AN/ Well, here we go...Crawford-bashing! I never really liked him in the first place anyway. Some Anglo-Saxon, I'm afraid. Enjoy :)
Disclaimer: My name is NOT Thomas Harris, therefore they are not mine. I'm not making any money out of this either.
Chapter Three: The Devil is in the Details.
While Clarice was upstairs running her bath, Dr Lecter was in the kitchen making preparations for his *special* dinner. He had hit the shops with a vengeance, buying kitchen items as well as food. Clarice's kitchen was fairly well equipped, but special ingredients require specialised tools. He laid out kitchen knives, scalpels and a large meat-cleaver neatly on a white towel. Pans were rinsed and put by. The light salad that was the starter course was mixed up and covered. Then he took polish and duster to the small, unused dining room off the living-room, uncovering a practically antique warmer in the process. Once the room was clean, he began to arrange the lighting. Out came the candles he had purchased - big ones, small ones, even some floating ones to go on the table. Eventually satisfied with his candle-arranging, Dr Lecter left the dining room and returned to his car outside. Three of the four gifts he had bought Clarice Starling had to be taken quietly upstairs and left in her bedroom. With a long clothes-bag over one arm, and two boxes under the other, Dr Lecter slipped upstairs and into Starling's room. He hung the clothes-bag, containing an elegant dark green sheath dress, on her closet door. The box with matching shoes was placed on her dressing-table, along with the box containing emerald earrings and necklace.
All aesthetic preparations having been made, Dr Lecter was eager to begin preparing the meal proper. Satisfied that Clarice would be fully occupied upstairs for the next hour, he returned to his station wagon to bring in her fourth gift. He had backed the vehicle right up to the garage door, so he could get it inside without being seen by the neighbours. He opened the garage door, wincing as it squealed on it's hinges. Hopefully, Clarice had not heard. Once the back door of the station wagon was open, Dr Lecter hauled out a heavy upright hand truck that had been lying on it's back down the length of the car. The man strapped to it appeared to be unconscious. He did not stir even when the wheels hit the ground. Dr Lecter backed the trolley into the kitchen via the side door in the garage. On closer inspection, we can see that it is indeed Jack Crawford on the trolley. He stood Crawford in a corner facing the wall, like a disgraced child. Checking the pulse spot on his throat, Dr Lecter was pleased to see that it was strong. He should be coming round any time now.
The doctor hummed to himself as he prepared vegetables for the main course. Bach's Goldberg Variations. He hums his favourite part - it is the tune he killed the guards to, back in Memphis, years ago.
Eventually, muffled sounds from Crawford's corner indicated that Starling's erstwhile boss had finally woken up. Dr Lecter looked up from his cooking.
"Ah, Jack. I'm so glad you could join us" As he spoke, he turned Crawford's trolley around so that he could see his face. Crawford's eyes bulged as Dr Lecter's Harpy appeared under his nose. "Don't try to call for help, Jacky boy. I assure you it won't be forthcoming. Can I remove the gag, do you think? Will you be a good boy?"
Crawford's head nodded vigorously. Dr Lecter showed his small, sharp teeth in a smile, and cut away the gag with one flick of his blade. Crawford's head sagged, he gasped in a few ragged breaths, then he looked up. His eyes travelled over the kitchen, lingering on the carefully laid out knives and medical instruments on their cloth. Each and every one looked sharp enough to split hairs. He came to the inescapable conclusion that he was in very deep trouble indeed.
Dr Lecter watched with some amusement as Crawford's face paled even more than he thought possible. Eventually, Crawford spoke.
"This is Starling's kitchen" he whispered hoarsely.
Dr Lecter indicated that this was true.
"What have you done to her? Where is she?"
"At present, upstairs enjoying a bath. What did you think I'd done with her?" Dr Lecter came closer. "Did you think I'd *eaten* her? Oh, Jacky boy. You don't know me as well as you think you do. I'm hurt that you think the worst of me."
"Can I see her?"
"No, I don't think so. You'll just have to take my word for it, Jack. She's fine. Besides, I don't think she'd be too pleased to see you. She's gone off you, Jack. You're not her hero anymore." Dr Lecter chuckled. "My, doesn't that sting. And you so wanted her, didn't you?" He turned back to his sauce, adding something from a shaker.
Crawford's voice behind him, angry and frightened.
"What are you going to do to me?"
*They always ask that,* Dr Lecter reflected. *Tell him precisely what he doesn't want to hear*. "I'm cooking her dinner. Nice and romantic, table for two, candles, flowers. You know how it is on those special first dates. Unfortunately, you're not invited." He patted Crawford's shoulder. "Never mind, eh? We can have a little party out here. The dinner's not ready yet, and the main ingredient - your heart - has to be cooked absolutely fresh."
"Jesus Christ" Crawford swore, struggling against his bonds.
Dr Lecter watched him for a moment. "There's no need for language like that, Jack. And I shouldn't struggle like that, either. You'll hurt yourself. Or do I have to sedate you again?"
"Evil son of a bitch!" Crawford growled, hopelessly trying to free himself. "You had your 'first date' already, and she didn't fall for your *charm* then." There was a bitterness in his voice as he knew that he had already lost.
"Water under the bridge" Dr Lecter said. "She's changed since then, Jack." There was an almost dreamy expression on his face. "She's ready to break out and fly. She's *going* to fly. With me." He brought his face closer to Crawford's. "She's mine, Jack. I won. I'm sure we'll think of you sometimes when we sit down to a good meal. I'm afraid you'll have to be content with that."
Crawford tried to turn his face from Lecter's, from the crazy eyes boring into his. "You're a sick fuck, Lecter. And I hope that wherever you go, they get you. I hope you get the fucking needle."
Dr Lecter sighed. "I'm afraid you're starting to bore me, Jacky boy" he said, selecting a needle from the ones arranged on the sideboard. "And we can't have that." He injected the sedative into Crawford's forearm. It bore tiny marks from his previous injections. Within a minute, Crawford was unconscious.
Hannibal Lecter rummaged around in a bag and produced a set of surgical greens, an apron and gloves. With the ease of long practice, he donned them, and turning to the sideboard, he selected a long, wickedly sharp knife. The good Doctor studied Jack Crawford for a moment, then he carefully cut the man's shirt away from his chest. Dr Lecter laid one hand over Crawford's heart, feeling it give a very satisfactory thump. Quite the perfect gift for a very special lady, the doctor reflected, touching the point of the blade to Crawford's chest.
Dr Lecter removed Jack Crawford's heart in time-honoured Aztec fashion, the only differences being that the victim was upright rather than spread-eagled over an alter, and his knife was sharp steel instead of obsidian. With three economical strokes, blood splattering apron and gown, Dr Lecter held Crawford's still beating heart in his hands. He laid it on a dish, and it gave one final, fluttering beat before lying still on the stainless steel. Lecter then stuffed the gaping hole in Crawford's chest with rolled up newspaper and a black bin bag. Leaving the unfortunate Section Chief standing lifeless in the corner, Dr Lecter prepared the heart for cooking.
With the delicious smell of roasted meat wafting throughout the house, Dr Lecter decided that it was time to change for dinner. He pulled off the greens, balled them up and stuffed them in another bin bag. Going upstairs, he saw that the bathroom door was ajar. Clarice had finished her bath and was changing in her room. He wondered if she had heard them talking downstairs. He changed quickly in the guest room, a neat black tuxedo and polished shoes purchased today, along with Starling's dress.
The doctor returned downstairs quickly, as he had to light the candles in the dining room, and bring out the starter course. Lighting the candles was easy, and they gave a very effective, romantic light to the previously dull, uninteresting little room. He had given some thought to their arrangement, and found the effect to be very satisfactory.
Dr Lecter had just finished his preparations for the starter course, opening wine and making sure everything was just so, when the slight creak of a foot on the stair, and the whisper of expensive fabric announced the arrival on the scene of the guest of honour.
My, wasn't that fun! I've studied Aztec culture quite a bit (I'd like to study Archaeology at University) and I could have gone into the *really* gory details, but that would be tasteless, wouldn't it? Next up, the dinner scene. For some reason, I'm really enjoying writing this. Please review, the feedback is much appreciated.
Ta,
Screaming Ferret.