As the days and weeks passed, Dr. Lecter felt less inclined to survey her morning walks through the binoculars. He had watched her closely in the beginning, and though she never gave him reason to distrust her, he knew she could be unpredictable and would not stake his freedom on blind faith. Luckily Starling was a creature of habit—finding comfort in structure, she soon settled into a routine. Now, he only watched her occasionally—not out of self-preservation, but for pleasure. She was beautiful lost unto her own thoughts, and there was something undeniably intimate about watching her unaware. He was glad he hadn't needed the drugs after all.
Indeed he was quite pleased with her progress. She became less focused on the past and dove in to planning her future. While she was still prone to the occasional outburst, they were becoming less frequent, though he had to admit—he enjoyed sparring with her from time to time. She was his match, or as close to it as could be. Although they'd spent the days mostly apart, they had spent every evening together. Dinner—sometimes formal, sometimes not—and often they would stay up late into the night talking or playing music. He liked to play for her. He liked to test her palate with new wine. And increasingly, he found himself musing on what the wine might taste like on her tongue.
It truly was something to know Clarice Starling in private life. Not the silent figure within his memory palace, one-dimensional in nature, on the never-ending quest to save the lambs, but a living breathing infinitely complex Clarice Starling. The reality of Clarice so far exceeded any construct he could've imagined, and he found she occupied more and more rooms within his memory palace—perhaps too many for comfort. Yes, she had come a long way and he had in mind a celebratory gift to mark the passage from her old life to the new. He had been quite busy over the past few weeks and was grateful of the predictability her routine afforded him for his own freedom of movement. He'd made quite a lot of progress himself, but it was not quite time yet. More work needed to be done—both on his and her part. Nonetheless, he was growing excited.
Dr. Lecter entered the barn and descended the stairs to the cellar. It warm below, in contrast to the cold outside air. The ceiling was a mere eight feet tall, if an inch, and two incandescent bulbs illuminated the room. In the far corner sat a large metal kennel, and a single chair folded against the wall. The dog perked up at this arrival, stirring within the confines of the crate.
"Settle down now, settle down."
Dr. Lecter ran his fingers along the cage.
"Have you been a good boy?"
The dog shook the cage, rubbing its face against the bars.
Dr. Lecter smiled. "Let's get you out for a little exercise, hmm?"
Dr. Lecter unlocked the cage and the dog shuffled out with a burst of pent-up energy, hobbling around in circles haphazardly on the dirt floor.
"That's enough now."
Dr. Lecter extended his hand. The dog came to him immediately, sitting on his haunches, awaiting further instruction from his master.
"Good. Stay."
He turned and retrieved a rubber ball from the assortment of toys on the shelf.
Dr. Lecter clapped his hands loudly. "Whooo's ready?"
"The dog yelped, shaking back and forth in nervous tension, eyes fixated on the ball."
Smiling, he threw the ball. The dog chased after it as if the whole of his existence depended on it. He caught it just as it bounced off the far wall, wrestling it of the ground, the dirt from the cellar coating his mouth. With haste he returned it to his master, careful not to slobber.
"Again?"
The dog shook, eager to please.
He threw the ball once more, and the dog dutifully returned it.
"Very good. Now sit."
The dog obeyed.
"Lay."
The dog dropped down, nose to the floor at Dr. Lecter's feet.
"Roll over."
He rolled onto his back, legs in the air, panting and shaking. Dr. Lecter briefly inspected the stitches.
"Stay."
Dr. Lecter retrieved the empty bowls from the kennel and set them on the metal workbench. Opening a can, he scooped out its contents and poured fresh water from a gallon jug. The dog shook expectantly, stirring up the dirt. He placed the bowls in front of the dog, just out of reach.
"Get up."
The dog rolled over onto his haunches, sensing a change in his master's demeanor. Unsure of what he did to cause it, he began sweating, sweating and cowered at his feet in fear and confusion. Wasn't he good? He wanted so very, very much to be good.
Dr. Lecter bent down to eye-level, his tone low and menacing. "Now beg."
Immediately the dog dropped down to the ground, shaking and sweating, making high-pitched whimpering noises as he licked Dr. Lecter's shoes. As a courtesy, Dr. Lecter lifted is left shoe, allowing him to cleanse the bottom, then the right. Once finished, the dog rubbed his nose in the dirt—all snot and tears—not knowing what else to do.
Satisfied, Dr. Lecter nudged the food and water in front of him.
"Such a good boy," Dr. Lecter patted his head. "Eat."
In no time, the dog devoured the contents of the bowl, licking it clean. Trembling, he returned to a sitting position at Dr. Lecter's feet.
"Okiedokie," he clapped. "Let's get you back inside."
Relieved, the dog scurried into the kennel as far to the wall as he could and waited for the metal gate to close. Securing the kennel, Dr. Lecter whistled as he ascended the stairs, turning off the lights and locking the cellar door behind him. The dog shook for a long time.