DICSLAIMER: I'm not stealing anyone's characters! I'm only trying to entertain myself by writing a mushy fic! Lol! Please don't sue… I don't have much money!

SUMMARY: Dr Lecter visits Starling after Silence of the Lambs and it's something she can't let go off…

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ok, this is another attempt at a Hannibal fic, which I think is a bit of an improvement from the last ones! Lol! I'd like to dedicate this one to Anouk (a.k.a. Troesnaja) for giving me a LOT of the ideas for this story! And of course Little-Starling for her continuous encouragement! I wouldn't have come as far as I did without you! Thanks!

Visitor By Jane

PART 5:

"I said I don't want any calls today. I don't know tell them I'm dead for all I care," Krendler shouted at his secretary. The woman didn't say anything else and he straightened his tie and made his way out of the office. This was a time to relax and enjoy yourself and not work endlessly. That's the secretary's job.

He went into the basement garage and admired his new Mercedes. Then he looked around the garage at the other cars and took pride  in the fact his was the best. Opening the door, he got and was about to turn the engine when he heard the back door close.

"What the…" he tried to turn around.

"Why good evening, Paul," a raspy voice came from the back seat before  he felt a needle up his arm and the surroundings blurred.

* * *

No matter how ill-planned she felt this raid was, she had to go along with it. The streets were still wet from the heavy rain, which went on all day and the air still hang damp from it. She wore her dark clothing with a navy cap on her head. Her hand rested partially on her colt .45 as she made her way down the empty street. It was rapidly growing darker and she spent more time watching all corners and shadows for possible danger.

"Starling, your location," a voice in the small radio at her ear said.

"This is Starling. I'm on Wagerston Street, moving west," she answered, "how much more are we planning to wait?"

"Be patient, Starling, we wait as long as it takes. We need to see him come out of the house before we can take him," Kirkins answered.

"It might be a danger to do that, Kirkins, there are people on the street," Clarice couldn't stop herself from arguing. He's been playing with her nerves all day.

"Just stay put," he answered, annoyance evident in his voice. Her hand gripped the gun tighter and she made an attempt to keep herself calm. She would have really enjoyed squashing Kirkins like a bug at that moment. A black car went past her and she could see two other agents from their team in it.

She was now on the other side of 32 – the house their target was supposed to reside in. There was a light at the window and a silhouette of a male briefly went past. "I see movement inside the house," she said into her radio, "there's definitely somebody in there"

"Alright, we're moving in," Kirkins gave the order. The other agents replied they understood the order and started creeping closer to the house. Starling took the left front side and after checking it was all safe took her position at the left side of the door. Something moved out of the corner of her eye, but she dismissed it after there was nothing to see apart from the darkened street. Across from her was an agent called David Bratshed, who always insisted she should call him "Dave". She made eye-contact with him so that they could make the attack at the same time, but found he wasn't paying much attention to the situation at hand. She suddenly felt her anger building even more and knew they were going to fail this raid before they even stepped through the door.

"FBI! FREEZE!" The door was knocked open and loud shouts echoes through the large house. They couldn't see much in the darkness. Starling tried the lights, but it was no use. Somebody had deliberately switched off the main power supply. Flashlights in hand the agents silently split up to search the many rooms of the house. Starling saw another agent pointing up for her. She nodded and took the stairs upwards. Careful to check all the dark corners and make little racket, she moved steadily through the second floor.

Clarice felt insecure on the floor by herself, knowing there was at least one other floor above her. The killer could be anywhere. Nevertheless she forced herself to keep going through the many identical looking rooms. It gave her the impression that this was some sort of a small hotel. Kicking open the last door on that corridor, an empty room stared back at her, like all the others. If their target was indeed in this house before they arrived, then he could've no doubt escaped ten times by now. She sharpened her ears for any sound. There wasn't any. Where are all the other agents?

"This is Starling, what are your locations?" Clarice spoke into her radio. She waited for a reply but none came. "Kirkins? David? Anyone respond" Silence. She took off her small radio and threw it in a dark corner.

A scream broke the deathly silence and she rushed down the stairs as fast as she could in the darkness. Her eyes were getting used t it, now but she still couldn't pinpoint where exactly the noise came from. Having made it down the stairs, she stepped forward but the floor wasn't there and she instinctively grabbed on to the railing at the stairs to keep from falling. Examining the floor once again, she found it to be a hole of about 3 feet wide. The cellar! Why didn't she think of it sooner? The man they were looking for could have easily hid there. Once again in a ran Starling found the doors to the kitchen and noticed a dark form on the floor. There was a soft gurgling sound coming from it. She reached out and turned the man over so that he was lying on his back. His neck was at a slightly odd angle and her hands were covered in his warm dark blood.

"David? Shit," she recognized it as one of the agents. The gurgling stopped and she checking his pulse. Dead.

A low thud came above her. She looked up at the ceiling and a new rush of fear gripped her. There in a dark red liquid was written "One down four to go". She clutched her gun tighter and knew they shouldn't have split up. He was somewhere upstairs. She needed backup and she might be able to find a phone in the car outside. Clarice quickly tried the front door. Locked. She decided against shooting it. The noise might attract unwanted attention. She had to rely on herself now.

Coming back upstairs she found all the doors to the rooms she had searched earlier closed again. Letting out a grunt, she suddenly found her mouth had gone dry. There was no other way. The killer was definitely still in the house and she had to find him. This time starting from the other end she kicked open the doors and aimed her gun at anything inside them. Only ghastly arched windows stared back at her, not allowing her see well into the darkness. She was about to go on to the next when something caught her ears. A low fast breathing. Fear? She got back into the room and following her senses turned back towards a closet.

"Freeze!" A scared looking Kirkins sat inside the closet and opened and closed his mouth unable to say anything. "Kirkins? Is that you?" she tried to hush her voice, lowering her gun but still keeping her grip at it.

"He was here," fear was evident in his eyes. "He did…." He pointed at something behind her and she turned to see a cut open John Wilkins hanging from the shelves at the corner. She took a few seconds to absorb the scene before her. His torso had been cut open and several organs appeared to be missing. His face was bloody with scars of a sharp blade. She was glad she didn't have much to eat before they left as she felt her stomach push upwards.

Turning back towards Kirkins she seemed to forget all the rage she felt for him earlier. "Are you hurt?"

"Only a little scar," he showed her a small red patch at his right side.

"Do you know where the others are?" she asked.

"No. I had another agent with me but he ran when this dark figure did that…" his voice stopped again as he looked at the dead agent hanging from the other wall.

"Get up," Clarice reached out her hand and pulled him out of the small closet, "we must search the rest of the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Phew that took me a long time didn't it? Well, I think the next few chappies will go faster. Please tell me what you think of this. It's probably my first experience with writing gore!  – Jane:)