Shackled - Part 2
Clarice Starling detested the conference room at Buzzard's Point. It's polished and pristine interior spoke of inside politics, personnel vendettas and destroyed careers. The motif that is embellished in gold leaf on the window of Clint Pearsall's adjoining office expounds the FBI motto "Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity".
The morning after Dr Lecter's arrest, Clarice Starling was standing in Pearsall's office awaiting a call into the other room. He had informed her last night, stumbling out of her house in a drunken stupor, that she had been ordered to attend a meeting of her superiors to arrange her re-instation to the FBI. Starling suspected that there was more to it than that. She was not so blind as to believe that the FBI would pat her on the back and welcome her return with open arms. She had learned from previous encounters that there would always be something obliterating her path, even if Paul Krendler no longer could.
Pearsall appeared from behind the door, his face showing none of the wear and tear most people would expect after the night previous. He greeted her warmly, much to her own amusement and partial disgust.
The other four men in the conference room stood as she entered. She recognised each of them, if not from personal interactions but being pointed out from afar. She eyed them warily, trying to gauge their reaction to her, to see whether she should prepare for an ambush. She could read nothing.
Pearsall introduced her to each, "I think you know everyone. Steven Delgarde from PR, Agent Barrett - Tim is standing in at Behavioural Science while Section Chief Crawford is indisposed, Assistant Director Noonan and this is Director Turnberry."
Starling recognised the significance of Turnberry's presence and inhaled sharply. Pearsall gestured to an empty chair on Delgarde's right and asked Clarice to take a seat. "Okay, lets get started shall we?", he said with a cheerful tone that struck Starling as forced. "As I'm sure you know Ms Starling, we asked you here today to formally reinstate you. In light of recent events the bureau think that it's wise to take care of this matter as quickly as possible. Therefore you have being reinstated without prejudice and we look forward to you working with us again. Your gun and your badge and any other personal items confiscated will be returned to you when you leave today."
Starling nodded, somewhat taken aback at his abrupt statement. "Does that mean then that the investigation has been called off?"
"The Bureau feels that after yesterday there is no need for the investigation to be on-going. We would also like to avoid details of it leaking to the press. It would be better if we kept the reason you were under investigation known to as few people as possible. If it were to become public knowledge why you were pulled from the case and that you were on strict orders to stay away from Muskrat Farm last night it would not be very pleasant."
Starling was beginning to understand Delgarde's reason for being there and felt the ire in her slowly begin to rise. "With all due respect Sir, I wasn't pulled from the case I was suspended from my job. The two are quite different. And if it's all right with you I would prefer that the investigation continued. I would like the record to show that I was only doing my job and that I have never tried to contact Dr Lecter or assist him."
Noonan scoffed, "Wasn't that what you were doing last night? Some would say that Hannibal Lecter deserves whatever he gets."
Starling looked at him sharply, "Director Noonan when I became an agent of the bureau I agreed to honour its' principles. One of which is or at least was Integrity. Personally I don't see much integrity in allowing a man to have another man eaten alive for the purpose of personal revenge."
"Starling, last night by interfering without any back up, you inadvertently caused the death of five people and rescued a man who's murdered many more."
Starling turned on him with an icy glare, "Sir if you had done your job last night no one would have been killed. As it is I will take responsibility for the men I personally shot. The deaths of Mason Verger and Paul Krendler have absolutely nothing to do with me."
Turnberry, recognising that Noonan had got out of control, interrupted, "I hardly think this is getting us anywhere. To answer you're original question Agent Starling, we find there is no need to continue the investigation. Apart from the obvious evidence Eric Pickford contacted Agent Barrett last night with some information we had heretofore being unaware of and because of that information we feel we can exonerate you of any charges laid against you."
Starling felt she should be surprised about Pickford but couldn't find herself to be so.
Turnberry continued, "This is off the record Agent Starling but the way it is, only three people know what truly happened last night at Muskrat Farm and afterwards. Of those three, one is dead and another legally insane, which means, it is only your version of events that will carry any weight."
Starling nodded, beginning to understand where he was going.
"If Lecter goes to court on charges of the murders at Muskrat we can make sure that you won't have to testify. There is enough evidence to convict him without your testimony and a sworn deposition from you will suffice. We want you to submit a report, detailing what happened last night. We don't need any intimate details, just the bare facts. You were heavily drugged so it's understandable if you don't remember much, only Lecter killing Paul Krendler. The Bureau doesn't need to know of any interaction you may have had with Lecter or anything he may have said."
Starling stared at him, "You mean you want me to lie."
Turnberry sighed and shook his head, "Not lie Agent Starling. Merely edit what happened. Look on this as an opportunity. I have no doubt that some things happened last night that you'd rather forget and if they were to become public would reflect badly on both you and this Bureau. You shouldn't have been there last night. Not only had you been specifically ordered to stay away but legally, as an agent on suspension you had no business there. You don't have to lie about anything that may be damning, just leave it out."
Starling remained silent and Pearsall continued, "We are not asking you to do anything immoral or wrong. Merely make it look good. I understand however that it might put you in a bit of a dilemma as I have no doubt that last night may have left an effect on you. If you would like we can arrange for you to talk to someone within this Bureau, someone would keep everything you tell them confidential."
Starling scoffed, "You want me to talk to a Psychiatrist? Excuse me if I pass up the offer, I've had enough experiences with a psychiatrist to last me a lifetime."
Pearsall looked embarrassed as he understood his faux pas and Starling, who realised that she'd had enough, continued, "So what happens now? If you may recall before being given the Dr Lecter assignment my job was pending the outcome of an investigation into the Feliciana Fish Market bust. Do I go home now and wait for my phone to ring once again?"
Pearsall and Noonan both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They could see that Starling was understandably pissed and she probably had a right to be. Barrett, seeing their discomfort, turned to Starling, "With your knowledge and experience of finding Dr. Lecter and Jame Gumb we feel that you would be useful to us over at Behavioural Science for a while at least. If it's agreeable to you, we would like you to stay there for the time present."
Starling nodded, recognising the meaning behind this sudden and rather belated job offer. Dr Lecter was behind bars, which meant she was no longer tarnished property.
Turnberry stood then and said, "I think that's all for the moment. Agent Starling if you could submit you report to Agent Pearsall as soon as possible and we can take a look over it."
Starling stood and shook each of the men's hands before Pearsall offered to walk her out. They walked most of the way to her car in silence after picking up her confiscated badge and gun. Eventually Pearsall turned to her, "Are you going to see Jack Crawford today?"
She nodded, "Yes, I called earlier. They said I can see him now that he's out of intensive care."
"Good he'll be glad to see you. Listen I know you're Behavioural Sciences now, but I don't want to see you near Quantico for three weeks at least. I think after the last few months, you need to use up some of that vacation time that's been accumulating."
For once one of Pearsall's orders didn't seem do bad, "I think I will Sir, thank you."
"I know you hate this report thing but for too long you've stuck to this moral high ground and look where it's got you. Nowhere. You need to play the rules to win Starling, even if you don't agree with them."
Starling nodded and she knew he made sense. Pearsall continued, "Don't tell anyone this, it's strictly off the record but as you know Jack Crawford's coming close to retirement soon, mandatory or else. Your name is being touted as his replacement."
Starling stared at him and didn't bother to hide her surprise.
"Of course it's by no means definite. One foot wrong and you're out the door but by catching Lecter you have some pretty powerful allies. Noonan will have to be convinced but if you bide your time for the next while, getting the experience needed in Behavioural Science and above all stay out of trouble you're in with a fair chance. As I said this is strictly off the record, I just thought you should know."
*************************************
Jefferson Memorial Hospital has not changed much in the years since it has been built. Nor is it any different to another hospital in any other place of the world. The walls are thickly painted in medicinal green and white and the clinical stench of death circulates through the corridors. Clarice Starling has an aversion to hospitals, trying to avoid them as much as possible. They remind her too much of her father's passing, the endless weeks of his bedside vigil, each day becoming more hopeful that he was strong enough to make it and the ultimate pain and betrayal when he was gone.
She walks swiftly to the cardiac care unit, refusing to let her mind drift to the painful thoughts she cannot change. There is no place for them here or now. They will be dealt with later. Later has been the last twenty-three years.
Starling's pace slows as she comes to Jack Crawford's ward. She watches for him through the glass, feeling better if she can see him before he sees her. Her eyes find him quickly and she inhales sharply at the sight of him. His eyes are sunken and he lies still in bed, the cover all the way up to his neck. His skin is pale and from head to toe he seems white, white hair, white skin, white sheets. The only colour, a sliver of gold around his finger, his wedding band. In three days he has aged years.
She walks to his bed and sees that his eyes are closed. She knows he is not sleeping. "Hiya Jack."
His eyelids fly open, "Starling."
She smiles and he looks at her for a moment, "You cut your hair?"
Starling grins, remembering the frenzied nine-o clock appointment with the hairdressers that morning, in the hopes of fixing the butchered hair.
"They had to cut me from the fridge."
"It suits you."
She thanks him. She knows it doesn't. The bob makes her look wrong, superficial somehow, perfect for the FBI at last.
"Sit down. Tell me what happened."
Starling shrugs as she takes a seat. "I'm sure you've heard most of it."
Crawford shakes his head, "Only what Noonan told me last night, which wasn't much. The details were rather sketchy. Start from the beginning."
Starling stares at him. Deep down she'd known he would ask but she refused to believe it, knowing that if he asked she could not answer. It is too recent, each word, each gesture still stabs and the smell of Krendler's sautéed brain still churns her stomach.
"I'm sure it can wait Mr Crawford. Better you hear it all when you're well. I'm sure you'll end up reading the report anyway."
"I don't want to read the report. I want to hear it from you now."
They look at each other for a moment, they both know he will not give up and nor she will tell him what he really wants to hear.
"I don't really know what to tell you. I was pretty drugged up. I don't remember much." She remembers every moment.
"What happened at the lake-house?"
"As I said I was unconscious for most of the time, umm I woke up in one of the guest rooms. I could hear voices downstairs and I went to call the police."
"And then?"
"I went downstairs, just in time for "dinner"", Starling surprises herself by a sudden burst of laughter, the phrase seems too ridiculous to take seriously. Crawford seems to understand, as he does not ask anything more about the meal, though perhaps for his own health rather than hers.
"After dinner I tried to attack him in the kitchen. He caught me and locked my hair in the fridge. I handcuffed my wrist to his and waited for the police."
Crawford almost laughs at her, the gaping holes in her narrative are painful and obvious. "He didn't try to fight you?"
"Umm no." Not entirely true but then Crawford was neither her priest nor her shrink.
"How long were you waiting for the police?"
"Less than a few minutes. It felt like longer though. After that it was pretty predictable."
"Did he talk to you while you waited?"
She notices, not for the first time, that as usual his name has not been mentioned in their conversation. "No, not really." Another untruth, this one more bitter than the last.
He nods, knowing he will not get what he wants from her. "Did you go with them to the prison?"
Her eyes narrow, "Yes I did, why?"
He shakes his head, "I just thought you would. You're going back today?"
Starling squirms, like teenager being caught sneaking out the window by her father. "He asked me to come. I just need to get him out of my system, find some closure. I need to ask him some questions, names of his other victims' etc. I doubt he'll tell anyone else. I'm the best chance."
Crawford nods, he realises suddenly that he does not want to know anymore. She was right, he would read the report. And for once that would be enough.
*****************************************
The police station that held Dr Hannibal Lecter was small. An hour away from the lake-house, it held no other inmates as the officers were used to dealing with petty thefts and the odd speeding offence from the vacationers that rented houses on the Chesapeake, than serial killers with a history of murderous escapes. And yet the FBI had made a decision to keep Lecter incarcerated there. Because of its size it was easier to keep secure and extra officers had been brought in that morning to guard it from the unwanted attention of those that wanted to kill Lecter and those that wanted to free him. It was also easier to keep control of the press intrusion. But for all this the five-cell prison remained curiously out of date. The prison cells were one big open room divided by metal bars and wall partitions instead of the usual separate rooms with heavy locked doors. There were no security cameras in the cells either, making it necessary for the officers to do suicide checks every fifteen minutes though they figured it highly unlikely that Hannibal Lecter had decided to develop a conscience overnight.
Clarice Starling had a difficult time getting through the hordes of press that gathered outside, her newly returned FBI badge proving useless as it only drew more attention to herself rather than divert it. By the time she reached the main door she didn't need it, the guards were already well informed of her identity by the shouts from reporters and they let her in quickly without question.
She walked to the main desk, where a female officer, her nametag read Russell, sat. Starling pulled her ID out of her pocket, "I'm Cl-"
Russell interrupted with a smile, "I know who you are. You want to see Hannibal Lecter right?"
Starling smiled and nodded.
"Hold on a second, I just need to check you're on the list. The FBI sent us over a list of people allowed into see him. I'm sure you're on it. They've being pretty strict with the people they've let in. We've already had to refuse a couple of FBI agents and some people from other government agencies. Yep, here you are."
Starling understood why, a repeat of what happened in Memphis when a lowly FBI trainee was allowed access had to be impossible.
"There's no one in with him at the moment so you can go ahead. Whether he'll be very talkative to you I don't know. He's been grilled pretty tough this morning and he's complaining. Son of a bitch told us he didn't want to be disturbed."
Starling bit back the smirk that rose to her face.
"You need to check you weapon and then Officer Karatakis will show you to his cell."
Starling did as she asked and was quickly brought down to the block of cells. Standing guard just inside the door were three officers. A flick of her head and they, recognising her superiority, left immediately, moving their station to the other side of the door, close enough to hear of any trouble.
He was in the end cell she knew and she walked slowly, keeping to the middle like an old habit. The cell did not have the benefit of the shatterproof glass to protect the officers' tongues and instead inside the cell, over an arm's length from the bars, heavy-duty netting had been hung from ceiling to floor. Her first glimpse of him, lying on his bunk, jolted an old memory. He was dressed in prison garb and suddenly she was back ten years, in the asylum.
"I had said I didn't want to be disturbed, I see they didn't listen Clarice."
She wasn't surprised that he spoke first and without looking at her.
"Hello, Dr Lecter."
"Of course your company is much more pleasant than Ex-officer Graham, he's been badgering me all morning." He turned his head slightly and smirked, "Love the hair. You'll find however Clarice that it will look better when the lambs have stopped screaming."
Her eyes narrowed and forgetting for a moment whom she was speaking to, she asked, "How did you-?"
"Your eyes Clarice. You didn't sleep last night, did you? Tell me was it the lambs this time or the pigs?"
She shrugged, already hating where this was going, "It's still the lambs."
"Mmm.", Lecter seemed to mull this over. "They have been silent though for a while. I would think that when they screamed last night, they were at Muskrat farm."
She shook her head, "No they weren't. They were at the lake-house."
"Of course, how silly of me." He got up then and moved towards her, finding a seat on the ground closer to where she stood.
"On your way in, while you checked you weapon, did you happen to see Will Graham? He only just left a few moments ago."
Taking his lead, she too lowered herself to the floor. "I don't think-"
"Oh you'd know him if you did see him Clarice. His face rather resembles a Picasso, so well in fact that I myself would pay money for it. He's wearing a big overcoat and a hat. He thinks it makes him less noticeable, I suppose. You and him share something in common, he's the only other person who's incarcerated me."
His meaning was clear and Starling did her best to shake it off. "And you tried to kill him."
"If you're referring to the first time, yes I did. He was going to cramp my style."
"And the second?"
"Aah no little Starling, I did not try to kill him the second time. I merely gave The Red Dragon the means to. But if that's what our dear Frances calls murdering, clearly he was never as good as he would have liked to think he was."
"And Will Graham's being in talking to you?"
"Yes, quite tedious actually. I suppose he figures that now I'm all locked-up it's safe to come out of hiding. And so he's spent all morning with me, berating me for his destroyed life. Yadda, yadda, yadda."
She resisted the urge to smile and he continued, "And you? What brings you here to see me?
She looked at him straight on but knew it was pointless. "You asked me to come."
"Tut, tut, Clarice, we'll have to stop meeting like this. As I said before, people will say we're in love and they'll begin to expound their Beauty and the Beast theory again. You'll have to learn to do a good rendition of a few Disney jingles."
Starling sighed, falling into the strangely comforting familiarity of his insults, she leaned against the bars of his cell.
"Tell me, my dear. This morning, were you reinstated? Are you back in favour with the FBI?", he asked,
murmuring the letters of the institution with sardonic glee.
She smiled softly, "Mmm, they want me to stay at Behavioural Sciences."
He didn't seem surprised, "What else, Clarice?"
She hated telling him but felt somehow obliged like she had exchanging her own personal demons for Catherine Martin's life. "Clint Pearsall thinks I'll be Jack Crawford's replacement."
"Well, well, well, haven't we done well for ourselves? And the price of this sudden gesture?"
"They want me to write a report on yesterday."
"But leave out all the good bits?"
Starling smirked, "They're going to use it against you in court."
"Thank you for the warning, my dear. What a pity it's the FBI that's destroyed your incorruptibility."
"As opposed to you doctor?"
"We would have had a lot of fun my way."
Starling found the silence oppressive and gazed around it's cell. It was much the same as his one in the institution, save for his missing drawings and the narrow window near the room. Outside she could see it was raining.
"You have a window here."
"Yes but not for long. Do you think that as Section Chief Starling you will still come and see me?"
His tone contained no trace of sentiment to imply that he cared. She hadn't expected it too.
"Yes. I said I would."
"Even when I'm on death row. In this current climate you're aware of course that I'll get the needle?"
She was surprised that she felt the stabbing pain in her stomach keenly. He noticed of course and continued, "Will you be there sitting in the front row as they pump me full of poisonous chemicals. Did you know that give you medication to keep you conscious as long as possible? Will you sit there, eyes peeled, savouring every moment, drinking every last drop of my life? Will the lambs stop screaming then Clarice?"
"Dr Lecter. Stop-"
Lecter interrupted, looking past her, "Will I don't believe you're acquainted with Special Agent Starling."
Staling looked behind her to see a man she figured as Will Graham. She had seen pictures of his face of course, no case file on Hannibal Lecter could be without those, and yet she was surprised to see his face. He reminded her greatly of Mason Verger.
Lecter continued to speak, "We'll stick to Special Agent Starling for now Clarice. Let's wait until it's official. Will, Agent Starling and I were just discussing Pablo Ruiz y Picasso. Tell us what is your opinion? Was he a genius or a madman? They say there is a very fine line between the two."
For the first time Starling thought that if she could break through the bars she would have murdered him herself. Graham remained impassive. She realised she had to get out as soon as possible, she couldn't be there any longer. She stood quickly and turned to Graham, "You will have to excuse me Mr Graham. Perhaps I can have the pleasure of being properly introduced to you at a more convenient time."
Graham nodded, surprised and Starling turned back to face the cell, "Dr Lecter."
His mouth contorted into a smile and with an expression that could almost be described as innocent he bid her adieu, "Good-bye little Starling."
Starling was almost at the door before she hear her name being called from behind, a vice she deduced as Will Graham's.
"Agent Starling, wait a second."
She stopped and turned as he caught up with him.
"Don't let Lecter get to you. He enjoys distressing people. Don't give him the satisfaction of letting him inside your head."
Starling stared at Graham incredulously. Thanks for the advice, where have you been for the last ten years? It's a bit too late.
She smiled sourly, "Thank you, I'll remember." Deliberately she turned and walked away, giving her back to him.
Clarice Starling detested the conference room at Buzzard's Point. It's polished and pristine interior spoke of inside politics, personnel vendettas and destroyed careers. The motif that is embellished in gold leaf on the window of Clint Pearsall's adjoining office expounds the FBI motto "Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity".
The morning after Dr Lecter's arrest, Clarice Starling was standing in Pearsall's office awaiting a call into the other room. He had informed her last night, stumbling out of her house in a drunken stupor, that she had been ordered to attend a meeting of her superiors to arrange her re-instation to the FBI. Starling suspected that there was more to it than that. She was not so blind as to believe that the FBI would pat her on the back and welcome her return with open arms. She had learned from previous encounters that there would always be something obliterating her path, even if Paul Krendler no longer could.
Pearsall appeared from behind the door, his face showing none of the wear and tear most people would expect after the night previous. He greeted her warmly, much to her own amusement and partial disgust.
The other four men in the conference room stood as she entered. She recognised each of them, if not from personal interactions but being pointed out from afar. She eyed them warily, trying to gauge their reaction to her, to see whether she should prepare for an ambush. She could read nothing.
Pearsall introduced her to each, "I think you know everyone. Steven Delgarde from PR, Agent Barrett - Tim is standing in at Behavioural Science while Section Chief Crawford is indisposed, Assistant Director Noonan and this is Director Turnberry."
Starling recognised the significance of Turnberry's presence and inhaled sharply. Pearsall gestured to an empty chair on Delgarde's right and asked Clarice to take a seat. "Okay, lets get started shall we?", he said with a cheerful tone that struck Starling as forced. "As I'm sure you know Ms Starling, we asked you here today to formally reinstate you. In light of recent events the bureau think that it's wise to take care of this matter as quickly as possible. Therefore you have being reinstated without prejudice and we look forward to you working with us again. Your gun and your badge and any other personal items confiscated will be returned to you when you leave today."
Starling nodded, somewhat taken aback at his abrupt statement. "Does that mean then that the investigation has been called off?"
"The Bureau feels that after yesterday there is no need for the investigation to be on-going. We would also like to avoid details of it leaking to the press. It would be better if we kept the reason you were under investigation known to as few people as possible. If it were to become public knowledge why you were pulled from the case and that you were on strict orders to stay away from Muskrat Farm last night it would not be very pleasant."
Starling was beginning to understand Delgarde's reason for being there and felt the ire in her slowly begin to rise. "With all due respect Sir, I wasn't pulled from the case I was suspended from my job. The two are quite different. And if it's all right with you I would prefer that the investigation continued. I would like the record to show that I was only doing my job and that I have never tried to contact Dr Lecter or assist him."
Noonan scoffed, "Wasn't that what you were doing last night? Some would say that Hannibal Lecter deserves whatever he gets."
Starling looked at him sharply, "Director Noonan when I became an agent of the bureau I agreed to honour its' principles. One of which is or at least was Integrity. Personally I don't see much integrity in allowing a man to have another man eaten alive for the purpose of personal revenge."
"Starling, last night by interfering without any back up, you inadvertently caused the death of five people and rescued a man who's murdered many more."
Starling turned on him with an icy glare, "Sir if you had done your job last night no one would have been killed. As it is I will take responsibility for the men I personally shot. The deaths of Mason Verger and Paul Krendler have absolutely nothing to do with me."
Turnberry, recognising that Noonan had got out of control, interrupted, "I hardly think this is getting us anywhere. To answer you're original question Agent Starling, we find there is no need to continue the investigation. Apart from the obvious evidence Eric Pickford contacted Agent Barrett last night with some information we had heretofore being unaware of and because of that information we feel we can exonerate you of any charges laid against you."
Starling felt she should be surprised about Pickford but couldn't find herself to be so.
Turnberry continued, "This is off the record Agent Starling but the way it is, only three people know what truly happened last night at Muskrat Farm and afterwards. Of those three, one is dead and another legally insane, which means, it is only your version of events that will carry any weight."
Starling nodded, beginning to understand where he was going.
"If Lecter goes to court on charges of the murders at Muskrat we can make sure that you won't have to testify. There is enough evidence to convict him without your testimony and a sworn deposition from you will suffice. We want you to submit a report, detailing what happened last night. We don't need any intimate details, just the bare facts. You were heavily drugged so it's understandable if you don't remember much, only Lecter killing Paul Krendler. The Bureau doesn't need to know of any interaction you may have had with Lecter or anything he may have said."
Starling stared at him, "You mean you want me to lie."
Turnberry sighed and shook his head, "Not lie Agent Starling. Merely edit what happened. Look on this as an opportunity. I have no doubt that some things happened last night that you'd rather forget and if they were to become public would reflect badly on both you and this Bureau. You shouldn't have been there last night. Not only had you been specifically ordered to stay away but legally, as an agent on suspension you had no business there. You don't have to lie about anything that may be damning, just leave it out."
Starling remained silent and Pearsall continued, "We are not asking you to do anything immoral or wrong. Merely make it look good. I understand however that it might put you in a bit of a dilemma as I have no doubt that last night may have left an effect on you. If you would like we can arrange for you to talk to someone within this Bureau, someone would keep everything you tell them confidential."
Starling scoffed, "You want me to talk to a Psychiatrist? Excuse me if I pass up the offer, I've had enough experiences with a psychiatrist to last me a lifetime."
Pearsall looked embarrassed as he understood his faux pas and Starling, who realised that she'd had enough, continued, "So what happens now? If you may recall before being given the Dr Lecter assignment my job was pending the outcome of an investigation into the Feliciana Fish Market bust. Do I go home now and wait for my phone to ring once again?"
Pearsall and Noonan both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They could see that Starling was understandably pissed and she probably had a right to be. Barrett, seeing their discomfort, turned to Starling, "With your knowledge and experience of finding Dr. Lecter and Jame Gumb we feel that you would be useful to us over at Behavioural Science for a while at least. If it's agreeable to you, we would like you to stay there for the time present."
Starling nodded, recognising the meaning behind this sudden and rather belated job offer. Dr Lecter was behind bars, which meant she was no longer tarnished property.
Turnberry stood then and said, "I think that's all for the moment. Agent Starling if you could submit you report to Agent Pearsall as soon as possible and we can take a look over it."
Starling stood and shook each of the men's hands before Pearsall offered to walk her out. They walked most of the way to her car in silence after picking up her confiscated badge and gun. Eventually Pearsall turned to her, "Are you going to see Jack Crawford today?"
She nodded, "Yes, I called earlier. They said I can see him now that he's out of intensive care."
"Good he'll be glad to see you. Listen I know you're Behavioural Sciences now, but I don't want to see you near Quantico for three weeks at least. I think after the last few months, you need to use up some of that vacation time that's been accumulating."
For once one of Pearsall's orders didn't seem do bad, "I think I will Sir, thank you."
"I know you hate this report thing but for too long you've stuck to this moral high ground and look where it's got you. Nowhere. You need to play the rules to win Starling, even if you don't agree with them."
Starling nodded and she knew he made sense. Pearsall continued, "Don't tell anyone this, it's strictly off the record but as you know Jack Crawford's coming close to retirement soon, mandatory or else. Your name is being touted as his replacement."
Starling stared at him and didn't bother to hide her surprise.
"Of course it's by no means definite. One foot wrong and you're out the door but by catching Lecter you have some pretty powerful allies. Noonan will have to be convinced but if you bide your time for the next while, getting the experience needed in Behavioural Science and above all stay out of trouble you're in with a fair chance. As I said this is strictly off the record, I just thought you should know."
*************************************
Jefferson Memorial Hospital has not changed much in the years since it has been built. Nor is it any different to another hospital in any other place of the world. The walls are thickly painted in medicinal green and white and the clinical stench of death circulates through the corridors. Clarice Starling has an aversion to hospitals, trying to avoid them as much as possible. They remind her too much of her father's passing, the endless weeks of his bedside vigil, each day becoming more hopeful that he was strong enough to make it and the ultimate pain and betrayal when he was gone.
She walks swiftly to the cardiac care unit, refusing to let her mind drift to the painful thoughts she cannot change. There is no place for them here or now. They will be dealt with later. Later has been the last twenty-three years.
Starling's pace slows as she comes to Jack Crawford's ward. She watches for him through the glass, feeling better if she can see him before he sees her. Her eyes find him quickly and she inhales sharply at the sight of him. His eyes are sunken and he lies still in bed, the cover all the way up to his neck. His skin is pale and from head to toe he seems white, white hair, white skin, white sheets. The only colour, a sliver of gold around his finger, his wedding band. In three days he has aged years.
She walks to his bed and sees that his eyes are closed. She knows he is not sleeping. "Hiya Jack."
His eyelids fly open, "Starling."
She smiles and he looks at her for a moment, "You cut your hair?"
Starling grins, remembering the frenzied nine-o clock appointment with the hairdressers that morning, in the hopes of fixing the butchered hair.
"They had to cut me from the fridge."
"It suits you."
She thanks him. She knows it doesn't. The bob makes her look wrong, superficial somehow, perfect for the FBI at last.
"Sit down. Tell me what happened."
Starling shrugs as she takes a seat. "I'm sure you've heard most of it."
Crawford shakes his head, "Only what Noonan told me last night, which wasn't much. The details were rather sketchy. Start from the beginning."
Starling stares at him. Deep down she'd known he would ask but she refused to believe it, knowing that if he asked she could not answer. It is too recent, each word, each gesture still stabs and the smell of Krendler's sautéed brain still churns her stomach.
"I'm sure it can wait Mr Crawford. Better you hear it all when you're well. I'm sure you'll end up reading the report anyway."
"I don't want to read the report. I want to hear it from you now."
They look at each other for a moment, they both know he will not give up and nor she will tell him what he really wants to hear.
"I don't really know what to tell you. I was pretty drugged up. I don't remember much." She remembers every moment.
"What happened at the lake-house?"
"As I said I was unconscious for most of the time, umm I woke up in one of the guest rooms. I could hear voices downstairs and I went to call the police."
"And then?"
"I went downstairs, just in time for "dinner"", Starling surprises herself by a sudden burst of laughter, the phrase seems too ridiculous to take seriously. Crawford seems to understand, as he does not ask anything more about the meal, though perhaps for his own health rather than hers.
"After dinner I tried to attack him in the kitchen. He caught me and locked my hair in the fridge. I handcuffed my wrist to his and waited for the police."
Crawford almost laughs at her, the gaping holes in her narrative are painful and obvious. "He didn't try to fight you?"
"Umm no." Not entirely true but then Crawford was neither her priest nor her shrink.
"How long were you waiting for the police?"
"Less than a few minutes. It felt like longer though. After that it was pretty predictable."
"Did he talk to you while you waited?"
She notices, not for the first time, that as usual his name has not been mentioned in their conversation. "No, not really." Another untruth, this one more bitter than the last.
He nods, knowing he will not get what he wants from her. "Did you go with them to the prison?"
Her eyes narrow, "Yes I did, why?"
He shakes his head, "I just thought you would. You're going back today?"
Starling squirms, like teenager being caught sneaking out the window by her father. "He asked me to come. I just need to get him out of my system, find some closure. I need to ask him some questions, names of his other victims' etc. I doubt he'll tell anyone else. I'm the best chance."
Crawford nods, he realises suddenly that he does not want to know anymore. She was right, he would read the report. And for once that would be enough.
*****************************************
The police station that held Dr Hannibal Lecter was small. An hour away from the lake-house, it held no other inmates as the officers were used to dealing with petty thefts and the odd speeding offence from the vacationers that rented houses on the Chesapeake, than serial killers with a history of murderous escapes. And yet the FBI had made a decision to keep Lecter incarcerated there. Because of its size it was easier to keep secure and extra officers had been brought in that morning to guard it from the unwanted attention of those that wanted to kill Lecter and those that wanted to free him. It was also easier to keep control of the press intrusion. But for all this the five-cell prison remained curiously out of date. The prison cells were one big open room divided by metal bars and wall partitions instead of the usual separate rooms with heavy locked doors. There were no security cameras in the cells either, making it necessary for the officers to do suicide checks every fifteen minutes though they figured it highly unlikely that Hannibal Lecter had decided to develop a conscience overnight.
Clarice Starling had a difficult time getting through the hordes of press that gathered outside, her newly returned FBI badge proving useless as it only drew more attention to herself rather than divert it. By the time she reached the main door she didn't need it, the guards were already well informed of her identity by the shouts from reporters and they let her in quickly without question.
She walked to the main desk, where a female officer, her nametag read Russell, sat. Starling pulled her ID out of her pocket, "I'm Cl-"
Russell interrupted with a smile, "I know who you are. You want to see Hannibal Lecter right?"
Starling smiled and nodded.
"Hold on a second, I just need to check you're on the list. The FBI sent us over a list of people allowed into see him. I'm sure you're on it. They've being pretty strict with the people they've let in. We've already had to refuse a couple of FBI agents and some people from other government agencies. Yep, here you are."
Starling understood why, a repeat of what happened in Memphis when a lowly FBI trainee was allowed access had to be impossible.
"There's no one in with him at the moment so you can go ahead. Whether he'll be very talkative to you I don't know. He's been grilled pretty tough this morning and he's complaining. Son of a bitch told us he didn't want to be disturbed."
Starling bit back the smirk that rose to her face.
"You need to check you weapon and then Officer Karatakis will show you to his cell."
Starling did as she asked and was quickly brought down to the block of cells. Standing guard just inside the door were three officers. A flick of her head and they, recognising her superiority, left immediately, moving their station to the other side of the door, close enough to hear of any trouble.
He was in the end cell she knew and she walked slowly, keeping to the middle like an old habit. The cell did not have the benefit of the shatterproof glass to protect the officers' tongues and instead inside the cell, over an arm's length from the bars, heavy-duty netting had been hung from ceiling to floor. Her first glimpse of him, lying on his bunk, jolted an old memory. He was dressed in prison garb and suddenly she was back ten years, in the asylum.
"I had said I didn't want to be disturbed, I see they didn't listen Clarice."
She wasn't surprised that he spoke first and without looking at her.
"Hello, Dr Lecter."
"Of course your company is much more pleasant than Ex-officer Graham, he's been badgering me all morning." He turned his head slightly and smirked, "Love the hair. You'll find however Clarice that it will look better when the lambs have stopped screaming."
Her eyes narrowed and forgetting for a moment whom she was speaking to, she asked, "How did you-?"
"Your eyes Clarice. You didn't sleep last night, did you? Tell me was it the lambs this time or the pigs?"
She shrugged, already hating where this was going, "It's still the lambs."
"Mmm.", Lecter seemed to mull this over. "They have been silent though for a while. I would think that when they screamed last night, they were at Muskrat farm."
She shook her head, "No they weren't. They were at the lake-house."
"Of course, how silly of me." He got up then and moved towards her, finding a seat on the ground closer to where she stood.
"On your way in, while you checked you weapon, did you happen to see Will Graham? He only just left a few moments ago."
Taking his lead, she too lowered herself to the floor. "I don't think-"
"Oh you'd know him if you did see him Clarice. His face rather resembles a Picasso, so well in fact that I myself would pay money for it. He's wearing a big overcoat and a hat. He thinks it makes him less noticeable, I suppose. You and him share something in common, he's the only other person who's incarcerated me."
His meaning was clear and Starling did her best to shake it off. "And you tried to kill him."
"If you're referring to the first time, yes I did. He was going to cramp my style."
"And the second?"
"Aah no little Starling, I did not try to kill him the second time. I merely gave The Red Dragon the means to. But if that's what our dear Frances calls murdering, clearly he was never as good as he would have liked to think he was."
"And Will Graham's being in talking to you?"
"Yes, quite tedious actually. I suppose he figures that now I'm all locked-up it's safe to come out of hiding. And so he's spent all morning with me, berating me for his destroyed life. Yadda, yadda, yadda."
She resisted the urge to smile and he continued, "And you? What brings you here to see me?
She looked at him straight on but knew it was pointless. "You asked me to come."
"Tut, tut, Clarice, we'll have to stop meeting like this. As I said before, people will say we're in love and they'll begin to expound their Beauty and the Beast theory again. You'll have to learn to do a good rendition of a few Disney jingles."
Starling sighed, falling into the strangely comforting familiarity of his insults, she leaned against the bars of his cell.
"Tell me, my dear. This morning, were you reinstated? Are you back in favour with the FBI?", he asked,
murmuring the letters of the institution with sardonic glee.
She smiled softly, "Mmm, they want me to stay at Behavioural Sciences."
He didn't seem surprised, "What else, Clarice?"
She hated telling him but felt somehow obliged like she had exchanging her own personal demons for Catherine Martin's life. "Clint Pearsall thinks I'll be Jack Crawford's replacement."
"Well, well, well, haven't we done well for ourselves? And the price of this sudden gesture?"
"They want me to write a report on yesterday."
"But leave out all the good bits?"
Starling smirked, "They're going to use it against you in court."
"Thank you for the warning, my dear. What a pity it's the FBI that's destroyed your incorruptibility."
"As opposed to you doctor?"
"We would have had a lot of fun my way."
Starling found the silence oppressive and gazed around it's cell. It was much the same as his one in the institution, save for his missing drawings and the narrow window near the room. Outside she could see it was raining.
"You have a window here."
"Yes but not for long. Do you think that as Section Chief Starling you will still come and see me?"
His tone contained no trace of sentiment to imply that he cared. She hadn't expected it too.
"Yes. I said I would."
"Even when I'm on death row. In this current climate you're aware of course that I'll get the needle?"
She was surprised that she felt the stabbing pain in her stomach keenly. He noticed of course and continued, "Will you be there sitting in the front row as they pump me full of poisonous chemicals. Did you know that give you medication to keep you conscious as long as possible? Will you sit there, eyes peeled, savouring every moment, drinking every last drop of my life? Will the lambs stop screaming then Clarice?"
"Dr Lecter. Stop-"
Lecter interrupted, looking past her, "Will I don't believe you're acquainted with Special Agent Starling."
Staling looked behind her to see a man she figured as Will Graham. She had seen pictures of his face of course, no case file on Hannibal Lecter could be without those, and yet she was surprised to see his face. He reminded her greatly of Mason Verger.
Lecter continued to speak, "We'll stick to Special Agent Starling for now Clarice. Let's wait until it's official. Will, Agent Starling and I were just discussing Pablo Ruiz y Picasso. Tell us what is your opinion? Was he a genius or a madman? They say there is a very fine line between the two."
For the first time Starling thought that if she could break through the bars she would have murdered him herself. Graham remained impassive. She realised she had to get out as soon as possible, she couldn't be there any longer. She stood quickly and turned to Graham, "You will have to excuse me Mr Graham. Perhaps I can have the pleasure of being properly introduced to you at a more convenient time."
Graham nodded, surprised and Starling turned back to face the cell, "Dr Lecter."
His mouth contorted into a smile and with an expression that could almost be described as innocent he bid her adieu, "Good-bye little Starling."
Starling was almost at the door before she hear her name being called from behind, a vice she deduced as Will Graham's.
"Agent Starling, wait a second."
She stopped and turned as he caught up with him.
"Don't let Lecter get to you. He enjoys distressing people. Don't give him the satisfaction of letting him inside your head."
Starling stared at Graham incredulously. Thanks for the advice, where have you been for the last ten years? It's a bit too late.
She smiled sourly, "Thank you, I'll remember." Deliberately she turned and walked away, giving her back to him.