Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or stories; Thomas Harris is the author and creator of 'Clarice Starling', 'Hannibal Lecter', 'Ardelia Mapp', and 'Paul Krendler'. These stories and any new characters are mine (although I will receive no profit from them). Please ask permission to archive.
These are short stories based on my story called, "The Path Not Taken". You don't necessarily have to have read it, but they will make much more sense if you do (and I'd really appreciate it). Each chapter is a separate story, in no particular order. Please read and review. Enjoy!
Story: "Terror"
Author: Calico calico321@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: Clarice awakes to true terror.
It was dark. Clarice lay in the bed trying to remember where she was. Her breathing became rapid and shallow as the panic grew and she sat up trying to see something of the shadows in the room. The sheets she discovered were satin as she gripped them to her chest; her nightgown was silk. Her breathing was coming in harsh gasps and she felt moments away from crying.
A movement to her left informed her she was not alone in the large bed. "Clarice?" came the sleepy inquiry. Dear God, she knew that voice. How did she come to be in bed with him? Her heart pounded with anxiety.
His hand slid across the bed and settled on her thigh. "Clarice?" he asked again in a stronger voice, coming completely out of his slumber.
OhGodOhGod, she thought. She tried to scream, but it only came out as a hoarse rasp. The hand on her thigh gripped tighter and she wanted desperately to tell him not to touch her, but her voice seemed paralyzed.
"Calm down. Breathe deeply. Try to remember where you are. Think," he spoke to her evenly, but determinedly as he sat up in bed beside her. The words didn't do anything but increase her anxiety. Think? Her brain seemed like a bottomless pit; she couldn't hold onto any thought except how did she find herself in this situation? Was she in danger? Or worse, did she want to be here? She looked over to the man, the criminal, she had tracked as an FBI agent. She could see his silhouette in the dark, almost convinced herself she could see his blazing eyes.
Sensing her rising panic he removed his hand from her leg and reached to the table on his side of the bed. Keeping the light off, he picked up a water glass and brought it towards her. He grabbed her arm with his other hand and pressed the glass to her palm. "Drink this Clarice. Drink it slowly and count to 10 in your mind. Do it," he commanded pushing the glass towards her mouth.
What's in here? she questioned herself. Was he poisoning her? Drugging her? She wanted to fling it into his face but felt her arm raising the glass to her lips almost against her will. The liquid that flowed over her tongue and down her throat was water, cool and refreshing. She drank in slow swallows.
In her mind she counted. One, two, three…in her mind's eye she saw herself at Muskrat Estate, saw the large hungry swine, saw Hannibal Lecter tied to the forklift. She watched herself save him and then it grew dark again.
Four, five, six, she counted on. He was offering her a beautiful ring, his grandmother's ring. It came with a promise of forever and she felt whole. The sunset ceremony; she was in pink silk; he was dressed in a white suit with a tie the exact same color as her dress. She wanted more than anything for him to hold her evermore. The sun disappeared and again it was dark.
Seven, eight, nine. The glass had been drained but she continued to hold it to her lips. They were at the opera, followed by a midnight supper and dancing on the balcony. There was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be. His hands caressed her back. Life was perfect.
Ten. She opened her eyes and dropped her arm to her lap. Looking to her left she whispered, "Oh I'm so sorry."
With a smile he took the glass from her hand and placed it back on the table. He brushed her hair away from her face. "No need, my dear." He placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her down to rest her head on his shoulder. He felt her pull the air in her lungs, making up for the moments of breathlessness she had just endured. He was grateful the technique still worked.
The first time it had happened he had almost been as frightened as she. It had been almost six months since they'd been married. They'd settled into their home in Buenos Aires. He had awoken to the sounds of her distress and made the mistake of flipping on the bedside lamp. At the site of him her hyperventilation had escalated so fast he feared she would asphyxiate herself. He had gone to the closet and removed his bag of medical supplies and drugs. He chose a strong sedative and filled a syringe with it. Sitting next to her he could hear her wheezing as she attempted to pull air into her lungs. "This is for your own good, my dear," he said as he gently stuck the needle into her arm.
In a matter of minutes her breathing was even, but she still stared at him warily. "Clarice, do you know who I am?" he asked her.
"Dr. Lecter," she replied quietly. He felt his heart drop at her formal tone, but he kept his voice calm and his face passive.
"Very good, now do you know where you are?" She shook her head. "What is the last thing you remember?"
"You escaped in Memphis, killing those guards. And the ambulance attendants. And that man at the airport. Then you wrote to me and said you had no plans to call on me. I guess you lied doctor." Her words were like ice in his chest. But more importantly they held the Appalachian twang he so detested and had helped her clean out of her dialect. In his experience, spontaneous amnesia usually followed a traumatic event. Perhaps Clarice had had a dream that caused her subconscious to suppress their relationship. The question is what could he do about it.
"Clarice, are you frightened of me?"
"Yes. How did I get here, Doctor?"
"Clarice, I assure you that I do not have any intentions of harming you. As a matter of fact I have a great interest in keeping you safe and happy. But to do that I need to do something that you may find a little unsettling. Will you trust me, for a moment?"
She just looked at him and he desperately wanted to grab her and kiss her and tell her she was his wife, but knew that would be the last thing that would work. Right now he needed her to remember. Finally she silently agreed with a single nod of her head.
"Good. Now I need to close your eyes. Yes that's good. Listen to my voice Clarice. You will need to relax. I won't hurt you. Breathe deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Good, again. Listen to my voice, Clarice. As you exhale you will feel the tension draining from your body. Your limbs feel heavy. Feel all the muscles in your body relax. You are floating, down, down, down.
"Clarice, can you hear me?" She murmured an affirmative. "In your mind's eye I want you to picture a large, ornate door. Do you see it?" Another murmur. "Open the door and enter your memory palace, Clarice."
He then took her on a tour of the place he had helped her create in her mind. He showed her the places she kept her most prized memories, the memories they had made together. When he had succeeded in opening her up to her memories, he inserted a post-hypnotic suggestion, to be triggered by drinking a glass of water and counting to ten, where she would walk through the palace with each successive number.
Satisfied, he brought her back up to her waking consciousness. As she blinked and stretched as if rising from a nap, he questioned, "Clarice, do you know where you are?"
Raising an eyebrow, she said, "In our bedroom. Where should I be?" After gathering her into his arms he explained terrifying hour he'd spent getting her back. "Why would that have happened? I don't understand why I would want to block all of this out?"
"I can't explain that, my dear. Perhaps it was in your dreams. Perhaps the lambs still scream and you felt only by rejecting me could you silence them." He caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "I was nearly beside myself with worry."
It had been eighteen months between the first episode and the second. Another two years till the third episode, which had taken place almost four years ago. While happening at longer and longer intervals, Dr. Lecter was still concerned. He absently stroked her hair, thinking she had drifted off to sleep when she said, "How can this keep happening?"
"I don't know."
"I'm so scared. What if it happens and I can't come back? I don't want to go back to being that person."
"On that we're both in agreement, my dear. You are still responding to the suggestion, there is no reason to think it won't keep working in the future. Perhaps there won't even be a need. Go to sleep." He kissed her forehead and listened until her breathing slowed in slumber. Laying awake, holding her, he knew that losing her would be about the worst thing imaginable, considering all the horrors he'd experienced in his long life. He would do everything in his power to see that never happened.
The End