When things are going smoothly, a week can pass in the blink of an eye. When things aren't going so smoothly, a week can take forever. For Clarice Starling, the days of the week after her daughter learned her true heritage passed like a life sentence.
Work was hard, but at work she had other things to keep her busy. Serial killers and the like kept her busy. She could focus there because she had to. It was not exaggeration to say that lives depended on her doing her work adequately, and that gave her the ability to put aside her own twanging pains and fears.
Home was far, far worse. Before, she'd thought she had a pretty good relationship with her daughter – about as good as mother-teenage daughter relationships got. Now, Susana circled her like a distrustful big cat approaching a zookeeper who had once been trusted. When she met Clarice's eyes, there was a chasm behind her own, a chasm that had not been there before. Clarice had little idea how she might cross it.
Dinner became a painfully distant process consisting mostly of clinking forks on plates and strained small talk. Clarice tried a few times to broach the subject of why she had never told Susana who she was, or who Susana's father was. No warm reception, or even attempts at reception, greeted her attempts. Most of the time, Susana would simply retreat into stony silence. Once it provoked a hysterical response that Clarice, admittedly, took the bait to. That had ended in a screaming match that had ended with the slamming of the door to Susana's room.
It's just a phase was what a few people at Behavioral Sciences told her, but it didn't help much. It wasn't just a phase. She had left a pleasant lie be, and fate had been unkind to that pleasant lie. It didn't help that Susana was of the rebellious age, but there was a part of her that never quite let her forget: If you'd told her before this wouldn't have happened the way it did.
She steeled herself and figured that it was a lot to take. Of course, at sixteen she hadn't had to deal with such problems. She'd had a bunk in the Lutheran Home in Montana and food in her stomach and that was about it. Like Susana, she had lost her father. Unlike Susana, she had lost hers to death. She found herself wondering if Susana resented her for taking her away from Dr. Lecter.
That was crazy. It had to be; didn't Susana realize what the man had done? Clarice might've made her mistakes as a parent, but for Christ's sake, Dr. Lecter was a murderer. A man who killed people and turned their innards into an amuse-bouche for the Baltimore Philharmonic's Board of Directors. She didn't exactly think he was the sort of man you wanted your daughter to associate with, even if he had fathered her.
On Thursday evening following the day of the unmasking, Susana broke her distance, asking if she could sleep over at Amika's on Friday. That was just fine with Clarice. Amika was Ardelia's daughter, and she had her head screwed on pretty straight. Besides, Clarice found herself hoping that maybe Susana would open up to Ardelia. Perhaps she was just too close to it all. Perhaps some time away from home was what Susana needed to clear her head and get back onto something resembling a normal footing. After all, it had to be a shock to discover your dad was on the FBI's Ten Most-Wanted List.
Clarice spent that Friday working as best she could. Instead of the prickly tension and relentless internal guilt that had been the unpleasant norm for the past few days, she felt something new: a sense of cautious hope. It sure beat the tension and guilt, that was for goddam sure.
Ardelia herself was busy with her own work and wasn't able to make it down to Behavioral Sciences. That was fine. 'Delia would feed the two girls. Probably to the point of bursting. Then, if she knew her daughter and her daughter's best friend, they would stay awake all night and talk. Maybe about boys, although the idea made Clarice vaguely uncomfortable. Maybe they would just watch movies and coo over whatever dark-haired movie star they liked this week.
So Clarice was cautiously optimistic and carefully hopeful. Besides, there was a peace in knowing she could work late without feeling guilty. And a night to herself wasn't a bad thing, either. She hadn't really had that much interest in men; between her job and Susana she was too busy. Plenty of women had horror stories about their ex-husbands, but when your ex-husband brainwashed you and held you captive for eleven years, it tended to affect your later view of the male side of the species.
It had been a while since she treated herself, so she did. She worked until six without that normal, nagging voice in the back of her head that said Get home and feed your daughter, she needs you, you know, that started nagging away at her at, say, five-oh-one or so.
Shopping was also something she liked, and careful sifting in her usual search-and-destroy manner turned up a pair of pumps for an astonishing price. Dr. Lecter had liked buying wildly overpriced gourmet stuff. Clarice took a different pleasure in shopping; finding something nice for the best price she could gave her a sort of cold pleasure she connected with hunting. And like the hunters who had come before her, Clarice Starling came home with a pair of good quality, sensible work shoes that she had patiently hunted down and made her own.
Dinner at a local sushi bar was a reward she rarely gave herself. Susana liked sushi, and had gotten her into it. She connected things like that with Dr. Lecter, and in the past it had made her uncomfortable. The sort of things he liked had unpleasant memories attached to them. Dresses and stockings made her think of the years she had spent as his moronically grinning little doll. Gourmet food made her think of all the times she'd been his platinum blonde arm-candy. Hell, even that goddam song about 'Barbie Girl' gave her the heebie-jeebies. You can brush my hair…undress me everywhere… Susana had liked the song when she was seven or eight. Clarice hated it with a passion. She'd lived it.
Yet sushi was something that wasn't bad, once she managed to take away the shade Dr. Lecter cast over that sort of thing. It was good, and she liked it, and she was full at the end. After that, she took in a movie, one of the real weepy gooey ones that Susana flatly refused to go to with her. It was nice to have some time to herself, just herself. Susana was being taken care of and she didn't need to worry. She was still cautious, but she was hopeful, and even cautious hope was a pleasant experience.
She went to bed and slept well for the first time in a few days.
And now? Saturday morning starts for Clarice as any other. She wakes up in the comfortable little house she owns; her comfortable bedroom surrounded with the things she has collected over the years. Down the hall is Susana's room. Clarice rolls out of bed and puts on her slippers. A square of sunlight shines on her floor from the bedroom window, quartered by the casement. She shuffles over and enjoys the sunlight on her skin for a few moments. It is a warm and bright morning, and she is happy.
The old urge to wake up her daughter arises, strong as ever. Susana will remain in bed for hours on Saturday unless Clarice pries her out of bed. Then she remembers that Susana is sleeping over at a friend's, and the odds are good she's stayed up all night and will be exhausted and cranky. Besides, there is the hope of peace, and Clarice is willing to let her daughter have a couple of hours if it helps realize that peace.
So she fixes herself a cup of coffee. It is hot and good, strong the way she likes it. Breakfast is a leisurely affair of scrambled eggs and sausages. Damn the cholesterol, they taste fine. A bit of salt helps the eggs along. She flips through the paper idly as she eats.
Then a good book serves to amuse her for a few hours. Her library is full of books on psychology, and she carefully goes over an article on violent offenders that interests her. It is eleven o'clock by the time she finishes. Okay. Time to call her daughter. Kid's had enough time to sleep.
The familiar beeps and boops that spell out Ardelia's number sound in her ear. For a moment she hopes that her gamble has paid off. Will Susana be cooled out now? She hopes so.
Ardelia answers. "Hello," she says firmly. Clarice smiles to hear her voice. They are old friends, and it has been a source of quiet pleasure to Clarice that their daughters, too, our best friends.
"'Delia, it's me. Hope Susana wasn't too much trouble last night. Can I talk to her?"
A few beats pass. Ardelia lets out a sudden breath and then inhales sharply.
"Susana?" Ardelia asks, sounding confused.
"Yeah," Clarice says, and suddenly feels a feather tickle the inside of her stomach. "Susana told me she was spending the night with Amika. Did she…did she leave already?"
Another few beats. Clarice's heart takes a nasty lurch. Ardelia's words are careful and cadenced, the voice of a calm woman speaking to an insane one.
"Ahh…well, Clarice, she wasn't here."
Clarice swallows. "She isn't there now? Was she there last night?" A great big knife of fear stabs her stomach like a glass blade. The real question leaps into her head unbidden: Did she lie to me? What has she done?
"I'm sorry, Clarice…no, she wasn't. She wasn't ever here."
A great glob of fear stops her throat. What has her sixteen-year-old planned? For Christ's sake, this isn't like it was when Clarice is a kid: teenage angst bullshit can get you killed. Clarice knows. She's seen the bodies of young girls who ran away over some petty reason or another and ran into the wrong predator.
Her voice shakes. Her fingers tighten on the plastic handset of the phone until her hand cramps. "Ardelia, Susana told me she was staying over with you and Amika Thursday night. Last time I saw her was yesterday morning, just before she left for school. I…I thought she was with Amika, you know. Can you…does Amika know…?"
Ardelia's shuddering breath at least tells Clarice she is not alone, in either her realization or her fear. "I'll see," she says resolutely. Her voice turns away from the phone, but Clarice can still hear her.
"AmiKAAAH!", and even Clarice shudders a bit. Ardelia Mapp is one of the best and sweetest people she knows, but boy howdy when she yells, the earth shakes. The running footsteps of Ardelia's daughter echo in the phone. Then Clarice can hear her voice, surprised and shaken. A conversation between mother and daughter occurs in quick, hushed breaths.
"What? Did I do something?"
"No. Did Susana say she was going to spend the night here? You know where she is?"
"No, Mom," Amika says calmly.
"Here. I need you to answer her questions," Ardelia says firmly, and hands the phone over.
For a moment a bolt of sheer unrepentant jealousy bolts through Clarice. Ardelia can talk with her daughter; Clarice has no idea where hers is. Almost immediately her upper brain chokes it back down: that's hardly Ardelia's fault.
The young girl picks up the phone. Her voice is soft and spooked. "Hello? Miss Starkey?"
"Hi, Amika," Clarice says tensely. "I'm…I'm looking for Susana. She told me she was going to spend last night with you. Have you seen her?"
Amika's answer is not what she wants to hear. A thousand dark images all swirl in Clarice's mind at her words. Tears rise to her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Miss Starkey," Amika says. "I haven't seen her. She wasn't in school on Friday either."