crowded with locals who are off for the duration between Christmas Eve and the Epiphany, January sixth. Among them are Clarice Starling, Mizrak and Abraham Saleh, and Seth Baston. They pass around the Fendi Christmas tree, and Clarice threads an arm through Seth's. Mizrak is smiling, light and happy and points when there is lightening in the distance.
"I should get going, soon. I have a long ride on the metro," said Starling, and Seth nudged her, lightly.
"Don't be silly, cara mia. I'll drive you," he said. Seth felt her stiffen at his side, and he wondered if the term of endearment had made her uncomfortable. He tried to think if he'd said it, before.
"You don't need to do that. It wont be fun in this traffic," she said, and leaning closer," besides, tonight isn't a good night to sleep over. I need some real sleep," she said, and he smiled.
"I didn't know I was disturbing your sleep," he responded, with his eyebrows raised.
"Oh, don't be like that. Please don't take it personally. But I do enjoy having my own space, and I'm better to you for it, trust me. "
"I'm not offended," he said, a soft smile now. " But I do insist on escorting you home. "
"Oh, do you?" she grinned. He nodded.
"You're heading home, Honey?" asked Mizrak, and Starling nodded.
"You should definitely go with him. It's safer."
Starling laughed internally, but nodded.
"She's right," agreed Abe, with a nod.
"See? You should listen to your friend. Thank you, Mizrak."
"Mizrak," repeated Mizrak.
"Hmm?" Seth cocked his head.
"It's pronounced, 'Mis-rak', you got to choke the k," she explained. Starling chuckled, and felt a drop of rain on the crown of her head and looked up as it it began to lightly mist.
"I'll work on that," laughed Seth, and as they hugged, waved and parted ways, Starling felt eyes moving over her wherever she went. It made her feel itchy at the center of her back. Seth was quiet in the car as they made their way toward her neighborhood, and she watched the people through the window, the dark, closed shops and the rain that began to come down harder. At her flat, she put a warm hand on top of Seth's before kissing him. He took out his umbrella and came around to her side, to let her out and lead her to the portico.
"Winnie, before you go," he began, once they were out of the rain," can I ask you something?"
"Of course, what is it?"
"Did it bother you, me calling you cara mia?"
Her lips parted and her eyes moved to the street behind him for a moment, before returning to his.
"No, of course not."
"You can tell me if it does. I wont be offended."
She didn't know why it bothered her, or perhaps she did but it was far too deeply buried in the ether of unconscious. She smiled and shook her head.
"I'm...I'm sorry Seth, I don't know why. But yes, it does. A little."
He nodded, seemingly prepared for such an answer.
"It's alright," he reassured her, a hand on her cheek.
"You don't have to explain yourself. I wont call you that. Is there something you'd prefer?"
She thought a moment and then smiled.
"Yes. Winnie." They laughed, and she kissed him again, frustrated when she felt nothing. She watched him pull away from inside, and then turned to make her way to the door. Her keys were noisy in the quiet corridor, and when she was inside, she dropped them into her jacket pocket before hanging it on the coat tree. Starling's flat came furnished, and she had changed nothing about it, other than hanging her clothes and arranging her toiletries. In the corner of the room is a desk and swivel chair next to the window unit. The curtains were open, and the light from the neighborhood lit the dark room. Ardelia Mapp sat in the swivel chair facing Starling, who stood still, watching her. Ardelia held a gun in her right hand, pointed down. Starling noted that there was no silencer attached or anywhere in sight, a good sign.
"Hey, girl," said Ardelia, putting an ankle onto her knee. Her voice was a little scratching, as though she'd been crying or screaming.
"Buonasera, mia amica," responded Starling, standing very still with the door at her back.
"You look good," Ardelia gestured with her chin.
"You look exhausted. Did you just get in?" Starling hanging her purse, acutely aware of the .45 at her ankle beneath her trousers.
"Nope."
"How did you find me?"
"Let's get to that in a bit. Can we talk? Do I need this?" Ardelia gestured to the gun in her hand, and Clarice kept her eyes locked on Ardelia's.
"I don't know, do you?"
"Honestly, Clarice-I just wanted to see you. I needed to know you were alright."
"I think you needed to know if you were alright. Looking at you, you're not."
"Why does it have to be like this?" Ardelia said, her angry brown eyes glistened, but her face was hard, angry.
"Ardelia..." Clarice ran a hand through her damp hair and sighed.
"I'm not here as an agent, okay? This isn't even the first misdemeanor I've committed, this week. The only reason I have this gun is to protect myself. I bought it locally at a flea market, couldn't take my government issued weapon. Can't take this one back with me."
"You don't need protection from me. So long as I don't need to defend myself."
"You don't."
The two women looked at one another, and Ardelia felt the threat of hot tears, once more. Starling went to her, and Ardelia put the gun in its holster as she stood, grunting in Starling's embrace. The tears came, and with it came full body shudders as she sobbed. Starling smoothed her hair, and hushed her like a child. They went to their knees, Ardelia in her arms and they swayed, growing quiet, for a long time. As midnight drew near, the women had curled up on the floor on top of several quilts and pillows at the foot of Starling's twin bed in front of the heating unit. She had given Ardelia a pair of silk pajamas, and she watched her stretch like a cat, enjoying the feel of the luxurious material.
"Is it a requirement to wear silk to bed in Italy?" joked Ardelia. Starling smiled, and rolled onto her side, propping herself on an elbow.
"Not that I know of, but it feels damn good, doesn't it?"
"It's like being in water," she answered, and Starling nodded and smiled.
"So...any men in your life?" Ardelia asked with a raised eyebrow, and Starling gave her a cheeky look.
"Have you been following me?" she asked, and Ardelia squeezed her eyes shut.
"Dee!" Starling playfully Ardelia's thigh, who rolled onto her back and covered her face.
"I'm sorry, what was I supposed to do?"
"I told you what to do. I told you to go home."
"I did," Ardelia responded, her voice turning serious as she rolled back onto her side to look at Clarice.
"I just needed-"
"-Closure," Starling finished for her.
Ardelia looked at her sharply and then nodded, dolefully.
"Were you following me in Thailand?"
Ardelia looked at her, confused. "No...why?"
"Don't worry about it. Are you getting it, by any chance?"
"Getting what?"
"Closure."
"Ah...Mostly."
"What more?" Clarice asked, tilting her head.
Ardelia sighed.
"I have to ask you a really terrible question, Clarice. But you have to know that I'm asking as a friend, not as law enforcement."
"Go on."
"Have you killed anyone since Muskrat Farm?"
Clarice rolled her eyes. " Come on, Ardelia. Were any of those people at Mason's innocent?"
"That's not what I asked."
Clarice looked at her friend, and could see that some part of her, some need for structure and understanding the world around her plead with her to just give her a reason to let go of it all. She could see what Ardelia was really asking her for.
"No."
Ardelia seemed grateful and satisfied, and let out a long, ragged breath.
"You don't need to chase me. You don't need to worry about me. I always did alright on my own."
Ardelia tensed again, only it was almost worse than before.
"Jesus, what now?"
"It's about how I found you," Ardelia started, and her voice became full of contempt. " Coming here to see you required stipulations."
Starling's eyes darkened, as she watched Ardelia stand and take something out of her bag. Her heart began leaping wildly, like a bird trapped in a room. Ardelia held the letter by one corner between thumb and forefinger, as though it was a dead animal. When she saw her name in Dr. Lecter's copperplate written on the front, it felt as though someone poured something cold and liquid slowly down the front of her. She had not felt so much since the last time she'd seen him, strapped to a singletree...immobile and docile. She felt a little dizzy.
"You've seen him?" Starling asked, her voice low and dark.
"Yeah, I've seen him."
"And he let you come to me?"
"Yes. If I gave you that," Ardelia said, using only her eyes to indicate the letter.
"So he knows exactly where I am, and has probably known for awhile."
"Yeah. I don't know how long."
"Well, hell. What happened?" she asked, setting the letter to the side, unable to look at it for the time being. She looked at Ardelia instead, who blew air out of her mouth with her lips pursed.
"I found him the same way you almost did. But partly it's because Paul Krendler came to Italy for vacation. You know those two..." Ardelia stopped, realizing she was on the verge of reminding Starling of being tortured for months in that horrible, dirty room.
"Go ahead," Starling urged her.
"Those two men that...did all-"
"The men who tortured me?"
Ardelia swallowed and nodded.
"They're dead, aren't they?"
"One is," Ardelia nodded, "the other is mutilated beyond anything I've ever seen. Beyond the hope of ever having a real life."
"What, worse than Mason?" Clarice laughed, dryly.
"Well, yes. And without the money."
"Oh."
"It got me thinking that he'd probably want Paul, too."
"Is Paul dead?"
Clarice asked the question as if the answer made no possible difference, and it unnerved Ardelia. Lecter was right about her, she realized. But then, she already really knew it. Clarice was not like her and not like Lecter. She was something...in between.
"I'm not sure. Lecter doesn't know that's partly what brought me to Italy looking for him. Beyond that, I just flagged every expensive thing on your list of his preferences. Pain in the ass, communicating with the Questura. My Italian to English book is well dog-eared. The same man rented a villa for a six month period, a bunch of fine china from Tiffany's and a bottle of Chateau d'Yquem keyed to your birth year. All on the same Master card. It was that and also luck, to be honest."
"Who knows you're here, Ardelia?"
"No one. I swear on my grandmother's life."
Clarice seemed satisfied and nodded. Ardelia came to sit cross-legged in front of her, and Starling mimicked the posture.
"Listen, Clarice...I have this theory that's not easy to think, let alone hear. But I think you should hear it. And from a friend. And after tonight, I have to go back home. And I'll stay there, if it's what you need."
"Tell me."
"I think Hannibal Lecter is in love with you."
In the morning when it was very early, they went to the roof and watched the sun rise. The rain had stopped, but it was chilly, and they bundled up and shared Clarice's thickest quilt. They could see the Vatican in the distance, the tangerine of the emerging sun just to the left. When it was still a little dark, Clarice went with her to the airport. They hugged for long minutes in the quiet of the terminal.
"Are you spending Christmas with your family?" Starling asked into Ardelia's shoulder.
"Of course."
"Good. I love you, Ardelia."
"I love you too, girl." Ardelia leaned back, and took her head in both her hands.
"Be careful."
"Always am. I can handle it, I promise."
All she could do was believe her, and Ardelia gave her a single nod, the confidence returning to her sturdy, brown countenance.
"Goodbye Cl-Winnie."
"Addio, Ardelia."
Starling was impatient now, riding back home on the metro. Seth had messaged her, and she ignored it. At home, she was quiet and had a knife drawn when she entered. She scanned the small flat quickly, and saw that she was alone. She locked the door and checked the windows. Sitting back on the pallet, she looked at the letter for five minutes before picking it up. She had never touched one of his letters with her bare hands, and something about it was exhilarating. It was smooth and heavy in her hands as she unfolded it.
La mia cara Clarice, mi chiedo come sei venuta insieme con l'italiano? Immagino che in tali circostanze, si preferisce mi rivolgo a tutto il resto della nostra corrispondenza nella vostra lingua madre.
The last chasm between our meetings was a longer one, this last year and half a mere fissure. I've thought of you often. Despite what you may think, I have not followed you for long; it was never my intent. I had my own 'Lorens' that required my attention. At a later time, I should very much enjoy a thorough explanation of that experience, from your perspective. Was it illuminative? Hmmm, I wonder…
There are many hard nodules in the woodgrain of your mind that you have come to explore on your own terms. There are others still, unexplored galleries, which you have yet to approach. You can do so much on your own, my dear. Has it occurred to you that having a companion is not a sign of weakness, but an opportunity for enrichment? You don't need to decide, now. I suggest giving it some consideration in the coming days, though.
There is much for us to discuss, but until next we meet, I invite you to go on with your life uninterrupted. I will not facilitate or intrude for the time being. When I do come to you, I will do what I can to ease any lingering trepidations to which you may still clutch. Understand that I only wish to be of service. There is no need for a war, but I hope you also understand that I will not hesitate to defend myself, and I have been doing this much longer than you, cara mia.
Yours truly,
Hannibal Lecter, M.D.
P.S. I love what you've done with your hair, but know this: your resilient beauty is the least interesting thing about you.
By the third time she'd read it, she realized that the compliment he'd given her at the end of the letter was, in a way, the inverse of Seth's compliment on their first date. Starling frowned when she realized the letter was shaking, because her hands were. She let it fall to the blanket. Starling didn't want to leave Italy. She wondered if this was how he had felt when he'd had to flee Florence.
Her time in Italy had been the first time she'd felt a sense of near normalcy in such a long time. She had friends and a lover. She had a decent, low-stress job, and she was learning two languages. Seth had even offered her his recommendation for a position in the technology department of his sister gallery, the Tor Marancia Street Art. When he'd first mentioned it, she'd said, "But don't you know, the life of a confectioner is so sweet." But the idea to be in the world of technology again was appealing, as well as the paycheck.
It was more than the nest she'd built. Had she inspected the undercurrents of her thoughts, Starling would have found an undulating tension that had been growing for some time. She did not examine herself deeply in this moment, and focused on the irritation of having been, in her mind, challenged. She would not leave. She would not run. And it was that stubborness that he was counting on, she knew. And yet, if she left, she would be cutting off her nose to spite her face. He had purposefully put her in a position in which no decision was of her own making. It made her angry.
He surely would expect that Ardelia had told her where to find him. She could go there, on her own terms, but it would be on his turf. Even if she managed to surprise him. And whether she could surprise him was questionable. If he knew where she was, if he knew where she was, now...he could be watching her, now. Technological surveillance really didn't seem like his style, so after a preliminary search, she was satisfied that her flat was not bugged. She made a decision, standing in the middle of the small living space, and shut the curtains.
Under the bed was a duffel bag and she pulled it out. Inside was a pair of fatigues, utility boots, an automatic with four clips, a rifle in its case, a first aid kit, two butterfly knives, a boot knife, a light bearing tactical holster, a plate carrier and a can of mace. She left it on the bed while she showered, and then put on the fatigues with a thermal beneath the carrier plate, and then a moss colored tactical soft shell jacket. Her hair went into a ponytail, her jewelry remained on the bathroom counter, and the boots went on, last. She turned on the radio on the desk and plugged in her electrical light timer, programming it to go off at irregular intervals. She did not look in the mirror before leaving.
Starling went back to the roof, staying low. Making her way to the edge facing an alley, she peered over the edge. The building was only four stories tall, but was still a long way to fall. Maneuvering out over the edge and gaining her footing to a neighbor's balcony was the worst part. From the other side, she was able to climb down on the ventilation pipelines. The side of the building faced an narrow alley strung with clothing lines, so she was blessedly obscured from any few passersby. It was early on Christmas Eve; there were few people out on this day, at this hour.
She had memorized the address and had mapped out the route on her lap top, and had the visual imprinted in her mind. She made her way down alley after alley for nearly a half hour. The channels grew narrow and she turned a corner and went down a staircase. In the space beneath was an area where a number of motorbikes were parked. She found her own, happy that it had not been stolen or taken apart. She had secured it with a standard lock threaded through the frame and attached it to the post. She had also marked nearly every part with the VIN, vehicle registration and postal code. She had used it once, the day she bought it, about a month after arriving in Italy. She took the duffel bag off of her shoulder to fish out her helmet and riding gloves, before putting it back on her shoulders and unlocking the bike.
The streets were not busy, and as she made her way out of Rome, she had to wonder if he knew. He was beyond intelligent, he was something completely Other, but on the other hand, Clarice was quite good. Having been trained to catch criminals had proved to be rather good training to be one. While she didn't think he would underestimate her, he had proven to be, on multiple occasions, prone to both arrogance and whimsy. It's what got him caught, every time.
It was a half hour drive to his villa, and she made the drive carefully, never exceeding the speed limit. She was careful to tuck her hair away in the helmet; it would draw attention, especially Lecter's. Perhaps it was time to change her hair, again. When she began to get closer, she had to go off rode. Not wanting to leave tracks, she had to get off and walk it for close to a mile, before coming to a small, stone pathway with a thicket of trees lining one side and smaller ones separating it from a field on the other. She found cover in the forested area on the other side, in one of the patches of forestry of Appia Antica. Much of the area was fields and other villas for rent, available for locals who wanted a country home and vacationers with deep pockets. Most of the grounds were relatively manicured, but there were other areas that were more wild, and the trees were tall, and more than a little foreboding.
She parked it beneath a cluster of cork oak, their spines and limbs twisted and vicious looking without much of their leaves. Then she walked, for a time along an ivy covered stone wall protecting a private property, before she came to one of the fields that separated it from Lecter's villa. There was no one in sight in any given direction, and she began making the trek across. She was glad of her boots and fatigues, as the tall grass would have torn and snagged her legs and ankles without them. Once across, she had some cover and the high ground. Past the trees and down a winding slope was the polished acreage of the Villa Caetana. It was a little less than a kilometer away. She had gotten low, and came down to her belly, before pulling her bag off her shoulder, slowly and quietly.
First, was her rifle and scope. She could put it on blind, so she never took her eyes off of the villa, still and seemingly uninhabited. A few moments, and then she was looking at the iron gate of the courtyard. She couldn't see a lock on it, and moved her line of sight to the windows she could see from her angle. There was only one, and it was obscured by vines. In the driveway was an elegant, taupe SUV. There was no other vehicle in sight, but tracks in the gravel that indicated a two-wheel vehicle, perhaps a motorbike not unlike her own. She moved it around, looking at every corner and crevice she could see, and then waited. And waited.
A part of her wanted to just go down, but it was getting bright out, in spite of the clouds. She would've felt much more comfortable waiting until dark. Her stomach growled. She set the rifle down and pulled out the granola bar and water bottle from inside her bag, and ate quietly on the grass. By the time she was finished, she'd made another decision. It was going to be a long day. And to let her guard down even for a moment due to something as inane as boredom, was a very, very big no-no. It was going to be a long day. Starling spent Christmas Eve with her belly in the grass, her neck and shoulders aching, on the hill above Hannibal Lecter's refuge.
Afternoon, evening and finally night came, and no movement. With darkness, she was able to make out what appeared to be a single light source, coming from some part of the house she couldn't see. It had not been turned on while she was there, of that she was certain. It meant he'd turned it on some time before she'd arrived, and left it on. She decided it was time.