Part IV
What Lies Beneath
Agent Layton arrived the next afternoon at 3:55 pm sharp. He had a tape recorder and a pad of paper for notes. He also had dark circles under his eyes. He had spent almost the entire night before rereading every piece of information on the Lecter case. After all, he didn't want to appear as a fool again. However, the Section Chief had commended him for getting the interview. Oh yes, good work, good boy, now here's a lollipop. The lollipop was a two-day vacation that he planned to take full advantage of.
Clarice did not greet him with contempt or approval, but with a simple, "Good morning," before leading him into the living room. Hannibal had left roughly an hour ago, to where, she didn't know. When she'd asked, he merely smiled and stated how much he hated to spoil surprises.
Layton managed to set up and start the tape recorder without major complications. "Okay, I'm going to start talking and you stop me anytime that I'm wrong. Hannibal Lecter has a degree in psychology. He practiced this profession for many years, unknowingly killing his patients and destroying their histories, before he was captured by Special Agent Will Graham."
He paused to allow Clarice to speak, but she said nothing. He continued, "Lecter was then confined for eight years in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, from which he escaped four years ago. A certain Dr. Frederick Chilton's body was found in Jamaica not long after his escape. There have been no more reported Lecter-style murders since then. However, Lecter is still at large and considered extremely dangerous. This is where you come in, you seem to know Lecter more than anyone and you were the one he talked to in the hospital. He answered your questions, and that eventually led to the capture of serial killer Jame Gumb, better known as Buffalo Bill."
"That's where you're wrong," Clarice said at last. "He didn't answer any of my questions, I doubt he even heard them. I answered HIS, and in return he gave me the clues I needed. Quid pro quo. It was a mutual agreement."
Mutual agreement. Pact with the devil. Same thing, thought Layton. What he didn't say was that he had gotten his hands on the taped conversations between Starling and Lecter. If he had heard right, Lecter had ripped her life apart. Layton proceeded with caution, for he wasn't sure how much Starling was willing to talk about the matter.
That was why he was surprised when Clarice continued talking. "If you want to catch him, you should ask about what I KNOW about him, not what he knew about me." Which was everything, Clarice thought. Which is also what I know about you. "I can tell you that he savors the arts. He would most likely be living in a place like, oh, maybe South America, certainly not anywhere in the U.S. We're all victims of culture shock here."
Layton was jotting down notes frantically, trying to keep up with her. Then he stopped her mid-sentence. "Wait, I want to make sure that you feel safe saying all this. Since he knows you pretty well, I'm hoping that your help doesn't backfire on you."
"He promised he wouldn't call on me. Hannibal always keeps his promises, and so do I. I promised to fulfill my duties as an FBI agent."
The rest of the interview went smoothly. Clarice neither gave away too much, or too little. And Layton left the house an hour later no less confused than he already was.
She seemed sincere enough, and the information would please the FBI, but he wasn't satisfied. He knew Clarice had every reason not to say too much. Whenever he got close to asking something too personal, Clarice subtly changed the subject, opening doors that led to new doors, until eventually he forgot how the discussion had started.
However, the information had eliminated several countries from the search, so it was satisfactory for the day's work. Still, he couldn't be too careful, he decided. Layton walked to a nearby deli and ordered a sandwich. After he finished his dinner, he used the shop's pay phone to place a call to Baltimore.
------------------------
Hannibal arrived back home at 6 pm sharp. He thought about that as he walked through the front door; I hadn't been two days and he was already thinking of it as home. A small, dirty duplex, but it was home. At least, it would serve as one until he could make other plans. If everything went well, they would both have much better luck.
But as he walked through the hallway and sensed the wonderful aromas of dinner, he stopped and paused to inhale the heavenly scents. There was no question who would be cooking from now on. Clarice looked up as he entered the kitchen and a wide grin broke out on her face although she tried to hide it.
"Welcome home, did you bring me a present?"
Hannibal removed his jacket and crossed over to her to stand by her side. He chose to ignore her question. "Clarice, your skills astonish even me. What smells so good?"
"It's a surprise. I dug out some of Ardelia's old cookbooks. Back off!" she said as Hannibal reached forward for a taste. "You don't get any unless you brought me a present."
Hannibal wrapped his arms around Clarice's waist from behind and whispered in her ear. "I have that covered, my dear. I have two presents for you. One will be arriving in approximately two weeks. The other...you'll find out tonight."
"Oh really, and what would that be?" said Clarice, still trying to hide a smile.
"It's a surprise," said Hannibal, before placing a kiss on her cheek.
"Hmm...well I suppose I'll have to take your word on that. Dinner's ready." Clarice swept the pot off the stove and headed over to the table. Hannibal was about follow her when he paused. He looked at her intently, Clarice had her back to him and could not see him.
He sensed something...something different about her. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it touched off some neurons in his brain stem and made him aware of the subtle change. Again, he couldn't explain it, but it sent a shudder of joy through his body. Should he tell her about it? No, it was most likely nothing except his joy and sense of closure. He might have finally found what he wanted in life. Hannibal joined Clarice at the table to satiate his appetite.
And in bed afterwards, a long time afterwards, they lay still, trying to catch their breath. Then Clarice asked, "What's going to happen to us?"
Hannibal turned to face her. "What do you mean?" He knew exactly what she meant, but he asked anyway.
Clarice knew that he knew but she answered his question. "I mean our future. We're not exactly the world's model couple and nobody would approve, nobody would understand. As long as you stay here, you're endangering your life and I'm endangering mine."
"Do you remember that I told you that I had two presents for you?"
"Hmmm, yes. I received one of them already."
"I hope that I can give you the other one...away from here."
Clarice knew exactly what he meant and she thought, but only for a split second. "In Europe, perhaps?"
"Most likely. Florence should be particularly lovely this time of the year. Have you ever been there?"
"I've never even been out of this country."
"Well, then that problem needs to be fixed. If you're willing of course."
Clarice edged closer and laid her head on Hannibal's chest, letting her head rise and fall with his breaths. "There's nothing left for me here. Florence sounds wonderful."
"Nothing...except Agent Layton, am I correct? Why do you help him? Or at least pretend to?"
"I guess...I guess he reminds me of me. After all, you didn't HAVE to help me either. You could just have easily let that girl die."
Clarice tried to put arm around Hannibal, but he pulled back. "What makes you think I could have let her die any more than you could? After all, Billy had been a very naughty boy. Tell me." He stroked her cheek teasingly with one finger.
"I guess it's because I'm still very much the same person I was four years ago. I feel about things the same way, because of the lambs. If I can let this one person succeed, it might be worth all the grief that the FBI caused me."
"You do realize that he will end up working for the FBI, the place that hates you?"
"True, but the FBI hated you, too. They hated you because they could not understand you. Yet, you helped them by helping me."
"Let me ask you a question, Clarice. Are you doing this all for yourself, or for the girl that died in the shootout? Are you trying to redeem the FBI or yourself?"
His words made her head spin. She had often thought about it, but the truth of it was..."I don't know. I really don't know." She leaned closer to Hannibal, the one who tested her and comforted her at the same time. She reached for him and this time he returned the embrace.
"Peace. There is plenty of time to figure out who you are. But now, the night is still young." Hannibal had the wicked, playful grin on his face again.
Clarice smiled. Already she could feel her worries being left far behind. "Bring it on."
-----------------------
Frank Bowman had been Michael Layton's friend for as long as he could remember. They had gone through school and college together, but when Layton had started training with the FBI, they had gone their separate ways. Bowman had attempted the Academy for almost half a year before he dropped out. Not long enough to develop any true appreciation for the law, but enough to perfect his impeccable shooting hand. Layton had never asked him why, although Bowman had frequently displayed his contempt for the FBI.
This did not affect their friendship in any apparent way. Bowman still respected Layton and had even attended his graduation fro the Academy, although he had stood in the back. And now Bowman still did not have a job, but merely drifted from one place to another, earning money when he could. A wiry, black-haired man, Bowman was happy with his life and never missed the chance to ridicule Layton about their differences.
So that evening, when Layton paid a visit to Bowman in his three-room apartment in Baltimore following the arrangement over the phone, he got the usual greeting.
"Hey G-man. What's happening?"
"Chasing a serial killer for the FBI, Frank. And how was your day?"
Frank laughed and retrieved a cigarette from a countertop. "Still running around with that nut squad? You should've given it up a long time ago, Mike. It'll bring you nothing but misery."
Layton was used to his friend's constant ribbing about his job. Perhaps one of the reasons they had been friends for so long was because of their differences. Bowman was a fun, life-loving person, but when it came time to do a job he did so with the utmost diligence and seriousness. He was extremely smart, although he tried to hide it all the time.
As for Layton, there was only one side to him. The ambitious climber. Sometimes this made him rather close-minded and that was the reason he had come to see Bowman. Layton needed a second opinion of someone he could trust. Forget his fellow agents, they were merely obstacles and his superiors were tools. Although he was still naïve and inexperienced, Layton was beginning to realize the Bureau's game and was willing to play it, if it meant advancement. Sometimes it meant taking drastic action on your own, he thought.
Layton sat down at the coffee table and placed the tape recorder on it. "I want you to listen to something for me..."
"Whoa, whoa, wait, Mike. If this has something to do with THEM, then you better promise that I won't get any attention from them."
"Of course, Frank, I know." Layton started the tape of the interview.
Bowman listened to the entire thing with eyes half-closed, intently focused. His previous jocular attitude had been dropped when it had come time to do the job. After the tape was finished, Bowman sat back in the sofa, puffing away on the cigarette, thinking.
"I don't know what it is, but something just doesn't seem right. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid," said Layton.
Bowman removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew a gray cloud toward the ceiling. "Well, I can't help you with your paranoia, Mike, but there is definitely something below the surface here."
"What do you mean?"
"How well did Starling get to know Lecter?"
"Mutual agreement, she says."
"Right, now this is what bothers me." Bowman rewinded the tape to a certain time and pushed play.
"Hannibal always keeps his promises, and so do I..." said the tape. Bowman pushed the stop button.
"Maybe they had a mutual agreement or even respect for each other, but I don't trust people who are on first-name basis with serial killers. This might be looking too deep, but it's still something to watch out for," said Bowman.
"So what does this mean?"
"She's lying about something, maybe everything. She could be trying to protect herself or..." Bowman let his sentence hang.
Layton shook his head in disbelief. "Oh no, you're not saying that she..." Layton couldn't believe it, but he was smart enough to consider Bowman's words. Bowman had always been more observant than him.
Bowman took another drag from his cigarette. "There have been cases where hostages have fallen in love with their captors. They have rejected all aspects of their old life, including the family members trying to save them. They become a new person, an extremely twisted person with little or no hope of recovery. All I'm saying is that I wouldn't trust her. You can never be too careful because you never know what someone in this situation might do." He paused. "Or maybe I'm just being paranoid."
Layton got up to leave. Bowman had told him to be careful and he had never led him wrong before. He would keep it in mind. He wasn't sure whether or not to act on it yet, but..."Thank you, Frank. You know I've said this before, but you would have done really well in the FBI."
A deep throaty laugh erupted from Bowman's lips. "Oh no, Mike. No, I wouldn't have."
What Lies Beneath
Agent Layton arrived the next afternoon at 3:55 pm sharp. He had a tape recorder and a pad of paper for notes. He also had dark circles under his eyes. He had spent almost the entire night before rereading every piece of information on the Lecter case. After all, he didn't want to appear as a fool again. However, the Section Chief had commended him for getting the interview. Oh yes, good work, good boy, now here's a lollipop. The lollipop was a two-day vacation that he planned to take full advantage of.
Clarice did not greet him with contempt or approval, but with a simple, "Good morning," before leading him into the living room. Hannibal had left roughly an hour ago, to where, she didn't know. When she'd asked, he merely smiled and stated how much he hated to spoil surprises.
Layton managed to set up and start the tape recorder without major complications. "Okay, I'm going to start talking and you stop me anytime that I'm wrong. Hannibal Lecter has a degree in psychology. He practiced this profession for many years, unknowingly killing his patients and destroying their histories, before he was captured by Special Agent Will Graham."
He paused to allow Clarice to speak, but she said nothing. He continued, "Lecter was then confined for eight years in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, from which he escaped four years ago. A certain Dr. Frederick Chilton's body was found in Jamaica not long after his escape. There have been no more reported Lecter-style murders since then. However, Lecter is still at large and considered extremely dangerous. This is where you come in, you seem to know Lecter more than anyone and you were the one he talked to in the hospital. He answered your questions, and that eventually led to the capture of serial killer Jame Gumb, better known as Buffalo Bill."
"That's where you're wrong," Clarice said at last. "He didn't answer any of my questions, I doubt he even heard them. I answered HIS, and in return he gave me the clues I needed. Quid pro quo. It was a mutual agreement."
Mutual agreement. Pact with the devil. Same thing, thought Layton. What he didn't say was that he had gotten his hands on the taped conversations between Starling and Lecter. If he had heard right, Lecter had ripped her life apart. Layton proceeded with caution, for he wasn't sure how much Starling was willing to talk about the matter.
That was why he was surprised when Clarice continued talking. "If you want to catch him, you should ask about what I KNOW about him, not what he knew about me." Which was everything, Clarice thought. Which is also what I know about you. "I can tell you that he savors the arts. He would most likely be living in a place like, oh, maybe South America, certainly not anywhere in the U.S. We're all victims of culture shock here."
Layton was jotting down notes frantically, trying to keep up with her. Then he stopped her mid-sentence. "Wait, I want to make sure that you feel safe saying all this. Since he knows you pretty well, I'm hoping that your help doesn't backfire on you."
"He promised he wouldn't call on me. Hannibal always keeps his promises, and so do I. I promised to fulfill my duties as an FBI agent."
The rest of the interview went smoothly. Clarice neither gave away too much, or too little. And Layton left the house an hour later no less confused than he already was.
She seemed sincere enough, and the information would please the FBI, but he wasn't satisfied. He knew Clarice had every reason not to say too much. Whenever he got close to asking something too personal, Clarice subtly changed the subject, opening doors that led to new doors, until eventually he forgot how the discussion had started.
However, the information had eliminated several countries from the search, so it was satisfactory for the day's work. Still, he couldn't be too careful, he decided. Layton walked to a nearby deli and ordered a sandwich. After he finished his dinner, he used the shop's pay phone to place a call to Baltimore.
------------------------
Hannibal arrived back home at 6 pm sharp. He thought about that as he walked through the front door; I hadn't been two days and he was already thinking of it as home. A small, dirty duplex, but it was home. At least, it would serve as one until he could make other plans. If everything went well, they would both have much better luck.
But as he walked through the hallway and sensed the wonderful aromas of dinner, he stopped and paused to inhale the heavenly scents. There was no question who would be cooking from now on. Clarice looked up as he entered the kitchen and a wide grin broke out on her face although she tried to hide it.
"Welcome home, did you bring me a present?"
Hannibal removed his jacket and crossed over to her to stand by her side. He chose to ignore her question. "Clarice, your skills astonish even me. What smells so good?"
"It's a surprise. I dug out some of Ardelia's old cookbooks. Back off!" she said as Hannibal reached forward for a taste. "You don't get any unless you brought me a present."
Hannibal wrapped his arms around Clarice's waist from behind and whispered in her ear. "I have that covered, my dear. I have two presents for you. One will be arriving in approximately two weeks. The other...you'll find out tonight."
"Oh really, and what would that be?" said Clarice, still trying to hide a smile.
"It's a surprise," said Hannibal, before placing a kiss on her cheek.
"Hmm...well I suppose I'll have to take your word on that. Dinner's ready." Clarice swept the pot off the stove and headed over to the table. Hannibal was about follow her when he paused. He looked at her intently, Clarice had her back to him and could not see him.
He sensed something...something different about her. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it touched off some neurons in his brain stem and made him aware of the subtle change. Again, he couldn't explain it, but it sent a shudder of joy through his body. Should he tell her about it? No, it was most likely nothing except his joy and sense of closure. He might have finally found what he wanted in life. Hannibal joined Clarice at the table to satiate his appetite.
And in bed afterwards, a long time afterwards, they lay still, trying to catch their breath. Then Clarice asked, "What's going to happen to us?"
Hannibal turned to face her. "What do you mean?" He knew exactly what she meant, but he asked anyway.
Clarice knew that he knew but she answered his question. "I mean our future. We're not exactly the world's model couple and nobody would approve, nobody would understand. As long as you stay here, you're endangering your life and I'm endangering mine."
"Do you remember that I told you that I had two presents for you?"
"Hmmm, yes. I received one of them already."
"I hope that I can give you the other one...away from here."
Clarice knew exactly what he meant and she thought, but only for a split second. "In Europe, perhaps?"
"Most likely. Florence should be particularly lovely this time of the year. Have you ever been there?"
"I've never even been out of this country."
"Well, then that problem needs to be fixed. If you're willing of course."
Clarice edged closer and laid her head on Hannibal's chest, letting her head rise and fall with his breaths. "There's nothing left for me here. Florence sounds wonderful."
"Nothing...except Agent Layton, am I correct? Why do you help him? Or at least pretend to?"
"I guess...I guess he reminds me of me. After all, you didn't HAVE to help me either. You could just have easily let that girl die."
Clarice tried to put arm around Hannibal, but he pulled back. "What makes you think I could have let her die any more than you could? After all, Billy had been a very naughty boy. Tell me." He stroked her cheek teasingly with one finger.
"I guess it's because I'm still very much the same person I was four years ago. I feel about things the same way, because of the lambs. If I can let this one person succeed, it might be worth all the grief that the FBI caused me."
"You do realize that he will end up working for the FBI, the place that hates you?"
"True, but the FBI hated you, too. They hated you because they could not understand you. Yet, you helped them by helping me."
"Let me ask you a question, Clarice. Are you doing this all for yourself, or for the girl that died in the shootout? Are you trying to redeem the FBI or yourself?"
His words made her head spin. She had often thought about it, but the truth of it was..."I don't know. I really don't know." She leaned closer to Hannibal, the one who tested her and comforted her at the same time. She reached for him and this time he returned the embrace.
"Peace. There is plenty of time to figure out who you are. But now, the night is still young." Hannibal had the wicked, playful grin on his face again.
Clarice smiled. Already she could feel her worries being left far behind. "Bring it on."
-----------------------
Frank Bowman had been Michael Layton's friend for as long as he could remember. They had gone through school and college together, but when Layton had started training with the FBI, they had gone their separate ways. Bowman had attempted the Academy for almost half a year before he dropped out. Not long enough to develop any true appreciation for the law, but enough to perfect his impeccable shooting hand. Layton had never asked him why, although Bowman had frequently displayed his contempt for the FBI.
This did not affect their friendship in any apparent way. Bowman still respected Layton and had even attended his graduation fro the Academy, although he had stood in the back. And now Bowman still did not have a job, but merely drifted from one place to another, earning money when he could. A wiry, black-haired man, Bowman was happy with his life and never missed the chance to ridicule Layton about their differences.
So that evening, when Layton paid a visit to Bowman in his three-room apartment in Baltimore following the arrangement over the phone, he got the usual greeting.
"Hey G-man. What's happening?"
"Chasing a serial killer for the FBI, Frank. And how was your day?"
Frank laughed and retrieved a cigarette from a countertop. "Still running around with that nut squad? You should've given it up a long time ago, Mike. It'll bring you nothing but misery."
Layton was used to his friend's constant ribbing about his job. Perhaps one of the reasons they had been friends for so long was because of their differences. Bowman was a fun, life-loving person, but when it came time to do a job he did so with the utmost diligence and seriousness. He was extremely smart, although he tried to hide it all the time.
As for Layton, there was only one side to him. The ambitious climber. Sometimes this made him rather close-minded and that was the reason he had come to see Bowman. Layton needed a second opinion of someone he could trust. Forget his fellow agents, they were merely obstacles and his superiors were tools. Although he was still naïve and inexperienced, Layton was beginning to realize the Bureau's game and was willing to play it, if it meant advancement. Sometimes it meant taking drastic action on your own, he thought.
Layton sat down at the coffee table and placed the tape recorder on it. "I want you to listen to something for me..."
"Whoa, whoa, wait, Mike. If this has something to do with THEM, then you better promise that I won't get any attention from them."
"Of course, Frank, I know." Layton started the tape of the interview.
Bowman listened to the entire thing with eyes half-closed, intently focused. His previous jocular attitude had been dropped when it had come time to do the job. After the tape was finished, Bowman sat back in the sofa, puffing away on the cigarette, thinking.
"I don't know what it is, but something just doesn't seem right. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid," said Layton.
Bowman removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew a gray cloud toward the ceiling. "Well, I can't help you with your paranoia, Mike, but there is definitely something below the surface here."
"What do you mean?"
"How well did Starling get to know Lecter?"
"Mutual agreement, she says."
"Right, now this is what bothers me." Bowman rewinded the tape to a certain time and pushed play.
"Hannibal always keeps his promises, and so do I..." said the tape. Bowman pushed the stop button.
"Maybe they had a mutual agreement or even respect for each other, but I don't trust people who are on first-name basis with serial killers. This might be looking too deep, but it's still something to watch out for," said Bowman.
"So what does this mean?"
"She's lying about something, maybe everything. She could be trying to protect herself or..." Bowman let his sentence hang.
Layton shook his head in disbelief. "Oh no, you're not saying that she..." Layton couldn't believe it, but he was smart enough to consider Bowman's words. Bowman had always been more observant than him.
Bowman took another drag from his cigarette. "There have been cases where hostages have fallen in love with their captors. They have rejected all aspects of their old life, including the family members trying to save them. They become a new person, an extremely twisted person with little or no hope of recovery. All I'm saying is that I wouldn't trust her. You can never be too careful because you never know what someone in this situation might do." He paused. "Or maybe I'm just being paranoid."
Layton got up to leave. Bowman had told him to be careful and he had never led him wrong before. He would keep it in mind. He wasn't sure whether or not to act on it yet, but..."Thank you, Frank. You know I've said this before, but you would have done really well in the FBI."
A deep throaty laugh erupted from Bowman's lips. "Oh no, Mike. No, I wouldn't have."