Disclaimer: All of the characters found within this story are the property of Thomas Harris. Much of the dialogue and various descriptions have been taken from the novel The Silence of the Lambs. In order to make this story possible, I have messed with the timeline, ages, and character of certain individuals, and there will be inconsistencies in dates, facts and events (Hey, it's an alternate universe!). So sorry, and remember-if you want to flame me, all you have to do is e-mail! :)
This one is for Paranoid_Butterfly. Mel, I'm so sorry for not being able to mail you…I've been having some problems that needed a lot of fixing…I hope you understand. Enjoy.
**
Behavioural Science, the FBI section that deals with serial murder is on the bottom floor of the Academy Building at Quantico, half-buried in the earth. Dr. Hannibal Lecter reached it after a brisk walk from Hogan's Alley on the firing range. He was clean, handsome and immaculate, despite the fact that he had spent the last hour and a half diving to the ground in simulation of an arrest involving firepower.
He is alone in the outer office and takes this time to run his left hand through short brown hair, attempting to restore it to some semblance of order. He knows he looks good even when rumpled. His hands bore no smell of gunpowder, for although Section Chief Mapp's summons said NOW, he had still found the time to change from the standard FBI-issue windbreaker and sweats to a dark three piece suit.
Ardelia Mapp sits in worn leather easy chair in one of the cluttered suites of offices that line either side of the basement corridor. A normally beautiful woman of Jamaican and Gullah ancestry, she appeared to have lost some weight, the collar of her shirt loose on her Nefertiti neck, and dark circles were beginning to form under her expressive brown eyes, slightly reddened from the lack of sleep.
Everyone who could read the papers knew Behavioural Science was catching hell.
Mapp looked up from the file she was reading, and Lecter knew that is was his own. A quick glance downwards confirmed it.
"Lecter, Hannibal, good morning." She said.
"Good morning," his smile was nothing less than mild. They looked at each other for a few moments of uncomfortable silence, before Mapp cleared her throat.
"Let's get straight to the point now, shall we? A job came up, and I thought about you," she said. "It's actually more of an interesting errand. Have a seat." She regarded him with dark eyes before she resumed speaking. "You wrote down on your application that you want to work for Behavioural Science when you graduated from the academy, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"That was eight months ago, yes?"
"You already know that from my file, Ma'am."
"It IS in here, if you must know. The file also says that you have a lot of forensic and medical know-how, but no law enforcement background. And you do know we look for a minimum of six years."
"I do."
"I see, and you thought that what you had was enough, didn't you?"
"Perhaps."
"Very well, then let me tell you what you DO have, Dr. Lecter. A double major in psychology and criminology, both summa cum laude from Johns Hopkins, and a medical degree from the same school, summa cum laude, number one in the bar exam. Internship and residency training at Johns Hopkins and Maryland Misericordia, have I left anything out?"
"That would be all of it."
"Yes. Quite excellent credentials, I might add, but not enough. That's why you were turned down."
"So they say."
"You had written me about coming here. Why?"
"I wanted to."
"I see. Whimsy, was it?" Lecter lets out another benign smile. "You had a promising career in medicine, come from one of the wealthiest Baltimore families, and it also says here, that if you weren't accepted, you would proceed to train in Psychiatry. Well, here you are, all dressed up, but do you know where you're gonna go, hmm, Special Agent Lecter?" she indicated his expensive suit and shoes with a delicate gesture of her small brown hand, nails unpainted and cut short.
"I have a general idea." His wording was carefully neutral.
"What do you know about VI-CAP?"
"It's the acronym for Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. As far as my knowledge goes, you aren't operational yet. Are you?"
Mapp spreads out her arms as a Catholic would do while praying the Lord's prayer, and said, "All we've done so far is manage to develop a questionnaire. It applies to all the known serial murderers on modern times. There's a section for investigators, one for surviving victims, if there are any. The blue is for the killer to answer if he will, and the pink is a series of questions an examiner asks the killer, getting his reactions as well as his answers." She hands him a thick manila envelope, and when he opens the flap, in it is a sheaf of papers. He takes a few out and flips through it.
Lecter knows she hasn't told him all there is to tell, and puts the papers back into the envelope, waiting patiently for her to resume speaking.
"Do you spook easily, Lecter?"
"No. I never have."
"Or not yet. See, we've tried to interview the thirty-two known serial murderers we have in custody, to build up a database for psychological profiling. Most of them went along with it, but the one we want most, we haven't been able to get. I want you to go after her tomorrow in the Baltimore asylum."
Hannibal Lecter felt a hint of dread coupled with a foreboding of imminent change.
"Who's the subject?"
"The psychiatrist, Clarice Starling."
A brief silence follows the name, always, in any civilized gathering.
Lecter stared at Mapp unflinchingly, having gone very, very still. "The doctor of death…"
"Yes."
"Well, alright."
"Aren't you even wondering why I picked you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I know you're waist deep in the Buffalo Bill case at the moment. The same old story-not enough warm bodies. Are you in a hurry?"
"Why would you think that?"
"You said you wanted me in Baltimore tomorrow."
"Ah, yes. Nothing's up with the current case. Thought I might take a chance with what Starling might know."
'Ahhh, and out jumps the truth when you least expect it…what she really wants is information from Starling. Very well, I shall have to play her game to its distasteful end'. The thought flashes so briefly through his mind he barely has time to register it.
"If she balks on me, would you want a psychological profile to go with the report?"
"Do as you wish. But I'd rather you not. See, I'm buried under a ton of inaccessible-patient evaluations on Dr. Starling, and they're all as different as night and day."
Mapp leaned back into her chair and steepled her hands under her chin. "This is really fucked up, I mean, Starling's a psychiatrist, she writes for the psychiatric journals herself-amazing stuff-yet it's never about her or her case. She pretends to go along with the hospital director, Martin, once in some tests-sitting around strapped to an ECG machine looking at some wreck pictures-then Starling published first what she'd learned about Martin and made a fool out of her. The only people she responds to are other psychiatrists seeking help in fields unrelated to her case. If she doesn't respond to you at all, then all I want is the local colour, and watch for the press coming in and out."
"By press, I assume you mean the supermarket press?"
"Look here Lecter, never assume, cause if you assume it makes an-"
"Ass out of U and ME. Yes, I'm quite familiar with that, thank you," he finished for her.
"I'll have enough of that, Lecter. I want your full attention now, are you listening to me?" he remains impassive yet gives a short nod, as if to say 'go on.' Mapp feels curiously inferior to this rookie, eight years younger than the forty she has spent on this earth. "Be careful with Clarice Starling. Dr. Martin will go over the procedures with you, and do not even think about deviating from it, I don't care how good your reasons are. If Starling talks to you at all, then it's because she's got the kind of curiosity that will make a snake look into a bird's nest before eating the little ones. Do not tell her anything specific about yourself. You know what she did to Will Graham?"
"Yes. I read about it in the papers."
"She gutted Will when he caught up with her. You remember the Red Dragon case last year? Starling turned Dolarhyde against Will and his entire family. Will's face looks like Picasso fucking drew him, thanks to Starling. She tore a nurse up in the asylum. Just do what you gotta do and never ever forget what she is."
"And what is she?" he stands up, preparing to leave."
"I know that she's a monster. Beyond that, nobody can say for sure."
"Well, we'll see about that, shan't we?"
When he left, Ardelia Mapp stared hard and long at the door, feeling for the first time that she might have made a grievous mistake.
**
You know the drill, ladies and gentlemen. There's a nice little box at the bottom where you can write your reviews, suggestion, comments, flames (preferably not), and anything else that comes to mind.
Ta,
Tailgunner.
This one is for Paranoid_Butterfly. Mel, I'm so sorry for not being able to mail you…I've been having some problems that needed a lot of fixing…I hope you understand. Enjoy.
**
Behavioural Science, the FBI section that deals with serial murder is on the bottom floor of the Academy Building at Quantico, half-buried in the earth. Dr. Hannibal Lecter reached it after a brisk walk from Hogan's Alley on the firing range. He was clean, handsome and immaculate, despite the fact that he had spent the last hour and a half diving to the ground in simulation of an arrest involving firepower.
He is alone in the outer office and takes this time to run his left hand through short brown hair, attempting to restore it to some semblance of order. He knows he looks good even when rumpled. His hands bore no smell of gunpowder, for although Section Chief Mapp's summons said NOW, he had still found the time to change from the standard FBI-issue windbreaker and sweats to a dark three piece suit.
Ardelia Mapp sits in worn leather easy chair in one of the cluttered suites of offices that line either side of the basement corridor. A normally beautiful woman of Jamaican and Gullah ancestry, she appeared to have lost some weight, the collar of her shirt loose on her Nefertiti neck, and dark circles were beginning to form under her expressive brown eyes, slightly reddened from the lack of sleep.
Everyone who could read the papers knew Behavioural Science was catching hell.
Mapp looked up from the file she was reading, and Lecter knew that is was his own. A quick glance downwards confirmed it.
"Lecter, Hannibal, good morning." She said.
"Good morning," his smile was nothing less than mild. They looked at each other for a few moments of uncomfortable silence, before Mapp cleared her throat.
"Let's get straight to the point now, shall we? A job came up, and I thought about you," she said. "It's actually more of an interesting errand. Have a seat." She regarded him with dark eyes before she resumed speaking. "You wrote down on your application that you want to work for Behavioural Science when you graduated from the academy, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"That was eight months ago, yes?"
"You already know that from my file, Ma'am."
"It IS in here, if you must know. The file also says that you have a lot of forensic and medical know-how, but no law enforcement background. And you do know we look for a minimum of six years."
"I do."
"I see, and you thought that what you had was enough, didn't you?"
"Perhaps."
"Very well, then let me tell you what you DO have, Dr. Lecter. A double major in psychology and criminology, both summa cum laude from Johns Hopkins, and a medical degree from the same school, summa cum laude, number one in the bar exam. Internship and residency training at Johns Hopkins and Maryland Misericordia, have I left anything out?"
"That would be all of it."
"Yes. Quite excellent credentials, I might add, but not enough. That's why you were turned down."
"So they say."
"You had written me about coming here. Why?"
"I wanted to."
"I see. Whimsy, was it?" Lecter lets out another benign smile. "You had a promising career in medicine, come from one of the wealthiest Baltimore families, and it also says here, that if you weren't accepted, you would proceed to train in Psychiatry. Well, here you are, all dressed up, but do you know where you're gonna go, hmm, Special Agent Lecter?" she indicated his expensive suit and shoes with a delicate gesture of her small brown hand, nails unpainted and cut short.
"I have a general idea." His wording was carefully neutral.
"What do you know about VI-CAP?"
"It's the acronym for Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. As far as my knowledge goes, you aren't operational yet. Are you?"
Mapp spreads out her arms as a Catholic would do while praying the Lord's prayer, and said, "All we've done so far is manage to develop a questionnaire. It applies to all the known serial murderers on modern times. There's a section for investigators, one for surviving victims, if there are any. The blue is for the killer to answer if he will, and the pink is a series of questions an examiner asks the killer, getting his reactions as well as his answers." She hands him a thick manila envelope, and when he opens the flap, in it is a sheaf of papers. He takes a few out and flips through it.
Lecter knows she hasn't told him all there is to tell, and puts the papers back into the envelope, waiting patiently for her to resume speaking.
"Do you spook easily, Lecter?"
"No. I never have."
"Or not yet. See, we've tried to interview the thirty-two known serial murderers we have in custody, to build up a database for psychological profiling. Most of them went along with it, but the one we want most, we haven't been able to get. I want you to go after her tomorrow in the Baltimore asylum."
Hannibal Lecter felt a hint of dread coupled with a foreboding of imminent change.
"Who's the subject?"
"The psychiatrist, Clarice Starling."
A brief silence follows the name, always, in any civilized gathering.
Lecter stared at Mapp unflinchingly, having gone very, very still. "The doctor of death…"
"Yes."
"Well, alright."
"Aren't you even wondering why I picked you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I know you're waist deep in the Buffalo Bill case at the moment. The same old story-not enough warm bodies. Are you in a hurry?"
"Why would you think that?"
"You said you wanted me in Baltimore tomorrow."
"Ah, yes. Nothing's up with the current case. Thought I might take a chance with what Starling might know."
'Ahhh, and out jumps the truth when you least expect it…what she really wants is information from Starling. Very well, I shall have to play her game to its distasteful end'. The thought flashes so briefly through his mind he barely has time to register it.
"If she balks on me, would you want a psychological profile to go with the report?"
"Do as you wish. But I'd rather you not. See, I'm buried under a ton of inaccessible-patient evaluations on Dr. Starling, and they're all as different as night and day."
Mapp leaned back into her chair and steepled her hands under her chin. "This is really fucked up, I mean, Starling's a psychiatrist, she writes for the psychiatric journals herself-amazing stuff-yet it's never about her or her case. She pretends to go along with the hospital director, Martin, once in some tests-sitting around strapped to an ECG machine looking at some wreck pictures-then Starling published first what she'd learned about Martin and made a fool out of her. The only people she responds to are other psychiatrists seeking help in fields unrelated to her case. If she doesn't respond to you at all, then all I want is the local colour, and watch for the press coming in and out."
"By press, I assume you mean the supermarket press?"
"Look here Lecter, never assume, cause if you assume it makes an-"
"Ass out of U and ME. Yes, I'm quite familiar with that, thank you," he finished for her.
"I'll have enough of that, Lecter. I want your full attention now, are you listening to me?" he remains impassive yet gives a short nod, as if to say 'go on.' Mapp feels curiously inferior to this rookie, eight years younger than the forty she has spent on this earth. "Be careful with Clarice Starling. Dr. Martin will go over the procedures with you, and do not even think about deviating from it, I don't care how good your reasons are. If Starling talks to you at all, then it's because she's got the kind of curiosity that will make a snake look into a bird's nest before eating the little ones. Do not tell her anything specific about yourself. You know what she did to Will Graham?"
"Yes. I read about it in the papers."
"She gutted Will when he caught up with her. You remember the Red Dragon case last year? Starling turned Dolarhyde against Will and his entire family. Will's face looks like Picasso fucking drew him, thanks to Starling. She tore a nurse up in the asylum. Just do what you gotta do and never ever forget what she is."
"And what is she?" he stands up, preparing to leave."
"I know that she's a monster. Beyond that, nobody can say for sure."
"Well, we'll see about that, shan't we?"
When he left, Ardelia Mapp stared hard and long at the door, feeling for the first time that she might have made a grievous mistake.
**
You know the drill, ladies and gentlemen. There's a nice little box at the bottom where you can write your reviews, suggestion, comments, flames (preferably not), and anything else that comes to mind.
Ta,
Tailgunner.