Buenos Ares, 18 months later. Starling's soft footfalls landed on the pavement in a smooth even stride. The Buenos Aires Marathon was in a few weeks and this would be her longest run yet—23 miles, start to finish. There was little physical benefit to running more than 20, but she'd rather go into the race not knowing what the last 3.2 miles felt like, versus the last 6.2. After today she would taper down her runs to avoid over-training and injury. Nineteen miles in and she was feeling the strain. Her music died about a mile back but it was no matter. She knew better than to rely on externalities; motivation and endurance came from within. Starling carried on in silence. Four miles was nothing, she told herself, for she had come thousands of miles across the ocean and many countries in between to arrive here. Her journey had taken 10 years; this run—less than three-and-a-half hours. Nothing.
Two miles. She was in familiar territory now, passing the mercado in their neighborhood. At just past seven, the streets were beginning to wake. One by one vendors unfurled shop awnings, tables and chairs set out for patrons. Few paid her any mind. Her calves and quads ached terribly, the pain shooting straight through to her lower back. Her shoulders were stiff, holding the tension of her upper body as her legs propelled her forward. The mind is a funny thing, for it is not at the start—or even halfway through—but right at the end, closest to victory when the voice within urging us to quit, screams the loudest. Startling knew that voice for what it was and kept going. Then, on a quiet neighborhood street off the main road, the little beep on her Garmin went off. Looking at her watch as she slowed down to a walk, the numerical face read 23.1 miles. Not a sole in sight bore witness to her triumph. Starling didn't care. She walked in the center of the road, cars parked unfathomably close to one another on either side, feeling the sun on her face. She walked in the direction of the home they shared, knowing her companion would be waiting. After her shower there would be coffee and breakfast. He would ask, and she would tell. But for now, she walked in silence. One brick at a time.
- Fin
Author's Note:
I want to express my sincerest gratitude to those of you who have reviewed and followed this story, and also to give my sincerest apology for leaving it unfinished all these years. To be sure there is no fanfic worth waiting ten years for, but I truly hope this story surprised and delighted. It meant a lot to me to finish it. I love this genre and all of the writers and readers who have contributed and supported it—thank you all.
You may be wondering why there are two more chapters following the epilogue. Let me explain. Originally I had written several scenes occurring between Dr. Lecter and Paul Krendler, with the intent of weaving them into the main storyline. Ultimately I decided to cut them because I felt like they distracted from the overall theme: which is Clarice Starling coming to terms with her decisions and finding a way to move forward in life. But I must tell you—I really, really enjoyed writing the scenes between Dr. Lecter and Paul—so much so that just I couldn't omit them entirely. The chapters that follow are quite graphic, but if you've made it this far, dear reader… something tells me you won't mind.
All the best,
October