Chapter 4: Come Undone
Hannibal Lecter's plane landed in O'Hare International Airport at quarter past four, Tuesday, May 12th, and a few sensible phone calls to the University of Chicago netted him with an address, which he gave to the an awaiting cab driver.
Matthew McIntyre's apartment building on Blackstone Avenue was ideal in many ways, notable it's proximity to the main campus as well as to his job in a local coffee shop, called the Last Drip. Walking home after closing the shop, Matt pondered how much he wanted to get out of the city. Maybe he could set up shop in Baltimore.
Matt was bone tired after walking up three flights of stairs, and couldn't imagine anything beyond falling into bed. He opened his door and swore softly into the darkness. He was sure he'd left a light on; perhaps the bulb had burnt out. Flipping the switch next to the door, the living room lamp illuminated the small room perfectly. Wrinkling his nose in confusion, Matt turned and hung his coat on the stand next to the door.
Deciding on a drink before bed he started towards the kitchen. "Good evening, Mr. McIntyre," a voice rang out from just inside the bedroom door. The owner of the voice moved into the light and Matt saw a distinguished gentleman, wearing fine Armani.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Matt exclaimed.
"That's no way to treat a guest, my dear boy. Perhaps you could invite me to sit down?"
"Who the hell *are* you? Are you from the university?"
"Well in absence of a proper invitation I shall just suit myself." The gentleman proceeded to seat himself onto Matt's lumpy futon. With a slight scowl he said, "I've felt worse, but not by much."
"Dude, who are you?"
"Certainly if you are going to write such intimate details of someone's love life, you should be able to identify them."
"Wha-? Dr. Lecter?" Matt squinted at him.
"In the flesh, so to speak."
"This is such an honor!" he gushed. "What brings you here?"
"I'm interested in the details of your research. What could bring you to such conclusions?"
"Why the tapes of course."
"What tapes?"
"The tapes made while you were in the insane asylum," Matt burst out barely noting the narrowing of the other man's eyes. "The ones with you and Clarice."
"Ms. Starling to you young man. Where would you get such tapes?"
"From eBay. This guy sells 'em, who apparently found them in some doctor's office when they were cleaning it out after it went bust. They're just bad copies, but some of it's pretty interesting."
"Give them to me."
"They cost me fifty bucks man."
"Don't make me ask you a second time."
Matt hustled over to his desk in the corner of the room and reached into the middle drawer, drawing out three tapes banded together. He walked over to the futon and handed them to Dr. Lecter.
"Thank you very much," Dr. Lecter said getting up from the futon. "Now you are going to do me a small favor, and then we will part ways amicably." Matt, wide eyed, simply nodded. "Are you familiar with the ancient Egyptian custom of mummification?" Another nod. "In order to remove the brains the Egyptians would heat a poker red hot and thrust it up through the nostril, swirling it around a bit before ripping out the brains," he said gesturing in a downward motion with his hand for emphasis. "I've always wondered how it would work with a live subject. If I find that you have talked to anyone about our little chat tonight, perhaps I'll get a chance to find out, hmmm?"
"I swear to God, I'll take it to the grave."
With a feral smile Dr. Lecter said, "Yes you will." Walking over to the boy and placing a paternal hand on his shoulder, he said, "Now for that favor."
Clarice was getting ready for bed when her phone rang. Picking up the kitchen extension, she said, "Hello?"
"Miss, uh Deputy Starling?" a faint voice said.
"Yes this is she."
"Um, Deputy, this is Matt McIntyre, we met…"
"Yes I remember you," she said. "You have a lot of nerve calling me after writing that filth!"
"Hey, I got an A for that paper, and it was published."
"It was what?!"
"My prof got it published in the American Journal of Psychiatry," he declared proudly. Clarice could only groan. "Listen the reason I called, well, there's someone here, a mutual acquaintance."
"A mutual-? You're not talking about Dr. Lecter are you? If this is some kind of sick joke…"
"Yes I am and no it's no joke."
"Mr. McIntyre, as an officer of the law I have to recommend you immediately contact your local authorities."
"Oh no, no. There was mention of a hot poker and my brains, and I'd really not like to find out what happens when they meet."
"What does he want?"
"Well, ma'am, he'd like to speak with you, but only if you are willing." Clarice walked over to her refrigerator and laid her forehead against the coolness of the appliance's skin.
"Put him on," she said.
There was some background noise from the phone passing from hand to hand, and then the sweet rasp of Dr. Lecter's voice said, "Hello Clarice. Sorry to bother you so late."
"Dr. Lecter what are you doing? Are you going to hurt that boy?"
"Now Deputy, you know I am a man of my word." In Chicago Matt was the recipient of a smile so cold he shivered down to his toes.
"Then what?"
"I simply needed a way to contact you that wouldn't break our agreement. Mr. McIntyre knows the rules of this game; he will be safe. It is so good to hear your voice again, Clarice, but do tell me, deputy is only a small leap from Town Watchman, don't you agree? And why stop at western Virginia? A few miles over the Blue Ridge Mountains, and you'd fit right into Daddy's shoes." Clarice balled up her fist and pounded the fridge door in response. "Did Mr. McIntyre's obtuse ramblings cause you much distress, Clarice?"
"Yes," she managed to get out.
"I myself was not disturbed; as you can imagine much worse has been written about me. However I am interested in fleshing out the truth from it. Tell me Clarice, is your life where you wanted it to be? Tell the truth, I'll know if you lie."
"No Doctor, it's not."
"Why not? What happened since our last meeting that caused you to plummet in such a downward spiral?"
"I feel numb Doctor. I've felt dead inside since that night."
"Well then perhaps we have a little unfinished business. Maybe if we got together for a little tete a tete I might be able to assist you regain your lost sensation."
"Doctor…"
"The Drake Hotel, here in Chicago Clarice. Ask for Dr. Johann Bozeman. You'll be able to remember that won't you?"
"Yes." She was raised in the Lutheran Orphanage in Bozeman, Montana.
"Tomorrow is Wednesday. The drive to Chicago is nearly thirteen hours, although in that overcharged machine of yours you could almost certainly do it in eleven. The deadline is Thursday at noon. That should give you plenty of time. Oh and Clarice, I wouldn't notify the authorities if I were you. Should I be captured, I would undoubtedly have to reveal your involvement in my continued freedom."
"Doctor, is that a threat?" she asked, her tongue suddenly felt like sandpaper.
"Guilty conscience? How can one threaten with the truth?" The shrewd smile was communicated across hundreds of miles of cable. "Don't worry about hurting my feelings if you opt not to show, Clarice. This is for you alone to decide. Thursday at noon is your deadline. Sweet dreams." Clarice held the phone to her ear, still leaning against the fridge door, until the canned voice kindly asked her to hang up and try her number again.
Continued
