Chapter 2: The Devil You Know
Three Years Later
"Hello, Bedford County Sheriff's Office, Deputy Starling speaking…Yes this is Clarice Starling…No sir I am not willing to…Please understand that was a very long time ago…You really must speak with the FBI for that kind of information…No sir I haven't had lunch yet but…sigh Really sir this isn't something I like to get into…long pause All right lunch, say in 15 minutes, Polly's Grill on Main Street. You can't miss it, there's a giant parrot on the roof. 'Bye." Clarice put the receiver back into the cradle and held her hand there for a few moments. *Don't they ever get enough of this crap?* she thought. Standing, she grabbed her hat and gun belt. "Davis I'm goin' out to lunch. Want anything?"
"Starling you need to take the lake patrol this afternoon," Davis whined.
"I'll be there later, nothing ever happens round here anyway."
"You know what the Sheriff says," he warned.
Clarice rolled her eyes. 'Watch your ass Starling,' was about what it came down to. Sheriff Mills apparently was never introduced to the 21st century and still felt women didn't belong in law enforcement. Adding on Clarice's extra baggage didn't make her the ideal candidate for the job, but since there were no other good applicants and Mills couldn't come up with a solid reason for not hiring her, she got the job by default. But that didn't mean he wouldn't use any excuse necessary to fire her. "I have a right to a lunch break same as you Davis. See you in an hour."
Polly's was hopping with the lunchtime crowd. Clarice realized she had no idea what her lunch date looked like. Fortunately with her uniform of brown shirt and tan pants, the badge and her gun belt, Clarice was more than conspicuous. A young man in a back booth stood up and waved to her. She waved back and started walking towards him, taking a moment to order coffee from the waitress behind the counter, who met her at the table.
"Hiya Clarice," the woman whose nametag read 'Bea' said pouring the coffee. "What can I get y'all today?"
"What's the special, Bea?"
"Hot open faced roast beef sandwiches, with slaw on the side. Mmm mmm."
"Put me down for one of those, but can I get a salad instead of the slaw?"
"Sure thing sugar." Bea looked at the young man and said, "What about you stranger?" with a wink.
"Just a burger with everything on it, extra onions please, and a chocolate milkshake."
"Be right back, y'all," Bea said heading back to the kitchen to place the order.
"I'm glad you came Miss Starling," the man started.
"That's Deputy Starling, thank you. And you're Matt McIntyre?" He didn't look to be more that 25, tall and slim, with longish strawberry-blond hair and vivid green eyes.
"At your service," he said with a smile of perfectly straight, white teeth. "As I tried to tell you on the phone, I'm a graduate student at the University of Chicago, and I'm doing my final psychology thesis on serial killers. Very interesting, I've got tons of material on Dahmer and Bundy, but what I'm focused on is Dr. Lecter. I was really hoping you could provide me with some insight, you being the foremost expert and all."
Clarice looked him straight in the eye, "I am not the foremost expert on Dr. Lecter. As far as I know there is no such thing. No one knows anything about him."
"But you've had the most personal contact of anyone, really. You even survived an attack from him almost unscathed." He leaned forward on the table. "I really want this to be a spectacular paper and I could really use your help. No one's going to see it except my professor, and he'll just throw it onto the heap with the rest of the papers. What do you say, give me a chance will ya?"
Clarice felt her resolve crumbling. She'd resolutely stayed away from journalists and those petty hacks, wanting to ghostwrite the incredible true story that would make her rich and famous. Clarice wanted to be neither. But all this boy wanted was a term paper, and nothing else. What harm could come?
"Fine, we'll talk, but I won't promise you anything."
"Great!" The kid nearly leapt from the booth. He pulled a notebook and pen out of the bag at his side and began to write. Bea showed up with their food so he had to scoot his notebook over. "I'm starved," he said picking up the burger and taking a huge bite.
Clarice almost laughed, as she cut a bite of her gravy soaked sandwich. It was divine.
"OK," Matt said after consuming almost half his burger. "Where to start? Umm, let's see. OK I got it! What was Dr. Lecter like? What's your most vivid memory of him?"
"Hmm?" Clarice looked confused. "What do I remember about him? He's an elitist snob who demands the best of everything. He's also a sociopath with no other considerations than his own amusement." She leaned back in the booth, looking at the ceiling. "He likes to play with people, not unlike the cat plays with the mouse. And the end is pretty much the same." She returned her gaze to the man across from her. "I amused him."
"Do you know why?"
"I was an interesting diversion from the tedium of the hospital. No more, no less."
"Weren't you ever worried he'd come back for you, to finish the game, after he escaped, I mean?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because he told me he wouldn't."
Matt looked skeptical and asked, "But couldn't he have lied?"
"Mr. McIntyre, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is considered a monster by some, but he also adheres to a strict code of conduct, noted for courtesy and honesty." She shrugged. "People tend to associate his tendency towards cannibalism with dishonesty and other general malfeasance, but the fact is he is the most honorable person I've ever met." She took another bite.
"Why do you think he liked you?"
Clarice paused halfway through chewing and leveled a gaze at him. She finished the bite and swallowed before saying, "What do you mean, *liked*?"
"Well, I mean, he helped you with the Buffalo Bill case and all. Before that he wouldn't give anyone the time of day."
"He didn't *help* me Mr. McIntyre, like I said before, I amused him; he only did what suited himself. It may be a bit before your time, but in your research you must know he utilized that situation to facilitate his escape, causing the death of five more people."
"Yes, yes, I know all that, but he *talked* to you. I have some bootlegged tapes of your conversations…"
"What?!" Clarice practically spit her meal out.
"You know, underground stuff, most of it is just tape hiss, 'cause they've been copied so much, but there's definitely some chemistry between the two of you."
"Good God," Clarice moaned. She brought her hand up to her forehead as if feeling for a temperature.
"Don't worry, no one believes they're real, except me of course. Well let's move on to something else. How about the night three years ago when you almost caught him. He injured your right?"
*You wounded me.*
"What did you say?"
"I said he injured you, cut your arm right?"
At the mention of it, the scar on her arm burned and she thought if she looked there would be a singe mark on her shirtsleeve. The bullet wound only bothered her on cold, wet nights, and had hardly scarred at all. But the thin line that cut a diagonal down her arm never healed quite right, thanks in no small part to the inept hospital resident that stitched her up and a subsequent infection. She rubbed the spot in question now and nodded her affirmation. Then with no forethought she mumbled, "No more than I wounded him."
"I'm sorry?"
"What?"
"You said something I didn't catch."
"No I didn't."
Matt just licked his lips and continued on. "Considering the fate of, say, Will Graham, don't you count yourself lucky that you got away with only a scratch?"
"It's hardly a scratch," she muttered. "And besides," she said in a stronger voice, "I'd just rescued him from Mason Verger's estate. He'd think it uncouth to not reciprocate in kind."
"Reciprocate? Is that like quid pro quo?" he asked with a sly grin. "So you two have been trading off for some time now. What did he trade for his freedom?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Clarice pushed her half empty plate aside angrily. "What are you implying?"
"Nothing, honest." Matt held up his hands in mock surrender. "But you know I was just thinking, no one's heard anything from Dr. Lecter since that night. Like he's being on his best behavior. Why do you think that is?"
"He went to ground for eight years after his escape. He's not stupid Mr. McIntyre, he isn't going to risk his freedom so easily."
"But he risked it by trying to see you? That seems pretty stupid to me."
"I don't know why he did that."
"Are you sure? You know what I think? I think he loves you."
The blood drained from Clarice's face as she stared across the table. "What ever gave you that idea?" she barely choked out.
"It's true, isn't it?" Matt was on her like a dog with a new marrowbone. He was practically slavering onto the table.
"N-no, it is not true!"
"But he said something, right? C'mon tell me, you let him go didn't you?"
Clarice shook her head. "He was lying."
"But you told me he never lies."
*I do, you know.*
It took Clarice several moments to figure out the wailing sound she heard was coming from her own mouth. Bea rushed over. "Clarice darlin', you ok? Honey look at me. You look like somethin' the cat drug in, are you sick?"
She pushed aside the helping hands of the waitress and saw Matt staring at her, lips parted slightly, eyes wide, the word 'Eureka' all but written in the air above his head. "I'm fine. I gotta get back." She slid out of the booth getting money out of her pocket to pay the bill. "Mr. McIntyre," she said shortly and started to walk away.
"I'll send you a copy of the paper when I'm done, Deputy," he happily called out to her.
"Don't bother," she replied over her shoulder.
Six months later a copy of "Star Cross'd: Romeo and Juliet Syndrome" by Matthew McIntyre was delivered to her door by UPS.
Continued
