Seven Months Later

Lindsey looked out from her third story office window as the snow fell in a swirl outside, eventually settling to the ground below. Everything was blanketed with a shroud of white while a grey sky looked down from overhead. The sun was little more than a shimmering disk that shed little light and even less heat on this day. The proximity to the window and the cold didn't bother Lindsey as she stood with arms crossed over her chest, her back to her desk and computer. She couldn't see a better day to walk away from what she had been sure was to be her career. Slowly, she turned away form the window and looked down on the box that sat in her chair. It was the second such box she had filled from her tiny, cramped office. In them was her life from the FBI, or what was left of it. She had struggled along for five months, trying to deal with the bureaucracy, and she had found that she couldn't. She wasn't being forced to do this by anyone, it had been her decision. She remembered the look on SAC Loren's face as she had turned in her notice three weeks ago, the disbelief as she had stood before him in his office. He had tried for the entirety of those three weeks to convince her to stay. Nothing could convince Lindsey to stay.

She reached across the desk and picked up one of the photos that was still on display. It had been taken soon after she had been released from the hospital. She had been praised for her insight on the case, for being the one to basically solve the murders. And what did she get for that insight? More than a month in the hospital, ongoing physical therapy, and a pat on the back with a smiled 'Good job, Singleton.' Her rewards for a job well done. Somehow she found it more than a little lacking.

Two women smiled out from behind the glass in the frame, arms around each other's shoulders. She and Clarice, smiling in the late autumn sun before Clarice had returned to Washington. Lindsey was pale and gaunt, looking like a ghost of the older woman. Her still shorn head was hidden beneath a wig that reasonably matched her natural haircolor. All in all, she looked pretty good for a woman who had been attacked by one serial killer and saved by another. If that wasn't irony, nothing was.

She settled the frame into the box, looking down at the smiling faces and shivered. Clarice hadn't told her until that morning when the picture was taken. Lecter had saved Lindsey's life, killing Pete Adamowski in the process. For all intents and purposes, Lindsey believed that if it hadn't been for Dr. Lecter's intervention that she would not be walking this Earth right now. Pete had been intent on killing her, intent on duplicating the infamous murders Lecter had committed in Memphis while in custody. It was strange to think that she owed her life to a man that had taken so many without a second thought. Perhaps that spoke for something. She was one of the few that had met him and had been spared his wrath. She felt a sort of kinship with Clarice now, but she hoped she would never really become as close to Lecter as Starling had. Something like that was the last thing she needed in her life.

A knock on the door broke Lindsey out of her thoughts and she looked up from the box to see Taisa standing in the doorway, grinning broadly. Lindsey smiled and took her fingers from where they still rested on the photograph.

"Going to come to your own party or not?" Taisa asked, stepping into the barren office. Lindsey nodded silently and placed the lid on the box in her chair. She hefted the box and set it atop the other one next to the desk before replying.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Taisa." she smiled and came around the desk, as Taisa backed into the hallway ahead of her. Lindsey walked down the hall to the elevators for the last time as a FBI agent.

*****

The house seemed oddly empty as she opened the door and carried the boxes inside. The heat was on and it was a welcome change from the cold wind and snow outside. Shaking the snow off her gloves, Lindsey removed them and dropped them onto a nearby heater vent. The coat, scarf, and hat followed quickly, being neatly hung on the pegs by the door instead of being dropped to the floor. She carried the boxes into the living room and left them there as she headed to the kitchen. The phone on the counter blinked an indicator light at her, and she hit the speed dial button for her voice mail as she stepped past. She leaned back over the counter a few moments later to enter her security code and then to access her messages. She listened to them as she pulled a cup from the cupboard and a package of hot chocolate. She had to return after the end of each message to delete it, but it didn't bother her. She smiled as Clarice's voice came tinnily over the speaker phone.

"Hey, Lindsey, last day and all. Must feel pretty good to get out from under all this crap. Look, give me a call anytime, and stop by next time you're in Washington. Good luck, girl."

Lindsey stepped over and hit the correct number to save the message, smiling and humming to herself. A couple more well-wishers from the Bureau, her sister, and a solicitor. By the time the last message came on, Lindsey was singing quietly, sipping hot chocolate and wrapping cold fingers around the mug. She gasped at the voice that came over the speaker phone, drawing nearer and listening intently.

"Agent Singleton? This is Gregory Orbinson. We met on the hill in Colorado Springs a few months ago, while you were on a case. Forgive me if I am being forward, Agent Singleton, but I wanted to check up on you, and make sure everything was going well in your life. Congratulations on your successful closing of your case in Colorado Springs, even if they are a bit belated. I have been rather busy as of late. I would appreciate it very much if we could, perhaps, meet again sometime. Please, feel free to call me, if you feel the same. My number is three-oh-three, five-five-five, six-nine-four-nine. I hope to hear from you soon, Agent Singleton."

Lindsey stared at the phone as if it would suddenly transport the owner of that voice into her kitchen at that moment if she wished hard enough. She reached out to the phone and hit the number to repeat the message, grabbing a pen and notepad as well to write his number down. The area code indicated that he was in the Denver area, and not Colorado Springs. After the message played through again she saved it and exited the voice mail system. She traced the number on the pad with a fingertip, reading it and embedding it in her mind. 303-555-6949. Lindsey smiled broadly as she raised the mug to her lips again. It was turning out to be a really good day indeed.

*****