They are near but not seen. It is frustrating. Clarice can sense their presence somehow, like some sort of fucking Jedi Mind Trick. Her daughter's vivacious energy; Dr. Lecter's dark presence. They are somewhere here, in this city.
Have they fled? Clarice doesn't think so, although the idea disturbs her. The FBI has been extremely quiet in bringing their teams to Asunción. No announcement in the papers to alert their prey. Susana's face has been kept off Paraguayan milk cartons, if they do that here.
What they have done is liase with the Paraguayan authorities. It has been very quiet and very high-level. The FBI has good sleuths; the Paraguayan police know the area. She feels tautly good: the hunter has spotted the tracks of her prey.
She is in another meeting room, much like the one in Quantico where they first tracked Susana's flight to the continent of her birth. A few uniformed Paraguayan boys are around, and on the board is a map of Asunción. Certain sections of the city are highlighted: the wealthy areas. Clarice eyes it carefully.
That is where you are, she thinks. You're not as smart as you think, doctor. You won't deny yourself the upper-crust life. No matter what city you move to, no matter what country, you always settle in the glitzy areas. You did it in Florence, you did it in Maryland, you did it in Buenos Aires, and I bet you're doing it here. No single-story little bungalow for you; you've got yourself a fancy old mansion with a fancy car parked out front.
The Paraguayans have Susana's picture, and their police force is out looking for her. Clarice closes her eyes and thinks for a moment. This is like the hunt for a serial killer, and for Clarice it has always been a see-saw.
In the beginning of a hunt, there is no luck for the hunters, as Clarice knows it. Their prey has been sharpening his ability to stay hidden and not be captured. They are thrown into the hunt without a good knowledge of who they are hunting. The first few days or weeks of a hunt can be exceptionally trying and frustrating, as the bodies are found but the hunters are still trying to find what they can. Their asses are in the dirt, as Clarice thinks of it in her blunt manner.
Slowly but surely, though, momentum builds. The hunters pass the fulcrum, and the see-saw swings. The killer begins to panic or make mistakes, and then, all of a sudden, kaboom. The hunters are on top and it's the killer's ass in the dirt.
She is feeling better than she was; the fulcrum is swinging. "Good" is not the way to put it, though. She will feel good when she is reunited with her daughter, safe and sound.
As some uniformed Paraguayan cop with lots of gold brain on his sleeves drones in accented English, she finds her mind wandering. Questions tumble through her mind. What had Susana been thinking? Didn't she realize what her father was? How could she have made Clarice suffer like this?
What is she going to say to her daughter when she is recovered?
For now, what matters is recovering her daughter, safe and sound. What will Clarice say? What the fuck were you thinking is a phrase that comes handily to mind. But no. Susana had been confused. Her father had played his hand well, first dislodging her from her normal life in Virginia, then waving the chance under her nose.
Do you realize how worried I've been? That is another one. It's a fairer question, and one that worries Clarice herself. Does Susana realize how worried Clarice has been? She would have normally. But Clarice knows all too well who Susana is currently with. It is entirely possible by now that she doesn't understand how worried Clarice is. Clarice is all too familiar with Dr. Lecter's ability to fog and confuse minds.
She forces herself to abandon that. For the time being she has to think positive. Susana is in this city. Susana will be found. She will see her daughter again. Maybe Susana will need counseling, after what she has been through. Maybe even psychiatric hospitalization. But Clarice will be there by her side. She will help her daughter get through this.
The Paraguayan officer's accented tones are droning but soothing. She has to fight to make herself pay attention until he says something that catches her attention right off.
"The best mansions in the city are along Mariscal Lopez Avenue," he said. "In fact, the American embassy is on that street." He smiles like a tour guide.
Clarice doesn't give a rat's ass where the fucking American embassy is; the brass will know that if she needs it. The best mansions? That's more interesting. That sounds like him. How likely is it that he's living in the squalor and slums? Not fucking very.
"We are running a list of the known driver's license and tax receipts addresses on Mariscal Lopez Avenue at the moment," the officer continues. Clarice blinks before understanding what he means. "We will cross-reference these with what we know about Dr. Lecter. According to your files, we know he was in Buenos Aires eleven years ago. Therefore we are looking for a man between seventy and eighty years of age who has purchased the house within the past eleven years."
Clarice feels her stomach tense. Shit, if they let her at a computer keyboard she could have that in...ohh...five minutes. The thought that she might be reunited with her daughter in less than an hour is intoxicatingly powerful. Her short nails dig into her palms in anticipation.
"When do you think you'll have that run down?" she asks.
The policeman looks at her and smiles politely, as if she has spoken out of turn. She stares at him without remorse. If he has a problem, he can deal. This is her daughter.
"We have people looking through the files now," he says calmly. "We anticipate having a match by tonight or perhaps tomorrow morning."
Frustration grasps her stomach. My daughter is in the hands of a highly intelligent, highly amoral sociopath, buddy. 'Mañana' doesn't cut it. "I'd be happy to help," she says, trying to keep the impatience from her tone. "I have quite a bit of skill with databases."
The cop dips his head politely. "Ma'am, I assure you we are working as fast as we can." He draws himself up with exaggerated dignity. "We are a poor country, not like the United States. I am sure in the United States policemen need only press a button and everything pops out of the computer. Here in Paraguay it is not so. But we will do the very best that we can, I assure you. The government of Paraguay favors the rule of law and order and we will ensure that your daughter is safely returned to you."
Clarice sighs. Apparently he knows who she is. All the same, what does he think she ought to do in the meantime? Knit? "I still want to help," she says. "Sir...I mean no disrespect, to you or to your country. But this is my daughter."
The policeman nods. "And we will do everything that we can." His voice is smooth and inarguable. Clarice sighs. Her hands twitch. Through the rest of the meeting she has to fight the urge to get up, go to wherever the search for Dr. Lecter is taking place, and get those people moving. She rescued Catherine Martin single-handedly as a young woman in her twenties; why do they need all afternoon to get a list of all the old men on one goddam street?
She does not want to sit here. She wants to hunt. Hunting is what she is made to do. She wants to be outside, eyes alert for the predator's form, nose alert for his scent, looking to pick up the trail. Sitting in her chair is torture. They are here somewhere and she knows it, and sitting looking at a fucking whiteboard and a man in a fancy uniform is not going to help find Susana and Dr. Lecter.
The meeting breaks up, and Clarice proceeds out to grab something to eat. She goes to a nearby restaurant that has tables outside. Somehow, she is illogically convinced that Susana and Dr. Lecter will stroll by and she can see them. Part of her knows better: Dr. Lecter would never walk by a police station if he could possibly avoid it.
Clarice will wait because she has no choice. She cannot antagonize the Paraguayans; they know the city and she doesn't. All the same, she cannot help but champ at the bit; as soon as they have a list she can get to hunting.
The urge to simply run around herself and check things out is there, but she is wary of wasting her time – or worse, tipping Dr. Lecter off to her presence. If that happens, then God only knows where he will go. There are plenty of cities in South America he can hide in. For that matter he can probably make it into Europe without any problem at all. He has the identities and the money to smooth his way.
For now she will wait – with extreme ill grace and trembling muscles, but she will wait. Once she has the opportunity to hunt, she will hunt. Please find something soon, she thinks to herself as she sips at her coffee.
It may not be now...but it will be soon.
...
Dinner is very good, but that is not a surprise to Dr. Lecter. His chef is first-rate by any standard. His chef knows his epicurean tastes and how to please them. He does; Dr. Lecter firmly believes that his chef has richly earned every dollar Dr. Lecter pays him.
The butler brings covered plates out to the table at which he sits. His daughter sits across from him, looking at the butler with good-humored disbelief. He serves the foot silently and with aplomb.
Susana eyes the dish before her. "What is this?" she asks.
The butler is expressionless as ever. "Citrus glazed fillet of beef carpaccio with boursin cheese, madam."
She pokes at it with a fork quizzically. "Gesundheit," she says with a grin. Dr. Lecter turns his head once to express his disapproval quietly. Unabashed, Susana offers a quick apology as the wine is served. She glances down at her wineglass and then at him, wordlessly suspecting there is more than wine. Not this time. He will speak to her normally, one on one.
"The wine is quite good, and pure, you will find," Dr. Lecter says, answering her question without the need to admit what he has already done.
She doesn't answer him directly, but takes a small sip of the wine to test it. Dr. Lecter smiles calmly. The fillet is excellent, and they eat over small talk. After the meal comes dessert and coffee. Only once that is finished and the clank of fine silverware against equally fine china does the discussion turn to deeper matters.
"So," Susana says, as if gathering her courage. "So, why is it that I can't even talk to my mother?"
Dr. Lecter observes her carefully. She is nervous but resolute; frightened but not a coward. Still she presses her point. It is not surprising, he thinks. She is much like her mother.
He makes a gesture. "Let us speak honestly, Susana. You wish to talk to your mother to arrange your journey back to Virginia."
Susana's jaw tenses. She shrugs. "Well," she says easily, "I do have to go back sometime."
He stops, a bit disappointed. Is she so caught up in the petty-bourgeois world that she cannot see the path he is offering her? She is his. The only child fate has seen fit to give him. He had never thought that fatherhood would be an experience that would be his. Losing her and Clarice at the same time had hurt him a great deal. Losing her again is...unthinkable.
"Actually, you do not," Dr. Lecter corrects her, although he takes pains to keep his tone gentle. "If it is education you are concerned about, I assure you I can make arrangements."
Susana stops and raises an eyebrow uncertainly. "You want me to go to school here in Paraguay?" she asks. From her tone it is obvious that she doesn't think much of the idea.
"Yes," he affirms. "Perhaps you think that Paraguayan schools are not of sufficient caliber. I assure you that is not necessarily so. There are poor schools here, just as there are in the United States. However, wherever there are very wealthy people, my dear, there are excellent schools willing to cater to their scion. I can ensure that you receive a first-class education anywhere we may wish to settle. There is no need to stick specifically to Asunción; I have lived in many cities over the years, and I can pack up and move one more time."
She stops and stares down into her coffee. "But...Mom is going to be going crazy. I can't just leave her."
Dr. Lecter pauses to mull. This was where he had sought to use drugs to give her a soft landing. It was difficult to realize and accept. But she was made of stronger stuff than he had thought. That should not have surprised him; she was, after all, his daughter.
"Your mother just took you and left me," he points out. "Did you not think I suffered? I loved both your mother and yourself very deeply. To have you wrenched away from me and taken back to Washington, DC, where I could not follow was worse than being stabbed."
She bites her lip. Therein lies his one true claim to sympathy: she may not approve of his cuisine or his past hobbies, but she cannot argue that he did not suffer. "Two wrongs don't make a right," she offers.
"Two wrongs? I daresay your mother performed two wrongs herself. She deprived me of my wife and daughter...and she deprived you of your father. Do you know the statistics for girls who do not have their fathers in their lives? I can show you if you like. They suffer. You suffered. Needlessly."
She opens her mouth but does not speak; Dr. Lecter believes he has found a chink in her armor. Perhaps she will cry; perhaps she will still object. But he is strong enough to carry this through. And perhaps, like her mother, she can be changed for the better.
"Yes...," he says, comfortably aware that he has the psychological upper hand. "You suffered too, did you not? You wanted your father; what child would not?" His maroon eyes hold hers. "Eventually you adjusted to it. But at first it was hard, was it not?"
She nods and her mouth quirks.
"Tell me," Dr. Lecter says invitingly.
She pauses and watches him just as carefully. She is trying to gauge him somehow. Is she going to make something up? He doesn't believe so.
"Why do you want to know?" she asks.
"Talking about these sorts of things helps," he says, his tone wonderfully gentle. "I assure you, Susana, you know of my worst cases with my patients. But I helped many, many more than those whose therapy was going nowhere."
"I...I don't like thinking about it," Susana confesses. "It's stuff I hadn't thought about for years."
Dr. Lecter shrugs. "Do you not remember?"
Susana shakes her head and her eyes are flat on his. "I remember everything," she says. "I always have."
Dr. Lecter closes his eyes. He should not be surprised that she has a phenomenal recall; after all, so does he. For his own pleasure, he summons Susana at age two, beaming at him when she saw him. He opens them again and hears Raspail's whiny voice in the back of his mind for a moment, discussing Jame Gumb, long before he had even met the woman who provided this girl's other half. The chain of consequences: Raspail killed by Jame Gumb, Clarice seeking Jame Gumb, Clarice visiting him, he giving her Raspail, he giving her Jame Gumb, Verger seeking him, she seeking to save him from Verger, he freeing her from her demons, he begetting Susana on her.
The chain has a few dark links Dr. Lecter does not like to follow: Clarice awakening, Clarice fleeing with Susana. The most recent links are more to the doctor's liking.
"Tell me," he presses.
Susana sighs. "When I was little," she says, and her fingers tense on the coffee cup. "We'd just gotten to the US. They put us in this suite. Mrs. Bridell came back and was all huggy with Mom. I didn't get it. Everybody was speaking English and I could understand it but I was having trouble because it wasn't my first language. Every night I would ask her when you were coming. She just...," her voice trails off.
"She just kept saying that you weren't coming. She tried to explain it to me, I guess. She said that you had been bad to her, that you...you were bad for us, and that we would be free in America. She kept saying that. 'We're free now, you and me.' I didn't understand it, or her. I just wanted my papa. What were we in Argentina, slaves?"
Dr. Lecter watches her carefully. Good. Perhaps all the drugs and hypnosis are unnecessary after all. If he can tap into that old pain, perhaps he can convince her of the rightness of his position. A brief pain strikes his chest and he has to pause for a moment until it goes away.
"Not at all," he says, and smiles. "Susana, I know you feel for your mother's pain. Can you perhaps feel for mine? I am eighty-two. I shall not live forever. Eleven more years is unlikely."
"I know...but still," she says. "She's got to be going crazy. She's going to look for us, too. That's what she does. She's a hunter."
For a moment Dr. Lecter must shake his head. Is that pain returning? "Susana, in my time I hav evaded not only your mother, but Jack Crawford himself."
Susana looks vague. "Who's Jack Crawford?"
I am so very grateful to hear those words from your lips, my daughter, Dr. Lecter thinks, and allows himself a wry grin. "The former head of Behavioral Sciences," he explains.
"Before Lloyd Bowman?" Susana seems to prefer discussing FBI personnel changes. That makes sense. He can keep the pressure up when it is necessary, but for now he can let her have some respite.
"Yes. Mr. Bowman has worked his way up the ladder quite well. At one time, he was merely an evidence technician." Dr. Lecter smiles coolly, letting his mind drift back. Ah, that fan letter from Francis Dolarhyde.
She sips at her coffee and appears doubtful. For a few minutes, tense silence rules the room. The servants know better than to interfere.
"Look," she says, "what about...what about my life? I mean, never seeing Mom again just doesn't...doesn't...,"
"I am not saying you can never see her again," Dr. Lecter says. "But you cannot simply get on a plane and go back. You know perfectly well that your mother would like nothing better than to see me recaptured. Besides...you are my daughter. I can help you best to live the life you deserve to have." He gestures at the grand surroundings. "Much fine than your mother's home in Virginia, is it not? I have sufficient monies available to sustain myself in this style for the rest of my life...and enough to sustain you in this style for the rest of yours. Your mother threw all that away to return to her fruitless attempt to save the lambs. You need not follow her example. Even in the United States my fortune would make you very wealthy for the rest of your life. I won't be around forever, Susana. There is no one more fitting to inherit my riches than you."
Is she tempted? It is hard to tell. His chest aches for a moment. The pain is strong enough that it is hard to will away.
He reaches forward and takes her left hand gently, parting her middle and ring fingers. There is the echo of his own scar. Hers is much more circumspect and harder to see, but it is there.
"Your hand. You had six fingers once, as did I. Your eyes. Surely you must know by now that you are not like others. You and I are of a blood. We are something...other that the sheep who populate this world. Other and greater."
She bites her lip and looks unconvinced and distressed. "But...," she says and trails off, unable to put her objection into words.
"Your mother kept you from me for eleven years," Dr. Lecter says gently but irrevocably. "Think of the pain that caused me. And the pain it caused you, you're certainly entitled to it. I am an elderly man, Susana. I lost my sister as a young boy. She was killed. I lost your mother as well; she left me and took you away from me. You are my last chance. Do you really think it meet that I should die alone and abandoned?"
Tears glisten in her eyes at those words, and Dr. Lecter realizes with some glee that she is slowly being dragged towards the inescapable conclusion. The psychological weight on her shoulders is hard to bear. To see her traumatized pains him, but it is necessary until she accepts that her place is with him.
Very softly, barely above a whisper, he speaks the words aloud so that they both can hear them. "Your place is with me."
Susana lets out what might have been a sob and nods slowly.
"Okay," she says miserably.
This is Dr. Lecter's moment of victory; he should be happy. Perhaps 'okay' does not mean what he believes it to mean, but most likely it does. There will be further work ahead, but she has accepted her fate.
It is not so much that Dr. Lecter is not happy; he is. But the pain suddenly returns, stronger and sharper and before. The weight on his chest is incredible. It is as if Barney, along with a few of his orderlies, has jumped on his chest all at once. His medical knowledge floods back into him, and he knows what is happening. He clamps his right hand to his chest and gasps. The agony is exquisite.
Susana knows something is wrong but not what. Her eyes widen and she looks at him with alarm. Her hands press his shoulders.
"Papa? Papa, are you all right?"
Dr. Lecter clamps his eyes shut and opens them again. It takes a superhuman effort to speak, and he is able to gasp out one word.
"No...,"