Originally written on July 2nd, 2001.
Disclaimer: Thomas Harris owns all characters; he's a good writer, an intelligent guy. He ought to be smart enough not to sue a 9th grader.
* * * * *
THE TRUTH
* * * * *
Clarice couldn't stand coming home to her house anymore. It had been empty of life except for her for years since she had moved in, but it had only begun to bother her after Jack Crawford died and Hannibal Lecter had left, leaving a brainless Paul Krendler behind. The house was depressingly still except for the old white walls screaming like lambs with cotton in their mouths. At least the deafening sound was muted. The unlit corners of every joining of the walls crawled with shadows of memories and old fears.
There was no one left for her now. She never heard from her mother after she was sent to her cousins' ranch; her father was dead. Her mentor at the FBI, Jack Crawford, was also six feet under, just like her father. She felt like calling Ardelia almost every day, just to take away the pain and emptiness in her heart, but in her state, she felt almost guilty for thinking of bothering her.
She sat alone in her house.
Then, she sat alone at her desk.
She thought often of the face that stared at her from her lit cubicle walls in the Bureau's basement: Hannibal Lecter, troublesome, handless, and probably hating her. She couldn't stand his face anymore. She took a leave of absence for a week.
* * * * *
She drove for almost two hours to her old tiny town in West Virginia. It hadn't changed in almost twenty-five years. She passed a street corner, and in a flash, she saw her father twirling his baton in the red evening light, ready for his night patrol. She shook her head, and wiped a tear that threatened to fall on her steering wheel. In moments she passed her old neighborhood. She lurched to a stop at a stop sign that she almost missed, then she tried to remember the way to the old Lutheran Church. She took a left. Then, a right. She drove straight until she saw the old steeple, the cross gray at the top. The steeple wasn't as tall or as strong-looking as she remembered it. It leaned a bit to the right.
The old churchyard behind the building held old and new tombstones. Her father's tombstone still looked new; Clarice had bought a newer, fancier one for him after she graduated from the Academy. Carved in bas-relief on the polished marble surface was a police badge, just like her father's. Just like the one he wore, that he buffed until it dazzled like his smile. Just like the one the mayor had taken away when he died. She thought of her father's dazzling smile as she spoke.
"Hey, Daddy. I guess it's been awhile since I visited you, hasn't it? Just thought you'd like to know that I got my job back; they dropped the charges....But....... It's never been the same there without Jack Crawford, the wind at my back. Did you know Jack died? You would have liked him, you know.......I'm stuck with rookie fluff to do, 'cause they don't trust me with the big stuff anymore." She paused as she realized that her old accent had returned. She cleared her throat to regain her composure and her forcedly-proper English. She let out a ragged sigh.
"That's not all that's bothering me, Daddy. Ardelia's engaged now, and I haven't really talked to her much. Haven't seen her much in the office, either. She works upstairs with the FBI's pride. There's only rookies to talk to where I am. No challenging work, either. Sometimes I wish......I wish that Dr. Lecter would write. Even if he messed with my head, he'd give me something to think about. I told you about what happened at my house with Krendler, didn't I? I did. Did I tell you that I feel like I betrayed him that night by calling the police? I feel like I disappointed him, too. Am I wrong to feel like that?"
She could feel a shift in the wind. Someone in Heaven shook their head 'No.' Clarice caught the gesture in her heart.
Clarice began again, a little strengthened. ".....I have to wonder why I feel the way I do. I think it's because he cared for me. It's been a long time since someone has." The feeling of loneliness suddenly drifted onto her shoulders like a fog as a realization set in. She felt like crying, but she pushed herself to be strong.
"Oh, Daddy. I really think the reason why I'm so lonely is because I feel unwanted. All the people at the Bureau look down their noses at me.....Treat me like scum scraped off someone's boots. I think sometimes that Dr. Lecter was right after all. I'm a genetically- doomed Deep-Roller. I'll roll down to my death. Dr. Lecter must have known how I'd fall, too. He knew I'd make the FBI my new family. He knew they'd betray me, and hurt me. That's why he came back for me and risked his freedom. Then what did I do? I stayed with a 'family' that didn't want me, like the fool I am."
'Little Starling, an unwanted, though noble bird.' Dr. Lecter's voice purred in the back of her brain. 'You are a warrior, Clarice.'
"Some 'warrior' I turned out to be, Doctor. I wonder what you would say if you saw me now. I already know. 'Tsk, Tsk.'" Clarice imitated. "'Ambitious little thing, weren't you? You went all the way to the end of the line. All the way to the F...B...I.'
"That's what you'd say. You'd mock me. I wouldn't care. At least you'd tell me the truth," Clarice sniffled. She remembered how Krendler had lied to get her kicked out of the Bureau for a while in the first place.
"The 'truth,' Clarice?" spoke that voice; like velvet caressing steel, like a killer polishing a knife, "You couldn't possibly handle the truth."
Clarice stood up and looked around. In the fading light, she couldn't see him, but she knew Dr. Lecter was close. Very close. She thought about drawing her gun, then she thought about the fact that it probably wouldn't help her. She wanted the truth. She asked for it.
"Tell me the truth now, Doctor. Tell me why I fascinate you so. Do you want to eat me? Do you enjoy my pain? Is that why you've followed me all these years?" Clarice asked very quietly; her emotions had robbed her voice of it's strength.
"Eat you? Dear me, no! I reserve my culinary skills for the rude and thoughtless. I don't eat people like us, Clarice."
"Us?!"
A heart beat, then, "Yes, 'us.' You and I, Clarice.....We are warriors; we kill for a cause and when we have to. We both have our own sense of justice, though your sense is closer to the law. Our victims are numbering. Buffalo Bill. Evelda Drumgo. Evelda's druggies. Those men at Muskrat Farm. Frederick Chilton. Officers Boyle and Pembry, those men at my cage in Tennessee. Detective Pazzi. A few patients of mine, like Raspail. I'm just naming a few of our kills, Clarice."
Clarice felt her legs wobble. Her lower lip quivered. Dr. Lecter watched with satisfaction. His marroon eyes danced. He continued, " You see, Clarice, the reason why you fascinate me so is that you are the only person in this world that is so much like myself that it is frightening."
Clarice did find it 'frightening.' She was shaking.
"I told you that you wouldn't be able to handle the truth, Clarice," he mused.
"I could handle it if I could just get a grip," Clarice said, startled at her own ability to vocalize.
Dr. Lecter smiled, showing his small white teeth. She was playing on words, and her mind was still sharp. She seemed bewildered, though. She was forced to back up against her father's tombstone and sit down, leaning against the surface. Patiently, he waited for her to speak.
Clarice drew in several cleansing breaths. She raised a shaky hand to her temple to calm her racing mind. She closed her eyes and found her voice.
"Thank you, Dr. Lecter."
Lecter moved into the setting sunlight, the red-orange glow of the sun played across his cheekbones, the red pinpricks of light in his pupils. He cast a long shadow on the ground that fell over Clarice. She opened her eyes. He smiled, his even teeth illuminated.
"You're welcome, Clarice. Next time, though, you'll be telling me the truth."
Clarice sighed and nodded, closing her eyes against the light. When she opened them again, he was gone. Only the harsh reality of the truth remained.
* * * * * THE END * * * * *
~*~*~*~ Ahhhh. Another fanfic out of the way. I tried to get the whole Quid Pro Quo thing going again. I liked that. I like trying new things. This is my first Hannibal fic, so be nice, try not to flame too much......Nah, go ahead. Flame. I don't care. I do care that you R&R. Even if you just put "Honk!" it's better than nothing. Love ya! -Abb!e *~*~*~
P.S. Honk!