Her pistol fit comfortably in the palm of her hand, the tape she had placed along both sides of the grip rubbing roughly against her skin. It felt right holding it, like it was a piece of herself. Without it, she felt naked, different from herself. Strange how fast such things become a part of you. It had barely been a week since she graduated from the Academy, a little over a month since she had believed herself to be on top of the world, going anywhere she wanted.
Too many things could change in a month. She had learned that the hard way.
Ahead of her she could hear the sound of footsteps, the soft sounds made louder by the enclosed space of the hallway. Following them, even in almost darkness was easier than she thought it would be. A nice change of pace compared to the last time she had stalked someone in the darkness.
The fear from her chase with Buffalo Bill had all but disappeared, a memory of the past and nothing more. All that was left in its place was the warm rush of pleasure that had appeared in her breastbone after a job well done. It had been weeks since she had shot the man, and she had noticed that the warm, steady glow had started to fade. She had tried several different things in a desperate attempt to make it stay, but it had finally almost guttered out.
And then she had been assigned to a cold case. One that Crawford had hoped she'd be able to find new information on. It'd taken days of hard searching to find something to help with the case, and it had been far too small when it finally had come. It had been nothing more than a single book that had been taken from the scene and found in the man's care. Nothing concrete, but the moment Clarice had seen it she had known. Could see it in the way the man sat in the chair across from Baltimore police and waved off their accusations.
It hadn't been enough proof for anyone, not even Crawford. The man who had promised to trust her and put faith in her after she had shown him her worth. It had stung more than a little bit, and had left her feeling lost and uncertain of her place in the FBI. So when she had run into the man out on the street, free and able to do whatever he so pleased, the agent had felt something snap.
It wasn't fair that he got to walk free while his victims were dead. Not fair that the man had taken the lives of eight different people and got to walk around pretending the world hadn't changed. Because it most certainly had for the families of his victims. People who were now realizing that bad things happened to everyone, not just strangers that you heard about on the news. They were realizing that never again would they get to talk to their loved ones and say things that needed to be said.
Following the man, Clarice slipped a hand into her coat, making sure her gun was cocked and ready. These days it usually was, but she had the urge to check all the same. It was a motion she barely registered, months of training had driven the concept of preparedness into her mind. She allowed herself a moment to feel appreciative towards her instructors, they had trained her well, and it was how she knew she was going to get out of this without any trouble.
She heard the man in front of her stop, and she hurried to follow suit, not wanting to run into him just yet and give herself away. The man's breathing only just reached her ears, a soft panting that made her wonder what the man had done recently to exert himself. Perhaps it had been the walk up the stairs, the man wasn't exactly fit, his broad stomach making the task difficult. The agent heard a soft sniff, and for a moment she panicked thinking a slight trace of the perfume she had applied yesterday might still be lingering on her skin. But the man simply muttered under his breath and continued walking.
A faint sigh of relief left the woman as she followed along behind him, careful to place her feet just so on the hardwood floor so that it wouldn't creak beneath her. Her skin prickled as she moved, and every so often her heart skipped a beat in anticipation. She can almost feel the man's death rushing through her, a justice for the women he had wronged over the many years he'd been active.
She was close, so close. It would only take a moment longer of stalking him. She wanted him to turn the light on in his room, to know who it was that had finally caught up to him and gotten justice. The agent could hear the rustle of his clothing, could smell the unpleasant odor of his body as he lifted his arm to turn on the light. Reaching for her gun again, she made sure to push her coat away from her arm, leaving it free. It would be stupid to come so far only to be slowed down by the edge of her coat.
The faint click of the light switch reached her ears, and the woman smiled to herself. It was almost time. She could feel her heartbeat beginning to pick up speed beneath her ribs, the hard pounding growing with every almost silent step she took. All of a sudden the beat filled her skull, pushing everything out of it's way and demanding to be heard. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to take a moment and regain her thoughts. She wouldn't be able to keep the kill clean if her thoughts were clouded and she let herself give into the damn sound.
Forcing air into her lungs, she raised her pistol upwards slowly, the muzzle of the gun extending away from her in a straight shot towards the man. It was so easy, required barely a thought on the agent's part. Holding her breath, she let the oxygen flow through her until it sat at the base of her skull, filling her with sudden awareness. Her finger tightened around the trigger-
"It's been months since I've heard your voice, Clarice."
All of a sudden the room around her is white. Painfully so. The darkness melts away, withdrawing into the corners of her cell before disappearing altogether. Anger forms a hot band around her chest, restricting her from breathing too deeply. Breathing shallow, she lets her eyes take their time to adjust in the harsh light of her cell. She has learned over the years that forcing such things rarely ends well, and if she was to stop and think about it she'd likely come to the conclusion that with all the time she has she might as well take her time doing things.
Slowly, the ex-agent raises her head so she can look at the man before her. Blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly in distaste, she doesn't allow herself any other signs of her hatred for the sanitarium's director. She has long ago brought everyone to an understanding about her position in this place, all who work the hall and call it their personal hell know that in the end she's in control, her word is a certain kind of law.
Chilton is different.
There are very few ways of controlling the man, and none of them last for long, his mind too easily distracted and unable to grasp onto things of length. Although weak minded and more manipulatable than he believes himself to be, he refuses to serve any purpose but one that appears in his best short term interest. While she might be able to manipulate the tests he throws at her, she knows that she will never be able to manipulate the man as well as she might wish because she refuses to provide him any immediate satisfaction.
And that's not to say that she hasn't tried. Clarice had spent the first year of her captivity trying to manipulate the man into giving her what she wanted. She had tried everything she could could think of. The only things that had seemed to make the man even remotely interested in following the leads she tried to hand him were sexual appeal and the possibility of his advancement in whatever field he imagined himself being an expert in. And even then it had never lasted long.
It makes her smile to remember her it might not have gotten her very much at least it had been entertaining. For a short period of time at least. These days it was simply easier to ignore the man and his probing questions on the rare occasions he decided to grace her with his presence. The only downfall to ignoring him was the punishments he decided to hand out as he left. Her poor books and few pencils had felt the brunt of his anger far too many times.
Lines appear on the man's face as he watches her smile. The skin around his eyes and mouth are pulled slightly into slight furrows, as if they have never been used in such a fashion. She knows that they have, though the scowls are usually quickly covered by the falsely bright smile he's tried to perfect over the years. Clarice wonders if he knows that the smile just makes him appear slightly constipated. Chilton might believe himself to be a fairly decent looking man, highly desirable by any woman in Baltimore, but the smile paired with his wandering eyes would be enough to make any sane woman shudder in disgust.
Head cocked to the side, the woman studies the man before her. Once upon a time she would have said her feelings for the man were nothing more than simple frustration at her jailing, but now she knows better. Disdain and disgust war with the lingering fury she has for the man. More often than not she's able to push aside the burning anger and speak to him coolly and crisply, her answers short and given in such a way that even Chilton would not be able to misunderstand. However, it gets harder to keep her conversations with the man toeing the line of politeness. Maybe it's because of the continued confinement to her tiny cell.
She pushes that thought aside for later consideration. For now she must decide if she wants to speak with Chilton and give him something he might be able to use. Eyes running over his body, she reads his body as best as she can through the glare of fluorescent lights. Another mental note is made to talk to Barney about potentially switching the current bulbs out for something a little dimmer.
Opening her mouth, she takes a slow breath in, satisfaction rushing through her as she watches the man lean forward a little. His fingers play with the thin form of a pen, a rather expensive one judging from the faint shine of metal she can see. He is eager for anything from her, anything he can twist and use to show the scientific community that the doctorate he pretends to have is worth something. It only takes her a moment to come to the conclusion that tonight she will give him a few moments of her time.
She's only just gotten her books back from the last time she had decided to ignore the man.
Glancing away from Chilton, she shifts on the cold floor, her muscles starting to protest the prolonged position. Her tongue slides across her dry lips, and for a moment she wants nothing more than a tube of chapstick. It's oddly enough the simple things that she finds herself missing the most. Maybe if she asks nicely Barney will bring some in for her one day. He's usually considerate about such things, one of the few reasons she respects the man.
"I don't have anything to say to you." She finally speaks to the man, comfortable with talking now that she's no longer watching the man try to devour her with his eyes. Such things have never made her comfortable.
The sound of Chilton shifting from foot to foot reaches her. Impatience has always been one of the man's many flaws, along with his tendency to get riled by inmates far too easily. If the man hadn't alienated her years ago she would have been more than happy to point out his flaws to him and give him ways to fix them, but she's long past such ideas.
"And yet I have much I wish to hear from you, Clarice."
"I would prefer, Doctor Chilton, if you would refer to me as Starling. You may use Miss if you so wish." It's not the first time she's said as much to him, and she knows that this time the warning will once again go unheeded, but she has to at least try. Perhaps if she says it enough times the message will finally sink through his neatly coiffed hair into his less than functional brain.
Clarice glances back at the man in time to see him scowl at her in frustration. The obvious display of emotion has her relaxing ever so slightly. Speaking with Doctor Lecter earlier in the day had thrown her off ever so slightly. The man had shown little signs of true emotion, and she doubted many of the smiles she had received were completely genuine. It had been both fascinating and frustrating to experience.
"Clarice, I would like to know what you and Doctor Lecter spoke about this afternoon." Chilton's voice is edged with impatience, and she can hear the faint note of whining in his voice. He must be upset that his most prized possession has spoken with another in ways he can only dream about. She briefly wonders if Chilton is jealous of the other man and his real degree. It's more than likely that he is, would only be natural for him to be envious of another who has what he wants.
Tossing her head back a little and moving some hair from her face, the woman leans back against her cell wall a little more. Back and shoulders straight, she doesn't have to really use it, but it's a nice way to prop herself up every so often. Makes her feel safe with something to her back.
"We were talking about research." Not entirely a lie, but not entirely an answer either. Perhaps she will be able to tease the man a little before giving him something of substance to chew on for a while.
"I see." Chilton's usual voice is normally enough to make her want to punch the man's face in. But when the undeserved note of self-importance begins to creep in the ex-agent finds that the feeling grows. "And what exactly was so interesting about research?"
"Well, Doctor Chilton," her voice is sickly sweet as she answers him. "When you conduct proper research your hypothesis can either be proven correct or incorrect. Either way it's an opportunity to learn more about particular subjects. And a good way to stop oneself from looking like a complete ass in front of people who can control the outcome of your career."
It's a rather obvious poke at one of the man's many attempts to publish papers about her. An attempt that ended with him submitting a paper to a journal she herself had ended up writing a piece for. In his paper he had tried to prove that certain parts of her brain did not function correctly, hence making her more prone to violence and dark thoughts. Her paper on the other hand had been on how easily it was to fool most psychiatric tests, and highlighted the need to use CT and MRI scans when conducting tests.
She hadn't mentioned to Chilton or in her paper that in her mind parts of his thesis were correct. Oh no, that was a private thought that she only allows herself to dwell on during the deepest parts of the night.
Clarice watches with a small measure of satisfaction as the man's face begins to turn red. It's always an interesting experience watching the blood rush to Chilton's face. It starts on the highest points of his cheekbones and quickly begins to spread to his lower face. His forehead is always the last patch of skin to turn red, and he always flushes to the roots of his ridiculously styled shit coloured hair.
"Re-research can be conducted as one sees fit, Clarice."
Her smile grows as the man stumbles over his words.
"Starling," she repeats again for no other reason than simply for the vain hope that one day she can stop wanting to flinch every time the man uses her name. "And while research can be conducted as one sees fit, the tests being done should be carefully considered and reviewed for any potential failings. Such as-"
"Such as the chance that an insane FBI agent may have previously studied the tests and been able to manipulate the outcomes to reflect what she desired it to."
Clarice blinks as one of Chilton's rare moments of actual intelligence shows itself. They do not happen often, and she herself has only been witness to a handful of them in the seven years she's been in sanitarium. When she had first been sentenced they had been a pleasant surprise, and she had held out hope for the man, these days however they are more of an annoyance than anything else.
Shaking her head slowly, she stretches out leg out in front of her on the floor. The current conversation is starting to bore her even with the brief flash of intelligence from the man. Her smile fades until her lips are simply a straight line of boredom. Letting her eyes close fully, she rests her head against the wall. Her nose wrinkles slightly in distaste as she feels the bumps and cracks of the bricks against her scalp. Maybe one day they'll move her to a cell with slightly nicer walls. Ones that she'll be able to rest comfortably on when she really needs to. It's highly unlikely, but she can hope for it.
Hope is one of the few things she has left. Hope and memories.
Chilton begins speaking again, trying to draw more from her. Though his attempts are in vain. She no longer wishes to speak with him. Past experience has taught her that he will continue to stand and try to speak with her for a while longer. His high voice fills her cell, pushing at her mind and demanding entrance, but she stubbornly pushes it back. He's tried to take her body and in some ways he's succeeded, she will not let him have her mind.
Instead she focuses on thoughts about a book she has just finished reading. She does not have the pleasure of having many books, so all that she has have been well read throughout her years in the sanitarium. Requesting more would mean going through Chilton and she's more than certain that the man would refuse all requests for more literature simply to make her life a little more miserable. Perhaps a politely worded letter to Crawford or whoever was senator would help. Or perhaps Barney would be willing to sneak in a few more books for her if she promised to continue acting reasonable for him.
Hearing heavy breathing, she opens her eyes and finds Chilton staring at her hard. It's as if the man believes he can pull the answers from her simply by staring at her. The very idea of the man getting a hold of anything inside her head makes her lips curl in disgust. An expression that does not go unnoticed by the man. Anger slips over his face, narrowing his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth. A sharp snort of disapproval leaves the director before he turns on his heel and takes off down the corridor.
The familiar cries and screams of her fellow inmates greets the sudden appearance of Chilton in the hallway. In a way it soothes Clarice. Life in the sanitarium follows a certain pattern that rarely deviates. The noises of protest from her fellow inmates after seeing Chilton are simply part of that pattern.
She waits until she hears the gate at the far end of the hallway buzz open and slam shut before she pushes herself to her feet. Socked feet making no noises against the concrete floor, she crosses the small space of her cell to stand in front of the glass separating her from the rest of the world. In it, she can make out a faint reflection of herself. One of the few times when she can actually see herself in anyway as Chilton has forbidden her to have mirrors.
If she presses herself against the glass on the west side of her cell she can see almost all the way down the hallway. When the lights are off in her cell the shadows tend to group together there, she blames it on the lack of proper lighting outside her cell. But it's a good spot for watching who's coming, in fact she had used it earlier in the day to watch Doctor Lecter walk towards her before she had thrown herself into another patch of shadows.
Her first impression of the doctor was one of bored disbelief. He was not the first to come and try to speak with her. Others had tried in the past and failed. Their reasons for failure varied, but more often than not it was simply they didn't understand what had been placed before them. It was simply something she was used to these days. She had thought most had grown wise to their inability to gain anything meaningful from a visit with her.
And then they had started talking.
He had managed to intrigue her and she had opened for him. If one could call what she had said to him truly opening. But still it had been more than anyone else had managed to get from her. It was unlikely that the doctor had realized that.
Clarice begins pacing lengthwise across her cell, the glass to her right then her left. Her long legs eat up the distance from one wall of her cell to the other in only a few short steps, but she doesn't care. It's movement and movement helps her think. She replays her conversation with Lecter over and over in her mind until she can almost see it playing out again before her.
It had been nice speaking with him, even though he had taken what she had said and turned it back on her. It was rare that anyone made her stumble, and she was impressed that the man had managed it. Smirking slightly to herself, Clarice pushes a piece of hair from her face again and tucks it behind an ear. She should have known better after seeing the man lecture several years before. He's intelligent, fiercely so, and she finds herself with a renewed sense of respect for it. However, with it comes a sense of loss at not being able to speak to the man more.
That she knows is her fault. But her impersonation of Chilton had left her with a sense of frustration and a desire to be free of the man who tried to lord over her.
Sighing, she rubs her face with her hands and leans against the glass. There is so little in her world these days perhaps it would have been best to ignore her feelings during her time with Lecter and simply enjoy the conversation. A little too late now to change such things, but she would know better for any future meeting she had with anyone with something resembling intelligence.
Hearing the buzz of the gate again, she raises her head and turns it to watch the hallway. It's about feeding time, or at least that's what her internal clock tells her. As Barney appears in the dim lighting, she allows herself a small smile. The man is not overly intelligent or overly educated, but the two of them manage to have decent talks. She enjoys hearing about the gossip he likes to share with her, and in return she tells him stories about her time in Quantico. It's not a perfect arrangement, but it works.
The two exchange a smile of greeting. Clarice, knowing the procedures by heart, steps away from the glass and into the center of her room. They are both aware of how thick the glass is, and how utterly impossible it is for her to harm him, but the procedures are something they both follow nonetheless. She believes it to be a physical sign of trust between them, and will continue to do it until the day one of them leaves the sanitarium.
Barney sets her dinner in the feeding tray and slides it through. Withdrawing, he sits himself down on the chair that only a few hours ago had held Doctor Lecter. When he's seated and comfortable, Clarice reaches into the tray and grabs the roll off of her plate. Ripping it in half, she sticks a piece of it in the watery gravy covering her mashed potatoes before taking a bite. It's plain and dull food, but at the very least it's more edible than some of the meals she used to make herself.
The woman turns her gaze to Barney as she slowly chews, ready to hear about the day's gossip. Instead she's greeted by a query about her visit with Lecter. "Doctor Lecter, now, he didn't seem overly disappointed as he was leaving today, Miss Clarice. Ya finally give one of them what they were lookin' for?"
Smiling, she lifts her plate from the feeding tray and carefully sets it on the ground in front of Barney. She sits behind it, a graceful motion of bending legs. Her torn roll is placed on the edge of her plate, and she grabs a piece of undercooked broccoli to take a bite from. A soft hum leaves the woman as she chews thoughtfully for a moment.
"I don't believe that I did, Barney." She takes another bite and chews for a moment. "We spoke, yes, but it was about research he's conducted in the past. Nothing that might have given him any real information on my current or previous states."
"And yet there wasn't any of the usual frustration."
"Maybe he believes he saw something."
Barney raises an eyebrow at her and crosses his arms over his chest. He considers her statement for a moment, nodding slowly as he thinks. It's something he does when his mind is working hard to process everything being handed to it. There are days when he sits there for several long minutes, nodding and thinking, but today is not one of those days.
"Maybe he really did see something, Miss Clarice."
The very thought has her stopping mid chew. What was the possibility that the man had managed to actually pick something up from her? Slim to none. But there was still that faint possibility. She knows she showed him very little, but very little is not nothing, and very little can be more than enough. Clarice herself has made her own findings and drawn her own conclusions on very little and been right.
Slowly she continues chewing and swallows before replying, "If he saw anything it won't be enough for him to form any opinions."
"Ya never know. Man might be better at reading faces and knowing what they mean than Chilton is."
"Barney, everyone's better at reading faces than Chilton is." Taking another bite, she chews for a moment before pointing the spear of asparagus at Barney. "Then again everyone's better at everything compared to Chilton."
"Now, Miss Clarice," Barney's trying hard to fight back a smile. She knows by now that the man might try, but he'll always fail to hide his amusement. "That's not a nice thing to say about our esteemed director."
A soft snort leaves her as she finishes off the piece of broccoli. Reaching for her roll again, her attention is briefly diverted to scooping up some mashed potatoes onto the piece of bread. She looks up at Barney again as he resumes speaking. "You spoke a lot with him today."
One shoulder rises in a shrug as she takes a bite of her potato covered roll. Trust Barney to have noticed such a thing, she wonders if anything manages to escape the orderly's attention for long. She sincerely doubts it. The man has a talent for sniffing out any piece of information he wishes to have, though he knows better than to use such a talent on her. A small part of their silent agreement.
"He was trying to be intelligent, it was amusing watching him struggle with his inadequacy."
"You angered Doctor Chilton something awful, Miss Clarice. He got no more patience for your games."
Her lips twist in a small smile, and she rolls both of her shoulders in a shrug this time. "I've long since stopped caring about what Chilton does or doesn't care for. I have no patience for men who pretend to be something they're not. And even less patience for idiots."
Barney doesn't say anything for a moments, simply watches her as she eats. She cuts through the tough pork chop on her plate with care, she doesn't want to break the plastic knife he's given her. When she had first arrived in the sanitarium she had made that mistake more than a few times and each time she had been strapped to her bed while they had cleaned up the knife and searched through her cell for any other things she might be able to fashion into weapons. It was ridiculous really. At the time all she had had was a few books, a few loose pieces of paper and a crayon with which to write with. Every time Chilton had stared at her from the other side of her cell, his smile telling her exactly what he was thinking about.
She continues to focus on her food for a few moments until she hears Barney drawing in a breath. When she hears it, she slows her chewing so she can hear what he has to say. "There's rumours that he's going to be moved out of here soon."
Barney's news has her head snapping up so she can stare at him. Eyes wide with surprise, she stares at the man mind desperately working to figure out if he's being honest with her. Chilton being transferred is something she hasn't even begun to let herself dream about. The director is far too stupid to do anything else but occasionally poke at the souls locked behind the sanitarium's doors. But this…
Placing her fork and knife down on her plate, she rests her elbows on the top of her thighs. Clarice leans forward a little, her gaze direct and steady. She can't help but wonder if Chilton made a pass at the wrong person and is being punished for it with a transfer. Her smile slowly turns into a smirk as she pictures Chilton's hand wandering down the backside of some orderly, an orderly with ties to a senator.
"Have you heard where to yet?"
"Not yet. It's only a rumor, Miss Clarice. Nothing for certain yet."
The fact that Barney doesn't know where he's being sent is of no concern to Clarice. Closing her eyes, she breaths in long and slow, letting the rush of almost violent joy sweep through her for several long moments. Freedom is close. Not the freedom she really wishes for, but a freedom she still craves. Exhaling raggedly, the ex-agent opens her eyes and allows herself the first real genuine smile she has ever given the man before her.
"And here I was hoping you could tell me just who I needed to thank for this."
That makes the man raise an eyebrow at her. "Reckon you don't have to thank anyone but Doctor Chilton himself. And I doubt you'd be wanting to do that."
"Oh?" That has her curiosity peaking. Blue eyes leaving Barney's face, Clarice reaches for her fork and knife again, and resumes cutting into the meat on her plate. Her movements a little less careful than before. "And what exactly did Doctor Chilton do to deserve this?"
"Wrote an article trying to prove that the only way to successfully treat schizophrenic inmates was to strap them to their beds during psychotic episodes. Problem is the man he used is related to money. Apparently they've been doing interviews with nurses and orderlies all day trying to figure out just what happened."
Clarice slowly blinks at Barney, her mind working hard to process everything he's told her. So Chilton's finally hurt himself trying to move up in the world. Her chest swells with a sudden sense of relief, she pauses for a moment so she can imagine a competent person running the sanitarium. It's almost too good to be true. Six years of waiting and hoping has finally paid off and it's all she can do to keep herself from breaking out into relieved laughter.
Lifting her plate from the floor, she heaves herself to her feet and walks over to the feeding tray. She puts her plate back in, keeping only the two cookies that the kitchen sent as her dessert, and slams the tray back towards Barney's side of the glass.
"Please tell them that dinner was wonderful for me, Barney."
"You don't want more?" The man pushes himself off the chair with a low grunt of effort. In the years that she's known him, Clarice has watched him put on a bit of a belly. If she didn't know just how strong he was first hand she would have said he'd gone soft from sitting around watching inmates all day.
Smiling, she shakes her head and carefully places her cookies on the edge of her sink. With the news Barney's just given her she doubts she could manage to keep her thoughts still long enough to focus on having another bite. "No, thank you. I think I'm going to spend the night reading as usual. Would you mind keeping the television on an appropriate channel?"
"You know I can't do that."
Clarice sighs a little and lets her gaze fall from Barney to her stack of books. "It was worth a try. Thank you for your company, Barney. You've given me much to think about."
"Miss Clarice, 'member I said nothing's certain yet."
Waving a hand slightly impatiently, she bends over and lifts the top book from her pile. She studies what passes as a cover to her book for a moment, smiling a little to herself before turning back to the orderly. "I remember, Barney."
The man simply nods at her. She can tell he's uneasy with her sudden good mood. The tightness around his mouth and the way his eyes shift from her eyes to her mouth speaks volumes. Giving him a small reassuring smile, she crosses her cell to climb onto her bed.
It takes only a moment to make herself comfortable. There's a dip in the middle of the mattress where it meets the wall from the days spent sitting in the same spot. Arranging the blankets in a slight nest around her and using the thin pillow as a book rest is as close to luxury as she'll be able to ever get. If she closes her eyes, Clarice can almost imagine herself back in her dorm in Quantico, studying for a final. Focusing hard, she can almost hear the sounds of Mapp moving around their shared room, making comments about things they both needed to do.
She misses that life. It had been one she'd tried desperately to fit into.
But no, right now it's not time to think about that. Right now it's time to think about Chilton and how much easier her life is going to be the moment the man's gone. Opening her eyes again, she smiles. Life is about to get more interesting.