Disclaimer: All of the characters found within this story are the property of Thomas Harris. Some of the dialogue has been taken from the novel and the movie 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! :)
**
Starling was sitting against the wall on her cot, facing Lecter when he stopped in front of her cell. Her eyes were closed, but he got the feeling she had been waiting for him. Her left arm was propped up on her knee and her head was tilted back.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at her, at the delicate curve of her alabaster neck. After being out of the sun for so long, Starling was quite pale, but that only served to enhance her natural beauty. He drank in her presence as he would a fine Batard Montrachet and so was unprepared when she began to speak.
"Some people say that the only way to remain sane is to go a little crazy, do you agree with that, Agent Lecter?"
"No. I think I'm reasonably sane."
She opened her eyes. "Yes, reasonably," a smile, menacing and devilish yet also amused. "What brings you here once again?"
"I said that I would be back, didn't I?"
"And so here you are, come to pester me once more. Don't you have better things to do, Agent Lecter? I'm sure this visit is no longer authorised by Section Chief Mapp."
"How do you think you know that?"
"Simple. Mapp just isn't the type to keep on beating a dead horse."
"And am I?"
"What?"
"Beating a dead horse? Come on, doctor. You know exactly what I am going to say perhaps even before I say it."
"Maybe I do. But it's so much more fun hearing you say it. Besides, it helps pass the time."
"Is that how you get your kicks doctor? By annoying people?"
"All that's left for me is *fun* Agent Lecter. Nothing else."
"How sad," he said sarcastically. There it was again, that amused smile. Instead of being angered, Dr. Starling was actually amused!
"You aren't the least bit afraid of me, are you, Hannibal?"
"No. Should I?"
"Perhaps…but let's get on with this, shall we?"
"Get on with what, doctor?"
Starling stood up, and walked closer to the glass. She squatted in front of him and motioned for Lecter to do the same. When they sat, face-to-face, she resumed speaking. "This is intended to be a round of quid pro quo, Agent Lecter. Are you game?"
"Quid pro quo. Something for something. Very well, what do you want, doctor?"
"In exchange for the perp's name and whereabouts, you tell me things. Not about this case, though. Things about yourself. Quid pro quo. Yes or no? Yes or no, Hannibal."
"It seem reasonable enough," Lecter said confidently. "I tell you things, you tell me things. All right, quid pro quo it is then, doctor."
"Oh Agent, you have no idea what I am going to say, do you? Last chance to back out."
"I will not."
"Very good Agent Lecter. Shall I get the ball rolling?"
"By all means…"
Starling leaned closer to the glass. "What is your worst memory of childhood, Hannibal?"
He paused, narrowed his eyes and then whispered. "The death of my family…"
"Ummm," she took a sip out of his pain, and found it exquisite. "And how *did* they die, Hannibal? Tell me, and don't lie or I'll know." he takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for the onslaught of the gale that would follow. He clenches his fists tightly against his knees, making his knuckles turn white.
"It was on one of those cold winters…"
"This was where, specifically?"
"In Lithuania. It was still part of the USSR. My…father, he was very wealthy. A count, his title dating back to the tenth century. The…people, they didn't like the idea of aristocracy very much. It was the fucking French revolution all over again…. Your turn, doctor." He looked up and saw Starling staring at him.
"Hand me the case file. Yes, use the food carrier." It was a tight squeeze, and Lecter had to punch the file two or three times before it fit. She flipped through it for a few minutes, going back to reread some pages, comparing others. After around ten minutes of perusing the file, she spoke to him again.
"Tell me what you see, Agent Lecter. Tell me about Buffalo Bill…"
"He's a white male... Serial killers tend to hunt within their own ethnic group. And he's not a drifter - he's got his own house, somewhere. Not likely to be an apartment."
"Very good. Why?"
"What he does with them takes privacy... He's in his 30's or 40's... he's got real physical strength, combined with an older man's self-control. He's cautious, precise. And he's never impulsive... he'll never stop."
"What you're saying is that he has got a 'taste' for it, so to speak."
"Yes. Yes, doctor. That's precisely what I'm saying."
"Tell me about the victims. Were they large girls?"
"Yes."
"Were all of them big around the hips? Roomy?"
"Yes. They were also missing patches of skin."
"What else?"
"All of them were found with an insect inserted in their throats."
"What kind of insect was it, Agent Lecter? Was it a moth, a butterfly?"
"It was a moth, doctor. Why do you suppose he places them there?" Starling closed her eyes as if contemplating something.
"Tell me what happened, Hannibal. Don't leave anything out. What happened to mommy and daddy?"
"I was six. It had snowed the night before, and the landscape outside of my family's estate was powdered with it, everything was so bright. I and Mischa, we had played the entire day, making snow angels. Bosco was watching the entire time."
"Who are Mischa and Bosco, Hannibal?"
"Mischa was my sister. She was four years my junior."
"And Bosco?"
"A dog. A very big dog, St. Bernard. My father had given him to me as a puppy. We grew up together."
"Did they die too?" she was taunting him, but behind the arrogance, there was something else, something he could not quite identify.
"Mischa did."
"Your entire family, together?"
"No. We were having dinner, my family and I. Mischa was laughing, I was re-enacting Chaplin's 'dancing rolls' sequence with my bread and forks."
"How very quaint. Do go on."
"No. Quid pro quo, Dr. Starling."
"Do you know what an imago is, Agent Lecter?"
"Yes. An insect in its sexually mature stage."
"What else?"
"In psychoanalysis it's an unconsciously idealized mental picture, usually of a parent that is formed early in life and retained until the subject's adulthood."
"Yes…an image of a parent buried in the unconscious from infancy and bound with infantile effect. The word itself comes from the wax busts ancient Romans carried with them in funeral processions. Come on, Agent Lecter. Even Mapp must see some significance in the insect chrysalis."
"No, nothing except for checking the subscription lists of Entomology magazines for known sex offenders."
"You were having dinner with your family, it was winter. What happened."
"The villagers stormed the estate. They dragged us out into the cold and made us watch while they butchered my parents."
"By 'us' you are referring to yourself and your sister?"
"Yes. The winter left little game alive, and the year's harvest wasn't very good. The people were angry…and they were starving."
"The villagers ate your parents, didn't they, Hannibal? They ate them after they killed them…"
He furrowed his brows. "Yes…"
"What did you do?"
"I picked up Mischa and ran off. I didn't care where I was going, all I knew was that I had to get my sister away from there."
"How far did you get?"
"About as far as I am going to go until you tell me more of what you know, doctor."
"The significance of the moth is change. Caterpillar into chrysalis or pupa, and from this into beauty. The insect emerges from its secret changing room into the beautiful imago. Our Billy wants to change. So he's making himself a girl suit out of real girls."
"Are you telling me he wants some sort of coat, or jacket made from human skin?"
"Precisely, Agent. He wants a vest with tits on it. Did it ever occur to you, Agent Lecter, that Billy might be a large man?"
Lecter's expression remained unchanged. "Hence all the large girls…he has to have things that fit…He was one of your patients, wasn't he, doctor?"
"Maybe…"
"Tell me his name."
"And what would you give in exchange for it, Agent?"
"What do you want?"
"What would you offer, Agent Lecter? Would you come and visit me from time to time? Maybe sit in my cell and hold my hand? We could have a *lot* of fun."
"You know that isn't possible, doctor."
"The first one, the second one, or quite possibly all three?"
"Actually, the only thing I will not be able to do is sit in your cell and hold your hand. I'd have to be stupid to do that."
"Really? I'm crushed."
"Spare me."
"What happened after you ran, Hannibal?"
"Don't change the topic, doctor."
"What happened?" she insisted, her expression turned dangerous but Lecter was unafraid. She seemed to sense this and was pleased. "Tell me," Starling said more nicely.
"They caught us and placed us in a barn. Other children were there from the neighbouring families."
"Noble families?"
"Yes."
"What did they do with you?"
"Every few days they would take one or two of us and on those days, we had meat for dinner."
"You knew what was happening, didn't you?"
Lecter trembled. He was fighting it, the pain and the rage, and Starling drank it all in. He was magnificent in his agony! "Yes…"
"Did you partake of your sister, Hannibal?"
"Yes…" Lecter was staring ahead, his face full of pain, giving in to the memories. Starling found herself unwilling to further push him or antagonize him, but she didn't know why. As if snapping awake from a bad dream, Hannibal calmed, his face resumed its normal stony countenance. He quickly stood up and brushed himself off, not sparing a glance at Starling and she found this curious. As he turned away, she said one word, "Ohio." Lecter stopped.
"What?"
Starling looked up at him. "His name's Jame Gumb. Six foot one, brown and blue, 205 lbs. You'll
find him in Belvedere, Ohio."
Lecter stood still, unsure of what to say. "Thank you, doctor. I promise to be back."
"No. I'll thank YOU not to come back, Agent Lecter. It will be much easier on the both of us, don't you think?" Starling stood up and began humming a tune Lecter was semi-familiar with. After living with a woman most of the time for ten years, he easily identified it. Garbage's "Number 1 Crush."
**
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. However, if you should feel the urge to flame me, please do it via e-mail. To do so otherwise would be *rude*.
Ta,
Tailgunner.
**
Starling was sitting against the wall on her cot, facing Lecter when he stopped in front of her cell. Her eyes were closed, but he got the feeling she had been waiting for him. Her left arm was propped up on her knee and her head was tilted back.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at her, at the delicate curve of her alabaster neck. After being out of the sun for so long, Starling was quite pale, but that only served to enhance her natural beauty. He drank in her presence as he would a fine Batard Montrachet and so was unprepared when she began to speak.
"Some people say that the only way to remain sane is to go a little crazy, do you agree with that, Agent Lecter?"
"No. I think I'm reasonably sane."
She opened her eyes. "Yes, reasonably," a smile, menacing and devilish yet also amused. "What brings you here once again?"
"I said that I would be back, didn't I?"
"And so here you are, come to pester me once more. Don't you have better things to do, Agent Lecter? I'm sure this visit is no longer authorised by Section Chief Mapp."
"How do you think you know that?"
"Simple. Mapp just isn't the type to keep on beating a dead horse."
"And am I?"
"What?"
"Beating a dead horse? Come on, doctor. You know exactly what I am going to say perhaps even before I say it."
"Maybe I do. But it's so much more fun hearing you say it. Besides, it helps pass the time."
"Is that how you get your kicks doctor? By annoying people?"
"All that's left for me is *fun* Agent Lecter. Nothing else."
"How sad," he said sarcastically. There it was again, that amused smile. Instead of being angered, Dr. Starling was actually amused!
"You aren't the least bit afraid of me, are you, Hannibal?"
"No. Should I?"
"Perhaps…but let's get on with this, shall we?"
"Get on with what, doctor?"
Starling stood up, and walked closer to the glass. She squatted in front of him and motioned for Lecter to do the same. When they sat, face-to-face, she resumed speaking. "This is intended to be a round of quid pro quo, Agent Lecter. Are you game?"
"Quid pro quo. Something for something. Very well, what do you want, doctor?"
"In exchange for the perp's name and whereabouts, you tell me things. Not about this case, though. Things about yourself. Quid pro quo. Yes or no? Yes or no, Hannibal."
"It seem reasonable enough," Lecter said confidently. "I tell you things, you tell me things. All right, quid pro quo it is then, doctor."
"Oh Agent, you have no idea what I am going to say, do you? Last chance to back out."
"I will not."
"Very good Agent Lecter. Shall I get the ball rolling?"
"By all means…"
Starling leaned closer to the glass. "What is your worst memory of childhood, Hannibal?"
He paused, narrowed his eyes and then whispered. "The death of my family…"
"Ummm," she took a sip out of his pain, and found it exquisite. "And how *did* they die, Hannibal? Tell me, and don't lie or I'll know." he takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for the onslaught of the gale that would follow. He clenches his fists tightly against his knees, making his knuckles turn white.
"It was on one of those cold winters…"
"This was where, specifically?"
"In Lithuania. It was still part of the USSR. My…father, he was very wealthy. A count, his title dating back to the tenth century. The…people, they didn't like the idea of aristocracy very much. It was the fucking French revolution all over again…. Your turn, doctor." He looked up and saw Starling staring at him.
"Hand me the case file. Yes, use the food carrier." It was a tight squeeze, and Lecter had to punch the file two or three times before it fit. She flipped through it for a few minutes, going back to reread some pages, comparing others. After around ten minutes of perusing the file, she spoke to him again.
"Tell me what you see, Agent Lecter. Tell me about Buffalo Bill…"
"He's a white male... Serial killers tend to hunt within their own ethnic group. And he's not a drifter - he's got his own house, somewhere. Not likely to be an apartment."
"Very good. Why?"
"What he does with them takes privacy... He's in his 30's or 40's... he's got real physical strength, combined with an older man's self-control. He's cautious, precise. And he's never impulsive... he'll never stop."
"What you're saying is that he has got a 'taste' for it, so to speak."
"Yes. Yes, doctor. That's precisely what I'm saying."
"Tell me about the victims. Were they large girls?"
"Yes."
"Were all of them big around the hips? Roomy?"
"Yes. They were also missing patches of skin."
"What else?"
"All of them were found with an insect inserted in their throats."
"What kind of insect was it, Agent Lecter? Was it a moth, a butterfly?"
"It was a moth, doctor. Why do you suppose he places them there?" Starling closed her eyes as if contemplating something.
"Tell me what happened, Hannibal. Don't leave anything out. What happened to mommy and daddy?"
"I was six. It had snowed the night before, and the landscape outside of my family's estate was powdered with it, everything was so bright. I and Mischa, we had played the entire day, making snow angels. Bosco was watching the entire time."
"Who are Mischa and Bosco, Hannibal?"
"Mischa was my sister. She was four years my junior."
"And Bosco?"
"A dog. A very big dog, St. Bernard. My father had given him to me as a puppy. We grew up together."
"Did they die too?" she was taunting him, but behind the arrogance, there was something else, something he could not quite identify.
"Mischa did."
"Your entire family, together?"
"No. We were having dinner, my family and I. Mischa was laughing, I was re-enacting Chaplin's 'dancing rolls' sequence with my bread and forks."
"How very quaint. Do go on."
"No. Quid pro quo, Dr. Starling."
"Do you know what an imago is, Agent Lecter?"
"Yes. An insect in its sexually mature stage."
"What else?"
"In psychoanalysis it's an unconsciously idealized mental picture, usually of a parent that is formed early in life and retained until the subject's adulthood."
"Yes…an image of a parent buried in the unconscious from infancy and bound with infantile effect. The word itself comes from the wax busts ancient Romans carried with them in funeral processions. Come on, Agent Lecter. Even Mapp must see some significance in the insect chrysalis."
"No, nothing except for checking the subscription lists of Entomology magazines for known sex offenders."
"You were having dinner with your family, it was winter. What happened."
"The villagers stormed the estate. They dragged us out into the cold and made us watch while they butchered my parents."
"By 'us' you are referring to yourself and your sister?"
"Yes. The winter left little game alive, and the year's harvest wasn't very good. The people were angry…and they were starving."
"The villagers ate your parents, didn't they, Hannibal? They ate them after they killed them…"
He furrowed his brows. "Yes…"
"What did you do?"
"I picked up Mischa and ran off. I didn't care where I was going, all I knew was that I had to get my sister away from there."
"How far did you get?"
"About as far as I am going to go until you tell me more of what you know, doctor."
"The significance of the moth is change. Caterpillar into chrysalis or pupa, and from this into beauty. The insect emerges from its secret changing room into the beautiful imago. Our Billy wants to change. So he's making himself a girl suit out of real girls."
"Are you telling me he wants some sort of coat, or jacket made from human skin?"
"Precisely, Agent. He wants a vest with tits on it. Did it ever occur to you, Agent Lecter, that Billy might be a large man?"
Lecter's expression remained unchanged. "Hence all the large girls…he has to have things that fit…He was one of your patients, wasn't he, doctor?"
"Maybe…"
"Tell me his name."
"And what would you give in exchange for it, Agent?"
"What do you want?"
"What would you offer, Agent Lecter? Would you come and visit me from time to time? Maybe sit in my cell and hold my hand? We could have a *lot* of fun."
"You know that isn't possible, doctor."
"The first one, the second one, or quite possibly all three?"
"Actually, the only thing I will not be able to do is sit in your cell and hold your hand. I'd have to be stupid to do that."
"Really? I'm crushed."
"Spare me."
"What happened after you ran, Hannibal?"
"Don't change the topic, doctor."
"What happened?" she insisted, her expression turned dangerous but Lecter was unafraid. She seemed to sense this and was pleased. "Tell me," Starling said more nicely.
"They caught us and placed us in a barn. Other children were there from the neighbouring families."
"Noble families?"
"Yes."
"What did they do with you?"
"Every few days they would take one or two of us and on those days, we had meat for dinner."
"You knew what was happening, didn't you?"
Lecter trembled. He was fighting it, the pain and the rage, and Starling drank it all in. He was magnificent in his agony! "Yes…"
"Did you partake of your sister, Hannibal?"
"Yes…" Lecter was staring ahead, his face full of pain, giving in to the memories. Starling found herself unwilling to further push him or antagonize him, but she didn't know why. As if snapping awake from a bad dream, Hannibal calmed, his face resumed its normal stony countenance. He quickly stood up and brushed himself off, not sparing a glance at Starling and she found this curious. As he turned away, she said one word, "Ohio." Lecter stopped.
"What?"
Starling looked up at him. "His name's Jame Gumb. Six foot one, brown and blue, 205 lbs. You'll
find him in Belvedere, Ohio."
Lecter stood still, unsure of what to say. "Thank you, doctor. I promise to be back."
"No. I'll thank YOU not to come back, Agent Lecter. It will be much easier on the both of us, don't you think?" Starling stood up and began humming a tune Lecter was semi-familiar with. After living with a woman most of the time for ten years, he easily identified it. Garbage's "Number 1 Crush."
**
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. However, if you should feel the urge to flame me, please do it via e-mail. To do so otherwise would be *rude*.
Ta,
Tailgunner.