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Chapter 7: Greeting Old Friends

Clarice meandered among the white headstones in a vaguely direct route.

The first marker she came to a stop in front of caused her heart to twist like a pretzel. In a flash of memory she was back at the Feliciana Fish Market watching her friend John Brigham blown away by Evelda Drumgo. Then, in another flash, she was burying him.

She laid one of the roses on the top of the stone, a little disconcerted to find it warm, then realizing the bright afternoon sun had transferred some of it's energy into the cool marble. With head bent and eyes closed, she softly whispered, "Grant me the strength to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference."

It reminded her of the few weeks she'd spent in AA, after her drinking had become more habit than recreational. It had taken only those few weeks for Clarice to understand the other alcoholics in attendance drank to become numb; she was drinking to feel something. That revelation helped induce her continued sobriety in later months, even when screams inside her head became deafening.

Leaving the rose, she turned and started walking further into the cemetery. Towards the second head stone she'd had to secure. Childless and widowed for over a decade, Jack Crawford had no one to oversee his final business. Clarice had found herself once again in charge of burying a friend, a comrade in arms. And in the back of her mind, in that place she never dared to go, a voice whispered, 'You finally got to bury your father.'

"Oh get bent," she said out loud as she reached her destination. As she did at John Brigham's grave, Clarice laid the other rose on the top of the stone. This one lay in the shade of a large elm tree and did not absorb the sun's heat. It was cool to the touch and reminded her morbidly of Crawford's dead hand as she had paid her last respects at his funeral. Snatching her hand back, she stood quietly waiting for something to happen, anything. While it was her nature to be proactive instead of reactive, he had laid out the game so she had no choice in the matter.

As the sun began to sink further down towards the horizon, leaving brush strokes of purple, orange, and red, the voice came to her, like it had so many nights in her dreams. "Hello Clarice. It is so good to see you again, and I'm pleased you've made an effort to look presentable for me."

Her gun was out before the first words were finished, sweeping a quick 360-degree arc. There was no sign of anyone around her.

"It is a shame about old Jackie-Boy though. To die alone and impotent. Do you wish you'd been with him at the end Clarice?" The disembodied voice caressed her and she cursed her heart for speeding up in response.

"Where are you doctor?"

"Indulge me for a moment please. Answer the question." She was certain the voice was coming from behind the tree and kept her gun trained on it.

"Yes, I would have liked to have been with him. He deserved better than that."

"And what do you deserve, my little Starling? Don't you deserve a little peace?"

"You were supposed to give me peace, doctor. What made you break your word?" She took a step closer.

"I most certainly do want to give you the peace you deserve, Deputy. Perhaps you could trust that the doctor knows best for once. What did you think of my drawing?"

"It was very well done."

"Well thank you for that clever review. Now tell me how it made you feel."

"Feel? I was a little embarrassed."

"Why? Certainly you've been told how beautiful you are before. But I want to know how you *felt* Clarice. What did the picture tell you?"

"I felt," she paused to lick her lips. "I felt loved." Did she say the words out loud? The evening cicadas had started their song and for several breaths she felt like the only resident on an alien planet.

"Bravo. That's what we call a breakthrough in the business. Now tell me, ex-agent Starling, why are you still pointing your gun at me?"

Looking at her outstretched arms she began to question it herself. *How far am I prepared to go?* "I've got to keep the upper hand with you Doctor Lecter," she said. "You've caused me too much trouble already." The cicadas kept singing, and the alien feeling grew worse. "Doctor?" she asked tentatively, before the other voice rang out from behind.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!"

Continued