Patience
overcomes me as I await her to open the door, knowing inwardly perhaps my
timing is a tad awkward. However, I do
not allow it to interfere, lest I see again what I saw through her window. That abandonment and self-hatred I have
forced her to endure.
She is wise
to take her time. After all, only true
psychopaths call at this hour. I doubt
she is expecting company.
True
psychopaths…hmm…that makes me smile a bit.
I can smell
her on the other side of the door, the last physical barrier I intend to cross
tonight. I wonder what she is thinking
as my nostrils flare to take in her scent, if her thoughts have gone astray
from what I witnessed outside. Somehow,
I doubt it. Clarice maintains intense
focus on anything she should decide to consider, despite the
interruptions.
I hear her
as she reaches for the knob, and force myself to a perfected standstill as the
door swings open. I watch her eyes for
reaction before speaking, wanting to intake the sight of her. What I see excites me. The rawness of her emotions speaks well in
place of words. I applaud myself on
having made a habit of reading her eyes for such revelations.
A million
things flood into her features, each speaking to me clearly. I release a breath slowly, still offering no
words, watching her as she stumbles and clings to the door. I force myself to not go to her. No, there's still something else. I want her to speak first, to hear her voice
alone…not reflecting off mine.
After the
foray of surprise abandons her, I am gratified with the most contented look of
relief I have ever known a human being to display. It astounds me, frankly, and *nothing* astounds me. Without moving, I sense her pulse has
exhilarated terrifically, and I can nearly hear her heart pounding in all its
glory.
The pounds
of relief.
Finally,
parting her lovely lips, she manages to choke out a greeting that only reflects
her astonishment, as though newly rekindled, but something else. "Hello."
The greeting
sounds so connubial that I nearly laugh. Laugh in the middle of this. What an appalling notion. Ashamedly, I banish that thought.
"Clarice…" I
whisper in reply, enjoying the roll of her name off my tongue. I make it a priority to accentuate each
syllable in her name, for it gives me such pleasure to say.
When I see
her eyes glitter, I realize it's with more than tears.
Don't
cry. Please don't cry.
She indeed
makes a valiant effort not to cry, biting her lip as if to defer attention from
her overworked emotions to subtle pain. This seems to work for a minute. Her chest heaves as she shudders a breath, the air already scented with
her unshed tears. It nearly drives me
over the edge.
I allow her
a minute of collection, knowing on some level, she requires no help from
me. When she feels comfortable, she
relinquishes hold on the door, moving back as if to test her balance. "I'm sorry," she says, and I wonder if we've
already approached the line of apologies. That thought is dismissed shortly. "Come in…" she stands aside to provide me room to pass.
I enter the
home slowly, wanting to savor this reaction a moment longer. The relative warmth of her duplex is
comfortable. I take a minute to breathe
in the air that is intensely her, enjoying its taste. When she moves past me, I sense she has not entirely come to
terms with my presence here. I follow.
I decide to
speak, to ease her as well as the tension. "Clarice, I…"
"Just…give
me a minute," she asks softly, moving to the small recliner she slumbered in
the night of my last visit. I take a
minute to note the week-old cartons of Chinese take-out that seem to have made
her coffee table a permanent residence.
I elect to
sit as well, though I'm not quite that willing to allow so much space between
us. I want to be within her reach, and
her within mine, should the need arise. Thus, I brush the cartons aside and sit across from her, knowing my somewhat
brutal gaze might do more damage than good, but I cannot help myself.
I still
haven't come to terms, seeing her so near after a considerable time apart. Apart of me suspected I would never visit
her again, and though I defied that this afternoon, I *knew* it was best to
avoid direct communication.
I find
myself quite ignorant in my old age. That provides me with some morbid amusement.
"I…" she
starts to speak, shaking her head. "I
can't believe you're here."
"You knew I
came by before," I remind her softly. "Do forgive me for inviting myself in, but I was concerned."
"Dr.
Lecter…"
The
formality makes me flinch inwardly. She
is far beyond the girl that stood before me in the Baltimore Asylum where such
courtesies were needed, far beyond anything I ever thought I could mold her
into. "Clarice, please. I do believe we've know each other long
enough to reduce to first names, don't you think?"
She looks
stunned at this request, but I offer no lenience. "All right, then," she says a minute later. "Hannibal..." Ah…hearing her speak it in
consciousness, while she is alert, looking at me…it provides a sensation I have
never before experienced.
She senses
this and smiles. A smile. I drink the sight, finding it to fulfill me
to the fullest. I don't believe she has
ever smiled at me, not like this.
"Hannibal,"
she repeats, visibly having difficulty with words. I offer my patience. There is nothing else. "I
was…there's so much…" She releases a
breath and shakes her head. "I'm
sorry."
The true
apology now. Though it lacked the
common remorseful tone, omitted in a more or less casual breath, I find it to
cut with sharpness I never wish to grow accustomed to. I know she is sincere. Reading it through her eyes now, as well as
everything I witnessed today.
I wish to
soothe, to reassure her there is nothing she has done that requires an ode to
forgiveness. If there was, it was
granted long ago. My own burden still
weighs heavy on my shoulders. I resist
the urge to grasp her once more, finding the temptation growing exceedingly
difficult to ignore.
"Clarice," I
reply, sighing, "Clarice, there is nothing that you have done to certify an
apology."
"Of course
there is!" she argues, not bothering, though, to remind me why exactly she came
to this conclusion. I know too
well. We both do.
"I hold you
accountable for nothing," I say after a minute. "I never have. It does so
pain me to see you like this."
"Really?"
she asked, genuine question aligning her voice. "I thought surely you saw me weak…unfit." The words take me aback, and I'm glad when
she continues, allowing me to summarize a reply. "I haven't been able to function…I've settled into such a wave
of…depression."
"Clarice,
you are not and never have been weak," I retort, still focused on her earlier
admittance. "A lesser person would
break after what you went through, after *everything* you've been through. You haven't." I sigh. "In truth, I had
convinced myself that I was at fault for your life's crisis. After all, I haven't exactly been a reliable
influence."
It feels odd
to scold myself.
She looks at
me blankly, finding my confession as outlandish as I found hers. "I control my life, Hannibal," she counters
firmly. I am glad to see resolution in
her eyes. "There's nothing that you did
that I didn't on some level allow, or provoke."
I know this
is true. I find it charming that she
feels compelled to reassure me, and likewise that I need that reassurance.
A peaceful
air settles over us. Apologies and
professions are safely out of the way.
I allow
myself a genuine wonder at what is to occur to next. Finding time so indisposed should unnerve me, but indeed it does
just the opposite. I savor these
moments with Clarice as though they will be my last.
But meeting
her eyes, I am left with an inkling. Self-control prods me further. The silence is companionable, though it seems to be in league with
tension. Imploring her expression, I am
gratified.
These
moments will *not* be our last.
* * *