Chapter 33
"When what started?" Clarice was trying to be patient, but even under normal circumstances Chiara often rubbed her the wrong way. It had something to do with the younger woman's exuberance, all that energy but no restraint.
"Alessandro and I, we were at his place, ah…" Chiara darted a glance at Clarice, noting the single brow arched as she waited for her to continue. "We were…" this second pause pushed Clarice to genuine anger.
"Chiara, I don't care if you were humping like bunnies. What happened?"
The cold, crisp demand jarred Chiara enough to finally get her story out. "We were in his bedroom, getting ready to make love, and he reached into his nightstand…I guess he didn't find what he was looking for. But he completely lost it. He started raving about somebody going through his stuff, about stuff missing or being moved. The whole time he was fuming, and started getting louder and louder. He was moving around the room, throwing furniture around and breaking stuff. But he was also getting dressed. He mumbled something about you just as he walked out. That's it. But Clarice, you should have seen his eyes. He was crazy! The way he said your name as he left made me think he might be here, or on his way here."
Several thoughts clashed in Clarice's mind, chief among them was a desire to talk with Hannibal. Apparently that would have to wait though, because a quick glance at her security monitors revealed Alessandro approaching her front gate. [D]
"Stay where you are, Chiara, Alessandro just arrived," Clarice said. She checked if Chiara really did as she was told. The doorbell rang. Walking towards the front door, Clarice almost felt like being in a farce, and smiled bitterly. This sure as hell would be easy if she could simply walk off stage. She checked Chiara before opening the door with a sigh. She walked outside and opened the gate for Alessandro. Clarice could see he was still very disconcerted, though the drive seemed to have cooled him down somewhat.
"I see Chiara beat me," he stated, nodding his head at her car.
"Yeah, she's in the living room," Clarice answered.
"She should not have come here," Alessandro continued, "If she's inside, I'll ask you here and now: were you in my home?"
His eyes were dark, darker than Clarice had ever seen before, and she could sense the fury smoldering beneath the surface. He was immensely angry, yet not beyond reason.
"No," Clarice answered him, facing him and holding his eyes, "You never gave me a key, I never secretly copied it and I never broke into your house."
She watched as her words worked their way into his brain and noticed how he, the inspector he was, compared them with her expression and stance. She saw him digest and accept them. And with it, his fury dissipated and was replaced by an expression of hopelessness.
"I... don know what's happening, Clarice."
"Why don't you come in," Clarice said, "so we can talk about it."
"Okay," he replied softly.
Clarice gently grabbed him by his upper arm and led him inside. She led him to the living room, where they met Chiara who was sitting on the edge of the couch, wringing her hands. As they entered, she rose and watched them intently. Or better said, she watched Alessandro mostly, Clarice noticed. And she saw Chiara was in doubt whether to speak or not, which surprised her greatly. She'd never shown a decent amount of self control before.
On the other hand, Alessandro didn't appear to be about to start either.
"Have a seat, Alessandro. You want a drink?" Clarice asked, breaking the silence.
"Erm... yeah, that would be great. Can I have a Martini?"
Clarice smiled inwardly, knowing he wasn't asking for a cocktail. She'd noticed a straight Martini vermouth was a common drink here and Alessandro's favorite.
"Chiara?"
"Nothing, thanks."
"Okay. One moment, Alessandro."
Clarice walked to the kitchen. With her gone, Chiara dared to speak to Alessandro.
"Io preoccupato per te," she started.
"Perché?"
"Mi importa di te."
Clarice could hear Chiara rise from her place, walk a few steps and sit down again. With the Martini in her hand, Clarice reentered the room.
"Here you are," she said and handed him his drink.
Alessandro took it from her and downed half of it after short consideration.
"I feel like I'm going crazy," he said. "Sometimes when I get home, I feel something is different. I'm not sure what or why, most often it's finding things somewhere else than where I left them. Or not finding them at all. Or finding a door closed I'm quite sure I had left open. The only explanation can be somebody must be doing this, but I can't find any traces, prints or whatever. It's as if things happen by themselves. Perhaps it's Il Diavolo..."
"I'm sure it must be someone," Chiara stated.
"Then why can't I find any traces? You know me, Chiara. If there were traces, I'd find them."
Chiara didn't know what to say. Clarice realized she knew the perpetrator.
"Alessandro," Clarice said, "It's been hard times lately. The case, you and me, and now Chiara. Perhaps it's just your nerves playing tricks on you. Take a few days off and see if it helps."
"Yes, that's a good idea!" Chiara chimed in. And for once, Clarice was happy for her colleague's joy. [MB]
.
Hannibal Lecter could never surprise Clarice Starling.
That's not to say she could predict him or even begin to fathom the depths of his psyche. He remained, largely, unquantifiable. There were exceptions, small moments of alignment when his soul was transparent to hers. But she expected him to push boundaries, to eke out a path shaped by his own unique morality. When one constantly expects the unexpected, it is difficult and rare to achieve a genuine level of surprise. But she nearly reached it when it clicked in her mind Hannibal had been searching Alessandro's apartment. More than searching, apparently.
She felt a subtle shift in the air behind her and turned to face him.
Her brow wrinkled as she looked at him in puzzlement. "Why?"
He knew exactly what she was asking and responded, "I needed to assess his level of threat to us. I won't take chances, not with my freedom and most assuredly not with yours. That was the reason for the first visit."
"Okay." She crossed the room and settled on the couch, knowing a possibly lengthy and definitely weighty conversation was about to occur. Resentment stirred in her breast; this was the second piece of significant information he'd withheld from her. She needed to understand why. "Tell me about the others."
He settled in beside her. "I've returned several times, moved things as he described. As to why," here, Hannibal paused for a moment, "my actions were partly motivated by a desire to distract Ispettore Corvo. He is rather astute, and my visits created an internal conflict within him, an effective diversion away from you and me."
She held his gaze, steel in her tone, "You were playing with him."
"Yes," spoke with a rasping vehemence.
"Why?"
"It angered me, Clarice, that such an ordinary man, an uninspired man, had enjoyed your favor."
"You're pissed because we were lovers?"
"Pissed doesn't capture the rage I felt when I found your face cream in his medicine cabinet. He's kept it, tucked in a corner on the middle shelf."
"Hannibal, you said before we started all this that you accept me. All of me. Which means my past too."
"I begrudge you nothing, Clarice, I am happy for any moments of comfort or peace you had before me. But I begrudge him; I find it intolerable that he holds any hope of your return."
"It was a fling for a couple of months. It didn't mean anything."
"It meant something to him, and to you too. You're worried for him."
Was it possible that Hannibal Lecter could entertain any amount of insecurity? The man who'd lived in her every waking thought for years? She studied him for a moment. Her Hannibal defined inscrutability, and most would see a man reclined on a settee, expression neutral. But Clarice took in his subtly stiffened posture and the set of his lips. Apparently it was more than possible.
She drew herself up on her knees and crawled the short distance to him, then captured his face in her palms. Holding his gaze with her own, she leaned into him and spoke the truth in her heart.
"Do you think that there's any possibility, any at all, that I would have started something with Alessandro if I knew you were in my future?" He could read the pain in her eyes as she continued, "You were an impossible dream, one that was never gonna come true. You were always there with me. And that was beautiful and comforting. But it also hurt. I ached because I knew I would never have you…"
Hannibal Lecter swallowed past the emotion gathered in his chest. He had ached all those years too. But never, never had he relegated her, them, to the unattainable.
Now here they sat, together. It was all that mattered. Was he some petty, jealous teenager that he couldn't get beyond Clarice and Alessandro's past?
He continued where she had stopped, "So you accepted life for what it was and found joy where you could?"
She smiled at him, her eyes glistening. "Yes."
He nodded, "Clarice, I acknowledge jealousy and anger contributed to my actions regarding Alessandro. But he is a danger to us. Upon my first visit to his apartment I removed Bloom's textbook from his bookcase."
She set back against the cushions, her right hand now resting in his left. After chewing over his words for many moments she responded, "Okay. I get it. Alessandro has more than a passing interest in forensic psychology. But Hannibal, I've worked closely with him for months. He's a smart kid, but he's not given to intuitive leaps. And danger or no, it's not in me to…to dispose of him to ensure our own safety."
Hannibal knew that. It was the only reason Alessandro was still alive.
"I'll cease my visits to his apartment," and here his lips turned up in a slight grin, "and I will not dispose of him as you so charmingly put it, not unless he directly threatens us."
It was the best she would get from him, for now at least.
"Thank you." Feeling the weight of the emotions released in the last hour, she knew action would help. "Okay, let's pay Baby Anjelica's mother a visit. Go find out exactly what's on that computer." [D]