Irresistible
By Marie Noire
Letter written by Lisa Platt
Author's
Note – I do NOT own these characters… I'm just borrowing them from Thomas
Harris, kay?
Her hands trembled as she saw the handwriting on the
thick envelope, a copperplate hand she had seen only once before… on the map
depicting Buffalo Bill's exploits. The
freakishly even handwriting… the mere sight of it made her heartbeat double in
intensity despite the hour run she had just completed… She glanced around furtively, although she
already knew no one was awake at that hour of the morning. With a shaky swallow, she let herself into
her side of the duplex and all but ran into her room, locking the door. Ardelia wasn't even home… but the measure
made her feel more secure… far more secure than finding a letter from Doctor
Lecter in her mailbox, without the benefit of a stamp.
She opened the letter carefully, deciding against the
protocol that would entail calling Jack right away and having a bomb squad
descend upon her and the letter en masse.
Dear Clarice
You never did respond to my question, about the
lambs. Or is there something more
haunting your dreams in your dreams now?
Has there been for some time?
Even now, as you read the words the answer comes to you, something that
makes your heart thunder in the night, waking with wide eyes in the dark,
searching the shadows for that phantom presence.
Do I haunt your dreams every night? I think not, bit more often than you would
wish… too often you hear my voice. Hear
it now, take your mind back to the dungeon, hear the words as you read them.
Hear… and now feel.
She dropped the letter with a shaking breath, looking
away guiltily… her cheeks flaming as surely as he had written they would. Dammit!
Damn him and his extreme intuition!
How did he know? Had he been
following her? Peeking in her window like some two-bit peeping tom? How could he?
No, she decided… that was not the doctor's style. He just knew. Just as he "just knew" when she was bleeding… and "just knew"
about her origins from the very first.
Dammit.
She picked the letter back up, taking a deep breath to
steady herself.
These are not
dreams borne of fear that wake you in the deep of the night. When my voice sounds in these visions it is
in a rush of heated breath against your ear.
Feel it now, the words against your ear… that is what haunts you, the
phantom touch in your dreams. It was in
your eyes when our fingers touched in Tennessee, beyond that earnest
expression, behind the eyes of the eager little detective. Past all of that there was connection, as
out minds had touched, so briefly, did our flesh.
You are angry
now, but with home? Am I the target,
the messenger? Or is your irritation
directed at yourself? I would not be
surprised if it is both. For a moment
you will convince yourself that it is simply a great manipulative ego speaking,
that I assume too much in self-flattery.
Yet if you consider for more than a moment you will know that only the
truth is written here.
Anger indeed… it clogged her throat as tears gathered
behind her eyes. But she would not let
them fall. But not as he assumed at
both of them… only at herself… at her weakness in feeling such things for a
murderer… a madman. A brilliant and
unprecedented mind, a literary and artistic genius… but a madman nonetheless.
Have you felt
all of this? The brush of lips and hot
breath as it was all urgently whispered against your ear? Can you feel the graze of teeth over the
flesh beneath your ear? The more soothing pass of lips and tongue
over your pulse? Does the sensation of
my hands on your flesh drive you panting from your sleep? Or is it more? Have you been teased more carefully from your rest, every ounce
of heated flesh tasted?
She shivered and had to stop reading, her hands
supporting her as she slipped from the bed to the floor, her knees suddenly
weak. She could hear his voice so strongly
in her head… forming those heady words so that her heart trembled with every
frantic beat.
No… why was he doing this to her? Why did he delight in torturing her… now in
daylight as well as in darkness? He was
nearby… he had to be… perhaps watching her even as she read his letter. And probably laughing his head off at her…
Tell me what
disturbs you more, Clarice. Is it the
slow, gentle couplings you have envisioned, or is it the frantic and
demanding? Is the secret shame of
wanting more than just a vision flushing your cheeks even now?
I do not
expect an answer. What I do expect is
for you to think of what you have been trying to hide from yourself.
Think on it,
Special Agent Starling. Give it a long
moment, for after you do, you have a decision to make.
Now you must
ask yourself, before you reach for the phone to tell old Jacky-Boy who wrote
you today, what will happen when you do?
How will they look at you then?
Will they smirk, wondering if it is true. Making inane jokes? Will they turn on you? Will you become bait and nothing more to
them? Will their laughing glances cost
you more sleep than any dream of me?
They offered
you up as a sacrifice before… will you allow them to do it again?
Often our
minds hide the truth from us, truths that are free only in our dreams. Sleep on it well, Clarice, discover the
truth you need.
Hannibal
Lecter
She leaned her head against the coverlet of her bed, her
head pounding with her heart as two tears painfully clawed their way past her
eyes. God, it wasn't fair! By all accounts, she should be one of the
sanest people in existence? Why did the
words of a serial killer make her long for him? Why were his truths so close to hers?
She was so caught up in her existential dilemma that she
nearly missed the post-script at the end of his letter.
PS – When
they put you on the hook, leave you out in the open for the monster they hope
to snare… I must admit, I am not certain I will be able to resist.
Her breath stopped, her eyes hovering fixed on that
single sentence. What was he
suggesting? That he would somehow risk
his freedom if the FBI did use her as bait?
He couldn't resist her… that's what he'd said… plain as
day.
Why else would he be in Virginia? So close to FBI quarters? Contacting her? His most viable threat?
Because he couldn't resist her… any more than she could
resist him.
For once, she felt she just might have read Hannibal
Lecter correctly. And for once… she
liked what she had come up with. Her
phone remained untouched for the rest of the day… the letter safely burned on
the grill outside along with the charcoal.
She felt eyes on her all day, although whether they were the fascinating
maroon ones of Hannibal… she could not tell.
But she hoped.
