Though she had
only been a guest for a few days, Starling felt she knew her way around the
manor like she had lived there all her life. Thus, in the darkness, she was compelled to leave the lights off;
perhaps partly in hope her rescuers would discourage at a seemingly vacant
house and pass it over.
Knowing them,
that wasn't entirely implausible.
As per
suggestion, Starling made all the necessary precautions, knowing her time
wasn't truly constricted until she heard the chopper herself. She stripped his bed clean and threw the
sheets into the washer before remaking it nicely. The car keys, handcuffs and her three backup weapons were found
behind Dante's Inferno, as he promised. Studying her weapons precariously, Starling noted how different they
felt in her hands. Heavy, clumsy…like
she had no place holding them at all.
Ten years as an
agent, even longer as a gun-smart individual, and three days with a
cannibalistic genius could take her training away from her.
A chilling
thought raced through her. Could she do
this? Could she look at these men as
they plowed inward to save her from a fate worse than death, cry and make her
case and encourage them to hunt down the man that cradled her so intimately
just a few hours before?
The smell of him
was still with her, on her, marking her. She wondered briefly if she needed to shower, but knew there was no
time. It didn't matter. No one would doubt Dr. Lecter to get close
enough to her to leave the impression of him on her skin. Starling wondered how she might go by what
followed in preservation of both their names. After all, it was wide knowledge, at least within the Bureau, that Dr.
Lecter was a gentleman who abolished the rude, usually by consuming them. To force himself on her without her consent
would most likely provoke him to eat his own hand. And no one would believe she allowed him to touch her, to kiss
her, to be with her, even she if told them herself. In the eyes of the Bureau, of the world, she was a cold fish.
There would be
the rumors, the assumptions, the nasty side-comments from those who associate
with the likes of Paul Krendler, but that didn't concern her. It wasn't unlike anything she had tolerated
for well over a decade.
But *could* she
do it? Go back to them? In gazing at her reflection, Starling saw
the person Dr. Lecter indicated, the agent within her. The person she spent most of her adult life
striving to be. Now she had her
freedom. Freedom. Surpassing the urge to snort, she noted it
tasted in her mouth as trade had back at the lake house. Cheap and metallic…indeed like sucking on a
greasy coin.
Was that because
of what she had done, or because this wasn't freedom at all?
Okay, she knew
if it was her choice, she could go back to them. In the end, it wasn't altogether too difficult. As Dr. Lecter said, here they were outside
the boundaries of time and reality. She
could reflect on this as a dream if she cared to, push it out of her mind as
something that never happened, couldn't possibly, and attempt to live a happy
and fulfilled life on her own accord.
But she would
always know.
Even so, would
they allow her to return peacefully? Yes, there would be that sympathy factor, that tidbit she could always
use against them. She could scream
neglect, pound her fists on closed doors and demand compensation for what she
lost. After all, she just spent three
days with the devil himself, and lived to tell about it. What kind of permanent scars might she fake,
might she use against them for putting her out here in the first place? For making her lose everything she built
herself to be, all for one perfect day in the arms of her enemy.
How long before
they sent her after him again? How long
before she let them?
Indefinitely. Starling knew they would be remorseful,
would shake their heads in sorrow and offer a thousand apologies. But sooner or later, when they grew
restless, Pearsall would call her into his office and give her 'the
speech.' The reason she needed to be
sent out there, to the void, as Dr. Lecter's weakness. As long as the FBI had grasp of her, they
would use her to get to him. Until they
had him, of course, and then she would be discarded and ultimately
forgotten. Another sob story. Boo hoo. So sad. Agent Starling's career
to a final end at last.
And when they
stopped using her…what then? Back to
the messy assignments, cases no one else wanted and thought best to stick her
with. Paperwork. Tedious, very tedious.
Looking again to
her guns and car keys, she pursed her lips in thought. Traveling to the kitchen, she decided the
best place for them was in the cookie jar. It was whimsical and humdrum but no one would doubt he placed them
there. After this, anyone would have to
be of unsound mind to question her knowledge on the doctor.
Left with the
handcuffs and the envelope with his instructions, Starling sighed in genuine
wonderment. What now? Her eyes flickered to the fireplace, knowing
the best thing she could do for either of them was forget any of this ever
happened. She couldn't be of any real
use to him. The reward for ten years of
coveting, but what beyond that? If anything, she would hold him back, get them
captured, herself imprisoned and him in the hands of his tormentors.
Should it come
down to that, her occupational sacrifice at the Muskrat Farm was in vain.
The envelope,
thick and weightless as a feather, burdened her hand with the power of a
thousand stones. Fireplace or
purse? Lighter or knapsack? She could tear it into tiny pieces, *then*
throw it into the inferno. Look at it
first? No. To know where he was endangered her conviction, and his
safety.
But could she
live *not* knowing?
Time ran
short. Starling made her decision and
acted upon it. Hurriedly, she dressed
in jeans and her white tank top. She
didn't bother with a bra, though did slip into underwear, just to elude any
suspicion or accusations. Though it
felt odd, defending Dr. Lecter's honor while neither of them were innocent, but
this hardly hampered her need to do so. Clothed now in the garments, however whimsical, he provided, she was
satisfied to have at least some souvenir. Proof of her stay marked on her neck and her stomach. She was glad the imprints of his hands
neglected to wither and die to time. It
would serve as some convincing that she was held here every minute against her
will.
That was almost
the truth. Almost wasn't good enough.
Starling lastly
took the cuffs and snapped one around her wrist. A grimace splayed on her face, remembering how tight and
uncomfortable they made her shoulders. However, no one would believe Dr. Lecter just up and left without
restraining her. She almost wished he
had. Falling to the ground, she twisted
her other arm behind her and battled with gravity until both hands were cuffed.
The flash of
police cars and the howl of sirens disturbed both the darkness of the manor as
well as the companionable silence. In
the brief light allowed, Starling stretched her neck to take one last look
around. This place she came to
originally as a hostage, leaving as a marked FBI agent, to return to her dreary
world of politics. All the while,
Hannibal Lecter, renowned lethal madman, not only took care of her during her
stay, he let her go.
Why?
Back to
mind-numbing questioning. Booooooorrrrriiiiinnnnggg.
Starling refused
to think of the higher reasons. That
meant crediting Dr. Lecter with an emotional quality that she thought
impossible for him to possess. Even
after the tender way he held her that afternoon, the reassuring of her courage
and bravado, after every little this and that…
Emitting a deep
sigh, Starling's head fell back to the carpet. Somehow, the flash of lights made her fatigue return, double the
impact.
The weight of
her decision was still with her. She
knew she had to consider it from all angles before any rational sense could be
obtained. In declining Dr. Lecter's
offer, she was freeing herself from him forever, from being pursued. Though Starling doubted reliability in the
Bureau not to send her after him, she knew he wouldn't let her see him if she
came armed and with a badge.
Even so,
Starling doubted she could accept the case. A more decent fight could win her side over.
But could she
*live* with it? Knowing that while her
decision freed them both, she would fight for the rest of her life to find some
of the happiness she had here, even in those few hours they were allowed? What happened to that girl, the one who told
him in truth that she didn't want any interruption, wanted to be with him as
long as time permitted? Did the mirror
take all that away?
Starling didn't
want to think what this meant for him. She tried to picture him several years down the road, perhaps with a
mistress of some sort. That thought
made something nasty stir within her, and for a minute, she had the taste of
bile in her mouth. While she knew that
he was allowed that, that she couldn't expect him to spend the rest of his life
mourning her, she likewise knew that it would be impossible for *her* to marry,
or even be with anyone else after him.
Surprisingly,
that didn't bother her.
Voices now. Odd. She hadn't talked with anyone but Dr. Lecter for three days, and to hear
someone speak who wasn't him, particularly to her, gave her an eerie feeling. Nevertheless, she raised her voice and drew
in a breath. "Here! I'm in here!" The falsity she expected in her tone failed to register. For that, she was relieved.
Outside. Husky, male voices. "Agent Starling?"
"IN HERE!"
The flashlights
stung her eyes. Flinching, she turned
her face from them as two men neared. One of them sounded familiar, though she couldn't place a name.
"Agent
Starling? Where is he?"
"Gone! What the fuck took you guys so long? And get me out of these cuffs!"
A pair of gloved
hands grasped her wrists and pulled her to her feet. Starling let out a deep breath as she looked from one face to the
next, still not finding the name of the one she knew. They simultaneously looked her over, registering her lack of a
bra with wide eyes.
"Did he hurt
you, Agent Starling?" asked the one she didn't know.
"No. He just fuckin' cuffed me and left. Get these damn things off of me!"
"Did he say
where he was going?" the other asked, both pointedly ignoring her request. For the briefest minute, Starling regretted
cuffing herself at all. It was all
coming back to her now. The searing
stretch of her back shoulder blades, the bruises it would ultimately leave her
skin.
"Why the hell
would he do a dumbass thing like that? He knew ya'll were coming. For
the last time…GET THESE GODDAMN CUFFS OFF ME!"
"Where's the
key?"
"In the kitchen,
I think. If not…get a cleaver. Get something. I will *not* be chained up like some criminal." Starling hoped her eyes reflected the fire
her voice authentically portrayed. Never before had she considered herself for acting material, but she
thought this performance owed consideration.
The key was
found shortly in the cookie jar along with her guns and car keys. Once free, Starling took a genuine minute of
relief, rolling her newly liberated shoulders, trying to ignite blood
circulation. If she never saw another
pair of handcuffs for the rest of her life, it would be too soon.
"Give me a gun,"
she commanded roughly, "gimme something!"
"Don't we need
to check you into a hospital somewhere?"
Starling shook
her head, purchasing a hoard of blank stares. "Not necessary," she said. "I'm
not bleeding internally, nor was I hurt."
"You have a mark
on your neck," the one she knew observed.
"Ah…except for
when I pissed him off…he started to choke me but thought the better of it. I swear to you, I'm fine. I won't be checking into any hospital just
to have them tell me that." She turned spontaneously to the man standing next
to her, another nameless buffoon, and asked as she armed herself, "Do you guys
have a lead on him?"
"What was he
driving?"
"I don't have a
fucking clue. He used *my* car to drive
into town…and you guys let him! God!"
The looks
exchanged now were comical, though they made her fists clinch tightly. Though supposedly discreet, the implication
was easily read. Oh yes, they
remembered her. Now they wondered why
they bothered to save her in the first place.
Sighing,
Starling pretended to concede defeat. She hoped it wasn't too premature, but
continuing this charade only made her queasy. Pretending to be the hard-ass agent was familiar, yes, but overall
emphasized how much of a phony she had become over the past few days. And now to return to that world of
assignments and politics. Would she
find herself in time before Dr. Lecter again? The feeling of not knowing was unpleasant.
"All right…pack everything up. We're going home."
More blank
stares. The agent whose name failed her
stepped forward. "Uhhh…are you sure
that's…"
"I don't care
what happened," she snapped. "I don't
care where I've been the past few days. I'm back now, and I'm in charge, and I say it's over. Like hell if I'm going to go after him
again."
"Agent
Starling…Clint Pearsall—"
Starling's eyes
glinted at the name, and immediately the man stopped speaking. "Excuse me, but does Pearsall know anything
of what's been going on here? Does he
know that I was abducted, taken and held for three days against my will?"
"Yes…and he—"
"He thought he'd
be lucky if Dr. Lecter did away with me, cause he knows what follows this. Like I said…we're packing it up. Our man's not here anymore, anyway. I'm tired and I'm going home." Emitting a sigh, she motioned for the door. "I'm leaving. Conduct your investigation, but I doubt you find anything
here. Oh, and I want to find out who
owned this place, and if his disappearance was reported." What else would they expect her to say? "Put everything in a report, but I don't
want to see it. I want no reminder of
this trip, understood? If I hear any
snide comments or remarks on the way back—"
The man she knew
by face came forward, palms open in a display of peace. "You won't, Agent Starling."
Nodding,
Starling sighed once more and moved for the door. From behind, she heard a snicker as someone said, in direct
deviance to her order: "How the hell did he put up with her for three days?"
Starling decided
to ignore that. Right now, her mind was
elsewhere. She could smell her tears
brimming as she fought the temptation to turn around and intake the look of the
house once more. No, she knew that
though she would never again find what she had here, what she *did* have was
hers. Forever. One more look would neither break nor add to
that.
What had Dr.
Lecter said before he left?
("Here, we were
outside of time and reality, everything that held us to their tedious
morality. I take that with me. Even if you decline to pursue, I hope apart
of you carries it, too.")
Decline to
pursue…are you sure that's what you want to do?
Starling drew in
a breath, clamping her teeth harshly on the inside of her cheek to stir
attention away from tears. No, she
couldn't go after him, and somewhere, he knew that, too. Leaving the place of their sanctuary, she
recognized the significance of returning to their separate worlds. He had his life and she had hers.
But
they always had today. That afternoon.
Slipping into
the helicopter that would take her back to Beijing, Starling drank in the sight
of the mansion, recalling the evening she first came here. How dark it looked, how angry she was. It seemed so long ago. Not even a week had passed. A week…and yet she could never be the same
person that walked in.
Turning to gaze
to her left, Starling's eyes pried the beach. Even from this distance, she could see the imprints their bodies made
during that sweet capture. Sighing
again, she settled against the seat and closed her eyes.
"Apart of me
will always carry it," she whispered, wondering if he could hear her, wherever
he might be. "The largest part of me."
The pilot turned
to her, uncovering his ears to the foray of sound. "Did you say something, Agent Starling?" he yelled.
Shaking her
head, she motioned to the controls. "Get me out of here."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The authorities
were still there as she was lifted into the air. Starling's eyes remained with the house as long as it was in
sight, and she settled into a short, disturbing sleep when the blaze of lights
faded into nothing.
* * *