Much to Starling's relief, they
remained undisturbed by any outside force for the remainder of the
evening. Perhaps she had hastily judged
Dr. Lecter. After all, a murder would
do little more than excite everyone, and given their location, it wouldn't take
much time to link him to it.
Still, there was murder in his
eyes. She saw it when Nicholas dragged
her from his arms. At the moment, she
couldn't help but admit the feeling was mutual. It felt silly, having another man come between a fourteen-year
relationship with the infamous doctor. The experience itself was so close to adultery yet so far.
Nicholas refused to speak to her, even
look at her until they were behind closed doors.
"Who was he?" he demanded hotly,
undoing his shirt-tie, looking as though he was ready to bust a vein. "A little friendly, even for an old friend,
I'll say."
{Lie, Starling, and make it a good
one.}
In this, lying came easy, second nature
almost. It was sinfully fun, she
discovered, though under the circumstances, she didn't let herself to view it
that way.
"He was telling the truth. I knew him at Quantico. He was a friend of Jack Crawford's." Starling paused and reflected. That was almost true. Almost; but not quite. Either way, it was close enough.
"I didn't appreciate you two getting
so…close…especially in front of me. Christ, Clarice, I brought you here, I've done nothing but dote on you
day after day, practically fucking worship the ground you walk on, and yet you
remain an icicle. Then this stranger
walks up to you…and you…"
"Stranger?" Starling echoed. "Stranger?! For the last time, I know him! I've known him a LOT longer than I've known you. I can dance with whom I please, speak to
whom I please, keep company with whom I please. I am not your property, nor will I ever be."
There was a massive silence.
"I've done so much for you." His voice was very small, his eyes like
shiny birthstones. "Why are you…why do
you still deny me?"
Starling felt the fire leave her, the
fight and the struggle all abandoning her worn body. Indeed, she had been a tad on the bitchy side to Nicholas, and
though his temper occasionally – always – got in the middle of things, that was
hardly his fault when the big picture was placed together.
"Because I am not a normal person,
Nick. I can't be, I never will be. People like you come and waste yourselves
over me, and I use you up because I don't know how else to react." This was startlingly truthful; it hurt both
to say and to be heard. "I can't accept
kindness, but I can't turn it down, either. I would very much like to love you, it would make everything seem normal
and rational…it would be the best thing for me. But…"
"But you don't?"
Starling shook her head. "You've known this for some time."
"Yes…" He looked devastated. "Clarice…I…"
"I appreciate you very much, Nick. But appreciation is not what you need."
A flash. He was angry again. "Then
why did you let me bring you here, dammit? If you 'appreciate' me so much, then why the hell did you allow me to
waste so much time and money on an empty investment? You're so selfish, Clarice! So utterly self-involved!"
The words cut deeply and made it
difficult to breathe. Out of the many
things she considered herself, self-involved was most certainly not one of
them. This accusation rapidly brought
her to tears, and soon she found herself sobbing uncontrollably in Nicholas's
arms. Now he was comforting her,
soothing her. Nice little mood
swing. She had never known such a
temperamental man. Starling, being
archetypal at heart though she hated to think of it that way, always assumed
that was the woman's job.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Those words
penetrated her sobs. Slowly, she
regained control of herself and sat up, nodding through the tears.
"I don't think things through," he
whispered. "I thought if I brought you
to this place that I could win you, that the atmosphere would guise everything
that's going wrong in our relationship. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…this is all my fault."
Starling didn't reply, she
couldn't. At the moment, she wanted to
let him accept responsibility for this as it was so easy to believe herself
entirely innocent. But in truth, she
wasn't. To deny Dr. Lecter's
infatuation with Florence was one of the reasons she wanted to come was untrue
in every form. In accepting to come
here with him, she led him to believe there was something special in their
relationship, something she couldn't get elsewhere, and wouldn't if the offer was
presented. Right now, there wasn't anything
she wouldn't do to be out of this apartment and with Dr. Lecter, the only
person alive to know her, truly know her. Nicholas loved the part of her the rest of the world was acquainted
with, the part that kept her friendship with Ardelia Mapp alive, the part that
was constant smiles and a shield of optimism. The part of her that wasn't her at all. Starling so desperately needed to be loved and loved completely, for who
she was, everything she was, regardless of consciences, whether it be good or bad. High morals and a sense of incorruptibility
was once her, was still her in many ways, but overall, that part of her was
dead. In all honesty, she preferred it
that way. With her morals gone, there
was room for what she wanted, what she truly wanted.
"No, Nick," she said finally. "It's my fault, too. I'm not what you need."
"That's what confuses me," he replied,
his voice very close to her ear. "If
you're not what I need, then why the hell do I love you so much?"
Words left her again, and she could do
nothing more than shrug. She wished
there was something she could do to make up to him, but the only thing she
could think of was a forfeit of something she had no intention of sharing with
someone she didn't care for.
All in all, all this night had given
her was a newfound sense of confusion and despair. As much as she wanted to, that pesky voice that forewarned her of
the consequences of her actions arose and began to scold. It was just as well that Nicholas intervened
when he did. Who knows what she
would've thought of herself in the morning?
Still, the other part of her aching
soul, the predominant part, cried out. Why was fate so cruel? She
couldn't think anymore, she didn't want to. Perhaps things would look better under the morning light.
* * *
The tension under the roof of Dr.
Lecter's residence was one-sided, as Esamarla had been waiting for an
explanation for some time now and was being bluntly ignored by her
paramour. The man she knew to be
Charles Wilkins had turned strangely quiet after his old friend was dragged
away by her dinner companion, something she thought was most appropriate given
both their stations. A protective
woman, Esamarla did not appreciate her Dr. Wilkins paying attentions to other
women, especially one he apparently had a past with. Whatever it was, Esamarla was quite sure it exceeded the
boundaries of 'old friend.'
Whatever they were or had been,
Esamarla didn't like it. Never before
had Dr. Wilkins paid her as much attention as he paid Ms. Starling this
evening, never before did he seem to so brusquely want someone. Jealousy didn't begin to describe what she
felt watching them. It was hurtful, and
she secretly applauded the young man for dragging her away.
Dr. Wilkins, she learned, did not share
her enthusiasm. Though he did not speak
about it, it was perfectly evident that he was not pleased the turn of events.
Finally, when she flustered the courage
to ask, Esamarla cleared her throat and said in a meek, hurt voice, "Charles?"
Dr. Wilkins was busying from room to
room, preparing for that evening, undoubtedly. Within his own good time, he decided to answer, his tone indifferent, as
always. She would gain nothing from his
voice, she knew. He was so difficult to
read.
"Yes?" was all he said.
"When did you know that young woman?"
He came out of the bathroom, clothed in
a navy blue robe. His eyes bore into
her's as they always did, and she gained nothing from the gaze. When he spoke again, his voice revealed
nothing, speaking as casually as though nothing of any major significance had
occurred. "Clarice?"
"Yes."
"I believe I said I knew her when she
was training at Quantico."
Esamarla shook her head, realizing she
had asked the wrong question. "No, scusarlo,
I meant how do you know her?"
"Hmm…now that really would be telling,
wouldn't it?" he smiled and winked at her, but she read the smile for what it
was supposed to mean. He wasn't going
to tell her anything.
"Charles!" she cried, her voice
exasperated and hurt. "Were you once
with her, or was that my imagination?"
Dr. Lecter's eyes darkened, darkened to
the shade she had seen earlier that evening when Ms. Starling was taken from
his arms. Esamarla felt a streak of
fear creep up her spine, something she had never before experienced in his
presence. "Whatever she is to me is
certainly nothing for you to be meddling in, my dear. Now please – this conversation is becoming quite tedious. I do not wish to discuss the matter any
further."
But Esamarla was determined to get her
answers. Stamping her foot once as if
to exhibit authority over the conversation, she planted her hands on her hips
and screamed in rough Italian: "Voi
figlio d'una femmina! Dirmi ora! Poichè qualcuno che lasci il suoi lavoro ed
amici seguirli... io il più certamente vorrebbe sapere se ho concorrenza tutta
d'un improvviso! Rispondermi!"
Dr. Lecter did nothing more than fold
his arms behind his back, looking at her like an instructor does an unruly
student. After minute, his grinned
lightly, perking both brows. "I must
say," he replied calmly, in English, "it is quite amusing to watch you writhe
in jealousy over a former acquaintance that I did little more than dance
with. Honestly, Esamarla, your sense of
control is most appalling. Have you
ever considered therapy?"
She was blinded with tears now at the
indifference in his tone, the hurtful words that cut her deeply. Never before had she seen him so blatantly
uncaring, so vindictive with such little provocation. Shaking her head, she screamed, "Avvitarli!" in defeat.
From Dr. Lecter's prospective, this was
comical. Never had he imagined Esamarla
would grow so insanely jealous from an encounter that dealt with a
former…friend. At remembering that
night's course, he felt the same cloudy anger over-power him, the desire to
find Starling's hotel and end that rude young man's life coming to him for what
had to be the hundredth time that hour. However, he was smarter than that, for now, at least. If he killed young Nicholas, he would have
to leave Florence again, and that was something he was unwilling to do. Especially right now; he wasn't assured that
Starling had crumpled completely at the restaurant, that she was ready to be
with him without second thoughts yet. If she was not, she was terribly close. He had smelled her desire that evening, and it nearly drove him
insane. But he was not confident that
she would not return if they consummated their relationship, not be consumed
with guilt for the supposed mistake, and turn him in. The penetration of her morals was almost complete, but not
quite. Over the course of the next few
days, he would have to investigate this further. If, by the end of such examination, he found she was indeed
ready, then he would surrender his precious Florence and rid of the world of
that terribly rude young man. By
chance, if she did not concede, well, he'd find a way to have Nicholas disposed
of, in one way or another. The prospect
of having competition was quite unpleasant, and though he didn't think he had
anything to be concerned with, as it seemed his affections were not returned in
any way, shape, or form, he wanted the warning to be out there. He would not tolerate fidelity, for he knew
now that whatever was coming to end WAS indeed coming to an end. He could indeed possess Starling, and that
thought pleased him immensely.
In the meantime, Esamarla Raizonne was
terribly offended at his lack of devotion to her, and was screaming insults in
Italian, as though the language fancied the nasty comments to point past redemption. Studying her now, he wondered how he might
really make her suffer. Living
death. He would have to forfeit control
tonight. Even if this decision had not
been premeditated, he wasn't sure if he would've been able to maintain it. That thought was not altogether pleasing,
yet he wasn't bothered with it. As
things were, his mind was with Starling, and the idea of having her like this
was enough to drive him mad, especially knowing he had been terribly close to
making that a reality.
That night, Dr Lecter conquered
Esamarla Raizonne, wholly and fully. The prior assumption that what he gave her in bed was all he was capable
of giving her was dropped completely, and never regained. From that night, she was his. That part was more or less an accident, but
he was not bothered by it, either. When
he did say goodbye to her, her punishment for this evening would seep in, and
she would never again encounter a touch this uncannily erotic.
Dr. Lecter remained awake for hours
after they were finished. His mind was
with Starling, the idea that she might be receiving similar attentions from her
little whelp making him very uncomfortable. No matter. Soon she would be
his, and neither Esamarla nor Nicholas would stand in their memories. Two different people of two different
lifetimes. It was almost time to start
anew. He hoped to begin the final
touches on Starling's corruption tomorrow.
* * *