Letting out an exasperated breath, Starling fumbled into the hotel
elevator, muttering a few things about the slow process in which it took her to
the desired location, and felt certain the structure was shaking with the
impact of her pounding heart. She did not know what to expect when she got to
her room. A bloody corpse, perhaps, maybe the site of her traveling companion
physically restrained in a chair, or perhaps she would make it there before Dr.
Lecter was able to end him.
If his intention was Nicholas' death at all, which it very
well might not be. Starling knew Dr. Lecter was not a foolish man, and no
matter how angry he was at her for her –
{Okay, class, let's count…}
– third refusal of his ever-so generous offer, he couldn't
afford a death. Italian authorities would jump on it, dissect and most likely
accuse Il Mostro of it at first, then realize this was outside of the renowned
killer's style. No, this was more like their other claim to fame -- the one,
the only Dr. Hannibal Lecter. That alone would drag the FBI into the mess, and
from there, utter chaos until he left country or was captured.
Either way, Starling was not looking forward to the end of
this game, this petty tug of war her conscience was playing over her. Even now,
as she bolted out of the elevator and started to paw through her purse for the
keys, second thoughts were creeping in. How horrible this all was! This was the
worst indecisiveness she had ever known.
Starling jammed the key into the lock and turned
ferociously. The room was dark, not as she left it, and her heart plunged.
Undoubtedly, Dr. Lecter had been here. How had he known what hotel to visit?
Was he psychic?
{Psychic, psycho…same thing}
The grin that thought provided was cursed for its timing.
This was nothing to be amused with. Nicholas was a lot of things, a lot of
good, and a lot of bad. Whatever he was to her, or wasn't for that matter, she
had never wished death upon him, and despite her feelings for Dr. Lecter – her
tossy turvey feelings that betrayed her now all for the sake of an innocent
man's life – she couldn't allow the doctor to kill him because of her error.
{And after that, Clarice? If he's alive…do you still want
the good doctor? Is this worth it? This constant feeling of dread?}
There was no feasible way she could answer that question
now. She was consumed with the need to investigate the rest of the hotel room
for any evidence that would hint as to what happened here after her unfortunate
run-in at the café.
Starling found she didn't have to go very far. Once her eyes
adjusted to the eerie darkness of the room, the darkness that foreshadowed an
unpleasant following, a piercing gaze met her. Her mouth dropped open as she
strained to see anything that suggested a murder had taken place, but her eyes
remained on Dr. Lecter, her heart promptly stopping in her chest. The first
thing she knew to do was speak, to seize control and hold it, but she was out
of breath from running here and for the stress all this placed on her
shoulders, and she had to struggle to maintain balance in the doorway.
Dr. Lecter smiled pleasantly – she could see that clearly in
the darkness. Still there was nothing to suspect foul play, but where was
Nicholas? Had he left after she did that morning? If so, where on earth would
he go?
{Questions, questions, so many questions. Well, your hunt is
over. You found the man you were looking for. Ask him if you're so curious,
Former Special Agent Starling.}
But she couldn't speak; she was too out of breath. Even if
she hadn't been, she wouldn't have been granted the choice. As always, Dr.
Lecter prevailed and grasped control before it was ever on the offering table.
"Hello, Clarice," he said conversationally. He was seated at
a table near the restroom portion of their overall cheap hotel. His hands were
folded nicely and were empty of any visible weapon. Slowly, she began to settle
down. Still there was no sign of Nicholas or any evidence to advocate his
death.
"Dr. Lecter," she returned upon finding her breath. "What
are you doing here?"
"I thought perhaps your rash leaving at the café was
something to discuss, as there was not a defined end to the conversation. I
absolutely hate leaving things unresolved, Clarice." He took a moment of
silence to look her over, arching a brow. "You seem to be in something of a
hurry. Eager to get home your whelp?" The last sentence dripped with venom, and
as he said it, his eyes darkened dangerously.
Starling shook her head, spilling the course of events
without thinking, only concerned with making sure she had not unwittingly
jeopardized the life of a man unfortunate enough to have met, much more, fallen
in love with her. "After I left, I had a change of heart, Dr. Lecter. I went
back to find you, but you weren't there. So I found out where you lived and—"
"You went to my home?" Dr. Lecter asked, genuinely
surprised. Angry? She couldn't tell.
"Yes. On that note, I'm rather disappointed with your 'social
companion,'" Starling quipped, returning to her senses, getting in the mindset
for a battle of wits. "She is quite insecure, and, if you pardon the
expression, a little on the bitchy side."
When she expected anger, she received a laugh. "How ironic
of you to think of her that way, Clarice. I'm sure you're not one of her utmost
favorite people, either. She has expressed her distaste in you already, through
some Italian slander."
Starling shook her head, trying desperately to get back on
track, knowing she was on a one-way road to nowhere with this conversation. She
had to remember her priorities. "Where is Nicholas?"
"The whelp?"
"If you feel so compelled as to call him that…"
"I do, Clarice." Dr. Lecter smiled again. "To be quite
honest, I haven't the slightest idea."
"Then how did you get in?"
"Doormen can be treacherous when you hand them something of
value."
"And he wasn't here?"
"No."
Starling drew out another breath. "What were you going to do
to him…if he was here?"
Dr. Lecter gave her a coy look, one that hinted at something
but held a meaning that was altogether different. "You mean, was I going to
kill him? No, not now. Not in Florence. Really, Clarice, I'm disappointed with
your lack of confidence. I really have no choice in killing him. Here, it's a
risk I'm unwilling to take. Even for you." The words sliced and diced and made
her feel all of three inches tall. Slowly, Dr. Lecter stood, the motion looking
as odd as a statue moving from place. "The purpose of my being here, quite frankly,
is the surrender of my patience. For someone who can tolerate much, Clarice,
you really know how to test me and my will-power to endure it."
Starling shook her head, not able to listen to this now.
What she really wanted was a drink of water; something to do that would give
her an excuse to leave the proximity of his gaze. Swiftly, she moved passed him
and poured herself a drink. Turning to him a minute later, she let out another
breath and said, "I think you should leave. Nicholas will be returning sooner
or later, and it wouldn't do me much good for you to be here."
"I don't think you want me to leave," he said, taking a step
toward her.
"It doesn't matter what I want!" Starling shouted, suddenly
infuriated. Why wouldn't he listen to her? Whatever had to be resolved couldn't
be resolved here. "I want you out right now! Let me think!"
Dr. Lecter made no move to obey her. Instead, his eyes
flashed and he came toward her swiftly. Two strong hands grasped her shoulders
and lifted her an inch or two off the ground. At the sight of his anger, his
enforcing authority, Starling felt herself begin to melt again. But, she had no
idea what to anticipate in the next second. Either a swift reconciliation, or
death.