Title: Conversations with a Cannibal

Rating: T

Warnings: Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

Part 13: Blinding

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nervous tension buzzed through Clarice's veins. She felt as if she were flying as she led Will Graham out to her car. She asked him how he'd gotten there and he waved her question away, muttering about a cab. He was scared. She could almost feel the fear thrumming off of him as he tapped his fingers against the door handle and directed her to the motel to pick up Dr. Lecter.

Part of her said that she needed to call Jack Crawford – or at the very least someone at the BAU. But she'd tried talking to Jack earlier and it wasn't as if Jack had given her a chance to say much of anything. Besides, she was fully capable of handling herself. If the FBI didn't want to believe she could handle herself in the field, she would just have to prove them wrong.

As they drove, the silence became heavy and she turned to stare at Graham. He was twitching and his eyes were darting around the side mirrors and the rearview mirror every few seconds.

"How did you and Dr. Lecter meet up again?" Clarice asked, if for no other reason than to sate her own curiosity.

Graham jerked his head toward her, frowning, "Hmm?"

"You and Dr. Lecter," Clarice said, "how did you two meet again? Was it in London?"

Will gave a twitchy jerk of his head, "Florence," he said, "Before the Mancini murder."

She nodded, tucking that information away. So Graham had been there for Salvatore Mancini's death. She wondered if he'd killed him. The kill was messier than anything Dr. Lecter had ever done. She didn't ask though. Ignorance is bliss and all that. Maybe she'd ask Dr. Lecter. He at the very least wouldn't be offended by the question.

"Dr. Reid…" she started to ask another question, then thought better of it and paused. After Will failed to acknowledge her and the silence pressed harder against her, she decided the question was worth the risk.

"How is Dr. Reid?" she said, clearing her throat. "It's been over a year… Is he…?"

"Surprisingly stable," Will bit out. "And very accepting of his circumstances. He can adept."

She nodded, "And this… rescue mission… you're okay with just delivering him right back to Dr. Lecter?"

Graham frowned, "If I didn't know any better, Agent Starling, I'd say you were planning to double cross Hannibal Lecter."

Clarice smiled a bit, "Dr. Lecter did say that I would have the chance to bring in Mason Verger and him."

"Heh," Will snorted, "Not likely. Hannibal isn't going to allow himself to be taken. Not even by you."

"Are you saying that because he wouldn't let you arrest him or because you really think he's going to run again?"

Will's eyes narrowed, "Hannibal is a survivor. He cares first and foremost about himself. Trust me, Starling, if he has to leave you, me and anyone else behind to keep himself safe, he will. He's not the type to get… sentimental."

He bit out the last word, his scarred face twisting horribly with it. Clarice glanced over at him again and shook her head.

"He seems to be very attached to Dr. Reid. And to you. I think you're lying to yourself, Graham."

Will only snorted again before sitting up straighter, "Turn right here," he instructed, "I'll tell you where to park. He should be waiting outside of the room."

Freddie followed at a safe distance, keeping her eyes trained on Clarice Starling's small car. She wished she could hear what was being said inside and could've kicked herself for not thinking earlier for putting a bug into Starling's car.

She could make out the vague shapes of their shadows moving in the car and glanced toward her camera with a smile. She'd gotten plenty of shots of the two of them together. Granted, many of them were out of focus and from difficult angles, but there were more than enough clear shots for her to put in an article.

A lesser journalist would probably have called the police or the FBI by that point, but Freddie could smell a story – Clarice Starling and Will Graham together could only mean Lecter was involved somehow.

She slowed the her car down and pulled quickly into an old car wash, cutting her lights when she saw Starling pull into a motel parking lot. Quietly, she slipped out and, clutching her camera, moved toward the motel on foot.

It was dark, but the lights outside of the motel were bright, buzzing fluorescents and she could see Starling's car pulling up to a man standing with his back to them, closing a door. Her eyes widened when the man turned around and she saw Dr. Lecter himself.

Breath catching, Freddie lifted her camera and began snapping pictures with a blazing light in her eyes. This story would be bigger than her story on Chilton's death; bigger than anything she'd previously written about Will Graham; bigger than Clarice Starling being discarded by Jack Crawford. They started moving toward Starling's car and she ducked away, jogging back to her own car.

She slid behind the wheel and eased toward the road, watching carefully for the headlights of Starling's car. Three sets of lights passed before she saw the car she was looking for. She smiled again, waited a minute, watching where it turned off, and followed eagerly.

It was surprisingly warm in the room Spencer was being kept in. He was still lying on the same bed, now covered in a heavy blanket, naked and trembling. He'd spent a good half hour after Verger's man left simply staring up at the ceiling and blinking away the tears that threatened to fall in hot rivers down his face.

It took him a while to get a grip on his emotions, but once he managed to force himself to push the thoughts away, he starting looking for any means of escape. It felt strange. He'd done this so often after Hannibal had kidnapped him, but the need to find a way out had gradually become less and less important, to the point where he barely even bothered looking.

Now, though, it was all he could allow himself to think about.

They were likely on a second or third story of Verger's mansion. He couldn't tell what time of day it was – the curtain had been pulled closed the entire time – but Verger had sent one of the men in to clean him up and he'd made a comment about it cutting into his sleep. He could assume it was late evening.

Jumping from the window would likely do him no good. He'd only injure himself or kill himself. There were two doors – one which led into the hall and one that hadn't been opened yet. It was probably a bathroom, but there were other possibilities. A close, another section of the room, a passage into another room…

The handcuffs appeared to be standard police issue from what Spencer could tell from his limited view of them. He'd gotten out of handcuffs before. It was something he'd taught himself to do when he was a child, learning magic tricks. He'd become fairly good at it.

Of course, in this situation he was hardly in much of a position to pick the lock and he was sure Verger kept the key on him, or else entrusted it to his doctor.

After what felt like far too long, Spencer pressed his lips together and eyed the cuffs. He had bony wrists and slim fingers. His mother had told him when he was younger that he had pianist hands, but until very recently, Spencer had never bothered to attempt learning the instrument.

He bit down hard on his lip and tugged, his face screwing up as the metal cut into his skin. He could feel the hard edges digging and pressing against his flesh. After a minute, he stopped and glared up at his hands. His wrists were small, but the cuffs were on fairly tight.

His brain felt muddled, the thoughts thick and syrupy. Probably due to the concussion he'd received when Verger's men had grabbed him, or maybe something Hannibal had done. He couldn't be entirely sure any more. What he was sure of was that he had to get out of there and he could not just lie there and be the victim again.

Eyes still focused on the cuffs, he remembered Morgan teaching him how to dislocate his thumb in order to pull his hand through cuffs. He'd never actually done it and it looked painful, but he knew the mechanics of it. He studied the harsh red outlines and the dark forming bruises on his chaffed wrists.

He sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. This would be painful.

It took considerable effort, sweat forming on his brow and blood beading from his lip where he bit down, but he managed to twist his right hand around and shove his thumb out of place. The hand slid roughly from the cuffs and his hand ached, but he didn't care. The chain clinked down and he slowly sat up, eyes wide.

His breathing was coming to fast as he stumbled from the bed. Everything was fuzzy and out of focus, his balance was off, but he was steady enough. He fumbled around the room, snatching at his clothes which had been left on the seat beside the vanity. He tugged them on, ignoring every flash of pain his body sent him.

He veins pumped with adrenaline. He had to get out. He had to get free.

He had to get back to Hannibal…

He flinched around that last thought and struggled with his shirt, hurrying to the as of yet unopened door. He flung it open to reveal a large and ornate bathroom. No other exit in sight.

He'd have to use the hall exit then.

Creeping toward the door, he pressed his ear against it. He couldn't hear anything, but he was pretty sure Verger would have one or two people standing there. It was stupidly risky to barge out there without a weapon.

Turning back to the room, Spencer began to search. He needed a weapon and he needed to get out of there.

Clarice glanced back in the rear-view mirror. It was dark in the car and all she could properly see of Dr. Lecter was his eyes. She'd been close to him before, but she'd never been quite that close. In the sweeping street lights, his eyes seemed to glow, a dark, bloody red. She shivered, but not in fear.

She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but they kept darting back at Dr. Lecter's eyes. He was silent. It was terrifying and she still didn't feel scared. She wondered if maybe that part of her brain was just completely dysfunctional because she really should be scared. She'd seen what he was capable of, after all.

The silence didn't feel as oppressive as it had with Will, but Clarice still fought the urge to fill it with the questions that were buzzing around in her mind. She didn't voice most of them in fear of sounding like an idiot.

Will cleared his throat, "How exactly are we getting in?" he asked, glancing back at Dr. Lecter.

Clarice answered before Dr. Lecter could, "Verger's got at least six men guarding the mansion. I've been shadowing him for the last few weeks with members of Dr. Reid's team. He's had men coming and going from the house. There are probably a few men inside too."

Her eyes flicked back to Dr. Lecter, "I'd like to get in and out without anyone being murdered."

Dr. Lecter's eyes met hers in the mirror and she felt a thrill run up her spine.

"Does defending oneself count as murder, Clarice?"

His voice was soft, but there was a hard, metal edge to it. She jerked her gaze away and forced herself to stare at the road ahead, watching taillights flash brightly in the darkness.

"I know you don't have any qualms about it, Dr. Lecter, but I'm an FBI agent and I could still call Crawford any time I want. We want these men alive. The best solution is the one where everyone lives."

She couldn't see his smile, but she heard the way his lips curled in the disturbingly gleeful tone of his voice.

"And one which ends with me once again behind bars, correct?"

Clarice frowned, "You did murder more than a dozen people and kidnap an FBI agent."

"I suppose I did," Dr. Lecter leaned back and then glanced through the back windshield.

"I have to wonder how well your training at the prestigious FBI academy was, Clarice, if you have no realized that we are being followed."

A sense of cold dread flooded over her and she followed Lecter's gaze, staring in the rear-view mirror. There were several sets of headlights brightly shining behind them, one several hundred yards back, slow and steady. She frowned.

"Are you sure?" Will asked, turning further in his seat.

Lecter turned his eyes to Will, "Of course,"

Will frowned, "We're almost there. You and Clarice take care of Verger's men. I'll figure out who's tailing us."

Clarice gave him a sharp look and Will smiled at her. It was a terrifying smile and for the first time Clarice actually felt afraid.

"I'm not going to kill them," Will said. She didn't believe him for a second. "Unless you think we need a suspicious body showing up where it can't be explained?"

She frowned at him, "Just do what I say," she said, "I'm helping you two here. I don't have to, so I expect you to follow my lead."

Dr. Lecter's teeth flashed as his eyes shone brightly, "Of course, Clarice," he said, "You're wish is my command."

There wasn't exactly much in the way weapons in the room and Spencer wasn't exactly up to much fighting anyway. He dug through the vanity and found a brush, a comb and a mirror. The mirror was heavy and might be a decent weapon to bludgeon someone with, but the comb was flimsy and the brush was small and light.

As he moved around the room the cuff still attached to his left hand bounced against him, pressing into his sore flesh. He ignored it. It was the least of his aches at any rate and he tried not to think too hard about the stiffness in his muscles and the aching burn in his lower body.

A search of the bathroom yielded not much more. A small backscratcher might make a decent weapon, but there wasn't much else. Soap, shampoo and another brush. There was a stack of thick towels and a jar of bath beads. Frowning, he reached into the jar and squished them in his hands. Too soft. He sighed and left the bathroom.

There wasn't much else in the room to be used as a quick weapon.

Holding the mirror in one hand and the sturdy backscratcher in the other – with some difficulty due to his dislocated digit – he went back out into the main room and swallowed his fear. His heart was pounding too fast and he was having some difficulty with his breathing, but he wasn't about to let fear get the best of him.

Twisting his grip tighter around the mirror, he reached out, closed his eyes and eased the door open.

Verger's mansion had floodlights illuminating the front gate. Will could see two men stationed just inside the gate, hidden in the shadows. It looked like they were holding assault rifles. Clarice's jaw hardened when she spotted them.

They parked a bit down the street and the car that had been tailing them cut their lights at the end of the street, parking just before the turn off. Will frowned and squinted toward the car. It was dark, but he could make out the shape of the vehicle. He couldn't see a person though.

"We're going to have to go around the guards," Clarice said as they slid out of the car. Hannibal was silent, seeming completely calm. Will could feel the rage and urge to kill bubbling beneath the surface.

"We go around to the side entrance," Hannibal said, "I am sure he has more men there, but it is less heavily lighted."

Clarice frowned, "How do you -? Never mind," she shook her head. Her hand went to the holster at her side and she pulled her gun out, checking the clip and turning off the safety.

"I lead," she reminded him, boldly meeting Hannibal's eyes. There were so few people who ever dared to speak like that to Hannibal. And even fewer who did so and lived. Will felt a sense of grudging respect for Clarice Starling.

Hannibal nodded courteously, eyes dark as pitch in the moonlight. He waved her forward and she moved swiftly through the shadows. Before following her, Hannibal turned to face Will, "Be careful, dear Will," he said, his accented voice low, "Mason is not to be underestimated. This could very well be something of his doing."

Will smiled and shrugged, "It's almost like you care, Hannibal," he said flippantly. He turned and moved in the opposite direction of Clarice, keeping his eyes on the silhouette of the car. He heard Hannibal's deep chuckle echo behind him as he disappeared into the night.

TBC