"At the End of the Game"
Part Twelve: The Third Player
The echo of a sounding bullet came abruptly, like a blow to the face. Dr. Lecter jerked slightly at the sudden noisy intrusion. He watched as a flock of birds fled from their homes; one white dove nestled amongst twelve crows.
"Clarice..." Her name often fell from his lips without permission.
A surge of tingles made an unsettling pathway from his toes to his fingertips. Her .45 was resting safely on the mantelpiece of the room he had slept in last night. He knew for sure that the shot had indeed come from the rifle of his invited third player.
Dr. Lecter had expected Jack Crawford a lot earlier; he had posted a note to him the morning of July 4th, and calculated his entrance to be at some untimely hour of the current morning. Apparently he had parted with too much credit, old Jackie Boy really was losing his touch.
Dr. Lecter considered his little invitation to be rather straightforward; after all, an arbitrator was just what they needed. The cabin was one of Crawford's vacation getaway retreats, Dr. Lecter had been through numerous times, but inviting the owner was definitely a first. It was another test for his little Starling. Would she continue the hunt, or befriend, the enemy? He refused himself the much-craved habit of foretelling and left his mind to wander down the avenues of the unknown 'what ifs"
The third shot sent him on a scurried mission into the shrubs. He may have been testing the waters, but by no means would he allow her to drown.
He followed her tracks as far as he could before letting his senses take over. She had made his work considerably hard by opting not to use the lotions he had left for her last night.
He still wore his expensive leather shoes from the previous night; they were now scuffed as he increased the rate of his sleek pursuit. She had covered a fair distance, he thought to himself. A twitch at the side of his mouth indicated he may have smiled, had the time been appropriate.
His nostrils expanded in another deep breath. Inhalation halted when he detected a foreign scent.
Sweat and...cheap cologne. His nose scrunched at immediate distaste. For Section Chief, Jack certainly kept his wallet tight by his side, even in the presence of his much-coveted Clarice. The thought that Crawford had freshened up before his little rescue mission amused him. Did he honestly hope to impress his little Starling by insulting her sense of smell?
Crawford's attraction to Starling was blatantly obvious, and he had never made an attempt to cover it. Dr. Lecter new, however, that the infatuation was not returned. Clarice admired him; he was probably one of the few of her superiors who actually supported her career, him and John Brigham. The dead and the dying.
Perhaps a person without the foreknowledge of Hannibal Lecter's past would agree that he walked with an air of grace. The other would argue it to be cunning, some kind of wild animal lying low until the next strike. The truth, however, may nest somewhere in-between. No one will ever really know what he his, and only one has ever received an invitation to find out.
His footfalls sounded gently against the loose leaves on the ground, no one would hear him coming, he's make certain of that.
A sudden change in the direction in the wind picked up the strong metallic scent of freshly drawn blood. Dr. Lecter showed no immediate change of temperament, the slight narrowing of his eyelids the only indication of reaction.
His growing concern for Clarice was overpowering, to say the least. Of the years they had spent apart, every second day he made a ritual out of checking up on her. He knew that she didn't need his constant surveillance, and it was only now that he could admit it had all been for his benefit. Knowing that she was happy and healthy was enough to keep him the same, and although her distress was what finally drew him to her, it was not for the reasons that most had assumed. No one would ever understand, not even she.
And now, as the scent of her blood, the very essence of her life, filled his nostrils, true panic set in. Not since childhood had he felt such vulnerability. His Mischa had been taken from him, and he had promised himself he would never allow himself to feel such pain again. It was the only promise he had ever broken. Clarice Starling had imprinted a home in his heart, and it scared him. And so the sudden tension in this chest came as no surprise when he heard her distressed moan a few yards ahead.
He cautiously weaved his way through the tall grass before halting at a sudden stripped clearing.
He could smell them. He could see them; Clarice and the third player.
But for now, he would watch.
********************************
"Clarice..." She could hardly keep from wincing as her name escaped his lips. No one ever said her name like *him*, she even detested hearing it come from any other.
She met Crawford's fearful gaze with a mixture of apprehension and displeasure. It felt like an invasion, as if he we're here to 'save the day', only she didn't need a saviour.
" Are you alright? Has he hurt you?" He was walking over to her, examining her bloody attire " Oh God. Clarice. I'm sorry..." He couldn't finish, his breath hitched at the back of his throat.
She was fuming. Jack Crawford had just jumped onto the playing board thinking, all to well, that he knew the rules.
She was about to voice her protests and guarantee him she was of good heath, when she unexpectedly winced in pain, unable to speak as she shifted her weight onto her injured ankle. A minute moan rumbled in the silence, enticing Crawford to her side.
" Jesus, Starling! Oh God...I'm sorry" He dropped on his knees to her crimson coated ankle.
"What the hell are *you* sorry for?" She couldn't help the comment that slipped from her lips in between stifled groans.
His glassy eyes looked up to her pale face, locks of limp auburn hair barricaded him from searching her swollen eyes.
" I never, for the life of me, considered this. I can't get it off without unlocking it." She flinched and bit down hard on her lip as his hands moved over her foot and across her shin. In comparison to *him*, his touched repulsed her.
" I'd have to go back to the cabin to get it" He stood, wiping his soiled hands over his cream pants.
She was confused.
"This, this is your place?" Clarice now completely at a loss began to retreat from his wandering gaze.
" I got a message from Lecter last night, it was the only place he could be. I'm going to get the key, can you sit?" He was nearing her again; his eyes were vultures at the wounds on her neck and chest.
" No. Don't go. Not back there. Leave, please." She pleaded. Every emotion she felt was informing her that Crawford shouldn't be here, not like this, he doesn't fit into the puzzle.
" I'm not going to leave you, Clarice, I can deal with him"
"Leave, for me Jack. I don't want you here" It was the most truthful thing she had ever said to him. Unfortunately, he failed to comprehend the depths of her demand.
" I wont. Let me help you" He steeped around her and lent forward, grabbing a thick twig from a nearby branch. " Hold still" He whispered as he crouched to the left of her, desperately trying to pick the lock.
As he worked, Clarice mulled over how futile this whole situation was. Lecter taking her to Crawford's cabin in hopes of ultimately playing the three-man game they had started ten years ago? Surely he knew that Crawford had no place here, whatever *this* was, no one else was a worthy competitor, no one else understood.
His hand slipped and stabbed at her torn flesh, making her yelp in furious discomfort as the metal teeth scraped against bone.
" You shouldn't be here. God! Starling. What the hell made you go to Verger's?" His warm breath ignited the fire at her ankle.
She wouldn't have answered so truthfully had she known of the observer hidden not 10 feet away.
" Because I wanted to, alright? I fucking wanted to. I had to..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell to the ground.
Conversations of this nature made her ill, her stomach flopped over with a rush of anxiety.
" You've never forgotten what he is, you followed my advice, but what now? You still have to save him? Do you see him as innocent, Starling? What is it with you and him?" Questions flew from his mouth like bullets; truth was a killer, and a touchstone to aggravation.
" You'll never know..." She stopped abruptly as she saw the grass before her ripple.
"What is it?" He stood up, hands supporting his back as he returned to normal height. His age was parading on stage for all to see.
She didn't have time to answer. He pushed her into the back of a tree, covering her entire body with his back, and faced north, into the direction of the cabin. The rifle was raised and ready.
"Lecter?" His voice shook noticeably. Fear swam through his head, never before had he wanted Lecter deader. His stomached grumbled as his breakfast heaved up his oesophagus, the hydrochloric acid burnt his throat.
If you are what you eat, Jack was muffin, and Lecter, well; he was more human than anybody.
Clarice squirmed under his heavy weight, trying to free herself.
" Mr Crawford. Let me go. I can deal with this." She whispered frantically into the bare land at her felt, she couldn't move her head for the restriction he placed upon her.
" Like hell you can Starling. Can't you see what he's done to you already?" His tone was passionate, yet quavering. She wondered if Dr. Lecter could hear their conversation, it wouldn't surprise her in the least.
Another noise startled them both, this time coming from behind her, behind the tree she was pinned to. In a fraction of a second Crawford had reversed his positioning, his chest now pressed to hers with his head cocked out to the side.
" Your valour is misplaced Jack. If only you knew how little I needed protecting" Her gaze bore into his forehead. When he didn't react, she wondered if he had heard her.
"Jack..." It was then that she saw a light of reflection run over his cheek.
Her heart raced, for a moment she had forgotten where she was.
She had no time to warm him. The harpy was pressed against the flesh of his neck before she could even manage a gasp. She couldn't see him, but knew from the look on Crawford's face that Hannibal Lecter stood directly behind him.
A rabbit was sandwiched between the wolf and the lion.
" Tell me Jack, had you ever considered this scenario?"
All breathing stopped when *that* voice cut through the air. Tiny stars appeared before her eyes as the blood left Clarice's head. As her knees began to tremble from lack of strength, she was immediately grateful for the support holding her upright.
When her chest finally demanded oxygen, she took in a shaky breath.
At that moment indecision was the only thing that kept her from screaming. Whose blood smelt the strongest, hers or Crawford's?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ahhh to kill, or not to kill...
Thanks for being patient; I've had a few big nights lately, finding the keyboard has proven to be quite difficult at the best of times. Reviews as to direction would be greatly appreciated. I'd like to know what you want done with ole Jackie boy.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part Twelve: The Third Player
The echo of a sounding bullet came abruptly, like a blow to the face. Dr. Lecter jerked slightly at the sudden noisy intrusion. He watched as a flock of birds fled from their homes; one white dove nestled amongst twelve crows.
"Clarice..." Her name often fell from his lips without permission.
A surge of tingles made an unsettling pathway from his toes to his fingertips. Her .45 was resting safely on the mantelpiece of the room he had slept in last night. He knew for sure that the shot had indeed come from the rifle of his invited third player.
Dr. Lecter had expected Jack Crawford a lot earlier; he had posted a note to him the morning of July 4th, and calculated his entrance to be at some untimely hour of the current morning. Apparently he had parted with too much credit, old Jackie Boy really was losing his touch.
Dr. Lecter considered his little invitation to be rather straightforward; after all, an arbitrator was just what they needed. The cabin was one of Crawford's vacation getaway retreats, Dr. Lecter had been through numerous times, but inviting the owner was definitely a first. It was another test for his little Starling. Would she continue the hunt, or befriend, the enemy? He refused himself the much-craved habit of foretelling and left his mind to wander down the avenues of the unknown 'what ifs"
The third shot sent him on a scurried mission into the shrubs. He may have been testing the waters, but by no means would he allow her to drown.
He followed her tracks as far as he could before letting his senses take over. She had made his work considerably hard by opting not to use the lotions he had left for her last night.
He still wore his expensive leather shoes from the previous night; they were now scuffed as he increased the rate of his sleek pursuit. She had covered a fair distance, he thought to himself. A twitch at the side of his mouth indicated he may have smiled, had the time been appropriate.
His nostrils expanded in another deep breath. Inhalation halted when he detected a foreign scent.
Sweat and...cheap cologne. His nose scrunched at immediate distaste. For Section Chief, Jack certainly kept his wallet tight by his side, even in the presence of his much-coveted Clarice. The thought that Crawford had freshened up before his little rescue mission amused him. Did he honestly hope to impress his little Starling by insulting her sense of smell?
Crawford's attraction to Starling was blatantly obvious, and he had never made an attempt to cover it. Dr. Lecter new, however, that the infatuation was not returned. Clarice admired him; he was probably one of the few of her superiors who actually supported her career, him and John Brigham. The dead and the dying.
Perhaps a person without the foreknowledge of Hannibal Lecter's past would agree that he walked with an air of grace. The other would argue it to be cunning, some kind of wild animal lying low until the next strike. The truth, however, may nest somewhere in-between. No one will ever really know what he his, and only one has ever received an invitation to find out.
His footfalls sounded gently against the loose leaves on the ground, no one would hear him coming, he's make certain of that.
A sudden change in the direction in the wind picked up the strong metallic scent of freshly drawn blood. Dr. Lecter showed no immediate change of temperament, the slight narrowing of his eyelids the only indication of reaction.
His growing concern for Clarice was overpowering, to say the least. Of the years they had spent apart, every second day he made a ritual out of checking up on her. He knew that she didn't need his constant surveillance, and it was only now that he could admit it had all been for his benefit. Knowing that she was happy and healthy was enough to keep him the same, and although her distress was what finally drew him to her, it was not for the reasons that most had assumed. No one would ever understand, not even she.
And now, as the scent of her blood, the very essence of her life, filled his nostrils, true panic set in. Not since childhood had he felt such vulnerability. His Mischa had been taken from him, and he had promised himself he would never allow himself to feel such pain again. It was the only promise he had ever broken. Clarice Starling had imprinted a home in his heart, and it scared him. And so the sudden tension in this chest came as no surprise when he heard her distressed moan a few yards ahead.
He cautiously weaved his way through the tall grass before halting at a sudden stripped clearing.
He could smell them. He could see them; Clarice and the third player.
But for now, he would watch.
********************************
"Clarice..." She could hardly keep from wincing as her name escaped his lips. No one ever said her name like *him*, she even detested hearing it come from any other.
She met Crawford's fearful gaze with a mixture of apprehension and displeasure. It felt like an invasion, as if he we're here to 'save the day', only she didn't need a saviour.
" Are you alright? Has he hurt you?" He was walking over to her, examining her bloody attire " Oh God. Clarice. I'm sorry..." He couldn't finish, his breath hitched at the back of his throat.
She was fuming. Jack Crawford had just jumped onto the playing board thinking, all to well, that he knew the rules.
She was about to voice her protests and guarantee him she was of good heath, when she unexpectedly winced in pain, unable to speak as she shifted her weight onto her injured ankle. A minute moan rumbled in the silence, enticing Crawford to her side.
" Jesus, Starling! Oh God...I'm sorry" He dropped on his knees to her crimson coated ankle.
"What the hell are *you* sorry for?" She couldn't help the comment that slipped from her lips in between stifled groans.
His glassy eyes looked up to her pale face, locks of limp auburn hair barricaded him from searching her swollen eyes.
" I never, for the life of me, considered this. I can't get it off without unlocking it." She flinched and bit down hard on her lip as his hands moved over her foot and across her shin. In comparison to *him*, his touched repulsed her.
" I'd have to go back to the cabin to get it" He stood, wiping his soiled hands over his cream pants.
She was confused.
"This, this is your place?" Clarice now completely at a loss began to retreat from his wandering gaze.
" I got a message from Lecter last night, it was the only place he could be. I'm going to get the key, can you sit?" He was nearing her again; his eyes were vultures at the wounds on her neck and chest.
" No. Don't go. Not back there. Leave, please." She pleaded. Every emotion she felt was informing her that Crawford shouldn't be here, not like this, he doesn't fit into the puzzle.
" I'm not going to leave you, Clarice, I can deal with him"
"Leave, for me Jack. I don't want you here" It was the most truthful thing she had ever said to him. Unfortunately, he failed to comprehend the depths of her demand.
" I wont. Let me help you" He steeped around her and lent forward, grabbing a thick twig from a nearby branch. " Hold still" He whispered as he crouched to the left of her, desperately trying to pick the lock.
As he worked, Clarice mulled over how futile this whole situation was. Lecter taking her to Crawford's cabin in hopes of ultimately playing the three-man game they had started ten years ago? Surely he knew that Crawford had no place here, whatever *this* was, no one else was a worthy competitor, no one else understood.
His hand slipped and stabbed at her torn flesh, making her yelp in furious discomfort as the metal teeth scraped against bone.
" You shouldn't be here. God! Starling. What the hell made you go to Verger's?" His warm breath ignited the fire at her ankle.
She wouldn't have answered so truthfully had she known of the observer hidden not 10 feet away.
" Because I wanted to, alright? I fucking wanted to. I had to..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell to the ground.
Conversations of this nature made her ill, her stomach flopped over with a rush of anxiety.
" You've never forgotten what he is, you followed my advice, but what now? You still have to save him? Do you see him as innocent, Starling? What is it with you and him?" Questions flew from his mouth like bullets; truth was a killer, and a touchstone to aggravation.
" You'll never know..." She stopped abruptly as she saw the grass before her ripple.
"What is it?" He stood up, hands supporting his back as he returned to normal height. His age was parading on stage for all to see.
She didn't have time to answer. He pushed her into the back of a tree, covering her entire body with his back, and faced north, into the direction of the cabin. The rifle was raised and ready.
"Lecter?" His voice shook noticeably. Fear swam through his head, never before had he wanted Lecter deader. His stomached grumbled as his breakfast heaved up his oesophagus, the hydrochloric acid burnt his throat.
If you are what you eat, Jack was muffin, and Lecter, well; he was more human than anybody.
Clarice squirmed under his heavy weight, trying to free herself.
" Mr Crawford. Let me go. I can deal with this." She whispered frantically into the bare land at her felt, she couldn't move her head for the restriction he placed upon her.
" Like hell you can Starling. Can't you see what he's done to you already?" His tone was passionate, yet quavering. She wondered if Dr. Lecter could hear their conversation, it wouldn't surprise her in the least.
Another noise startled them both, this time coming from behind her, behind the tree she was pinned to. In a fraction of a second Crawford had reversed his positioning, his chest now pressed to hers with his head cocked out to the side.
" Your valour is misplaced Jack. If only you knew how little I needed protecting" Her gaze bore into his forehead. When he didn't react, she wondered if he had heard her.
"Jack..." It was then that she saw a light of reflection run over his cheek.
Her heart raced, for a moment she had forgotten where she was.
She had no time to warm him. The harpy was pressed against the flesh of his neck before she could even manage a gasp. She couldn't see him, but knew from the look on Crawford's face that Hannibal Lecter stood directly behind him.
A rabbit was sandwiched between the wolf and the lion.
" Tell me Jack, had you ever considered this scenario?"
All breathing stopped when *that* voice cut through the air. Tiny stars appeared before her eyes as the blood left Clarice's head. As her knees began to tremble from lack of strength, she was immediately grateful for the support holding her upright.
When her chest finally demanded oxygen, she took in a shaky breath.
At that moment indecision was the only thing that kept her from screaming. Whose blood smelt the strongest, hers or Crawford's?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ahhh to kill, or not to kill...
Thanks for being patient; I've had a few big nights lately, finding the keyboard has proven to be quite difficult at the best of times. Reviews as to direction would be greatly appreciated. I'd like to know what you want done with ole Jackie boy.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~