Starling sat in
the quiet of her duplex on the edge of her coffee table. Behind her, the fireplace was running,
giving subtle though unneeded warmth. She took a minute to wonder why she had a gas log in the first
place. From experience, she knew
authentic fires were better. However,
she hardly had the time or patience to sit around and muster one up. In accordance with modern fast-pace society,
she conformed to have one installed that required nothing more than a flick of
a light switch.
Tonight, she
wished it otherwise. Hearing the roar
behind her, staring blankly at her empty glass of Jack Daniels, she
sighed. Her mind unwillingly traveled
across the globe, to wherever he might be. Still in China? No…if he was, it
was far from Beijing. Perhaps waiting
the remainder of his travel plans.
She wondered if
he thought of her, and immediately knew the answer.
Slowly, as if
unaware of her actions, Starling leaned forward and reached her left arm behind
her. From her back trouser pocket, she
withdrew an envelope, the same envelope she knew she should have destroyed in
Beijing. It was curved now in alignment
with her body, having spent nearly twenty-four hours safely stored in her back
pouch.
As though it
would leap out of her hands, Starling studied it curiously, her fingers
flipping over the flap. The temptation
to open it was almost intolerable, causing her to wonder why she saved it this
long. At the time, she supposed she was
holding onto some memory. Now, though,
it was unhealthy. Her decision was
made. She was home.
'Home is where
the heart is.'
Goddammit! Not that again…
Drawing in a
deep breath, Starling forced herself to her feet, parading to her fireplace
before she could stop to consider. As
she held her hand back, ready to cast it into the fire, another strain of
resistance struck her. For a minute,
she was held in suspension, hand quivering with the need of release. Let it go? Sever all ties with Dr. Lecter completely?
Yes or no,
Clarice?
With a desperate
cry, Starling yanked her hand back as though scorched. Leaving little room for reassessment, eager
fingers practically tore the envelope open; nevertheless careful not to crinkle
the paper.
Moving to her
chair, Starling sank, eyes landing on elegant script before common sense could
convince her otherwise. She knew in
reading this she was incriminating herself, withholding valuable information on
an escaped convicted felon.
Who the hell was
she kidding? This was the same man who
held her with such comfort the afternoon before. He was hardly the object of her professional search anymore, if
he ever was. A race of guilt shuddered
up her spine, as well as shame. How
could she even think that now?
No time. Eagerly, Starling's tongue flickered over
her lower lip as she began to read.
Welcome home,
Special Agent Starling.
I do hope I'm
not too presumptuous in assuming you're home. It's an educated guess and
nothing more. I know you could not have
had enough time to both consider and read my words before your heroes
arrived. I suppose you could be on the
plane, or in the comfort of your hotel room, but my inner intuition never
lies. You are home, aren't you?
If you can
answer that, it's more progress than you think. At least my efforts were not sacrificed to the inferno of your
fireplace; though I don't excuse the possibility they won't still find that as
their final resting.
Tell me, how is Washington?
Don't be
discouraged, Clarice. It was entirely
predictable. This is not to say I have
no faith in you, or what you told me this afternoon (by the time you read this,
it will be yesterday afternoon, if not later). I think you believed it at the time, and perhaps still do. It's frightening, the thought of releasing
yourself completely from all you have known. All you were taught.
We had a good
time, didn't we?
If you can
answer that in the affirmative, there is hope for you yet. Perhaps, even, for us as well.
I admit trying
to predict where you will go and what you will do from here isn't weighing
correctly with me. As I write this, I
study your sleeping form, peaceful for now. I hesitate to think that I must wake you in a few minutes, only to leave
with the chance of losing what I found here with you. Perhaps what happened was for the best, though. You need your time away from me, away from
here. Should you decide to join me, I'd
prefer to have all of Clarice Starling, not the part disillusioned by the idea
of being cornered, provoked, tormented.
If you come to
me, we'll both have our answer. If not,
I suppose it's lost to the void.
Hmmm…you're
smiling now. What about, I wonder? What do you see in your dreams? Have you found sanctuary from the lambs at
last?
I hope so. Likewise, I hope you not to lose that
sanctuary, now that you are home.
Now to the risky
part. I trust you to keep this
confidential, should you return to your world of politics and deception. If you're in China now, I'd advise you go
home anyway. Tracing your whereabouts
from the airport won't be difficult for your friends at the FBI. But you're home now, aren't you? I think so.
Pack a
sufficient amount of clothing, though not too much, Clarice. I'd prefer to spoil you when you
arrive. Just enough to get you through
a day or so. Eveningwear is up to you,
though I would like to think you'd opt to go without it. To wan suspicion for a few days, phone in
that you're indulging in a much-needed retreat, but mislead your friends with a
counterfeit destination. I also advise
you avoid the Washington airport. Should trouble arise, you'll want to give a difficult trail to follow.
I know you have
your Mustang, but for reasons of convenience, I think it best you switch
vehicles at some point, or park a good distance from the airport lot. The best thing would be to dispose of it
completely, but I leave that up to you.
There are four
flights scheduled from the Norfolk Airport, approximately
forty-five miles from Williamsburg. Far
enough from Washington to be overlooked at first, I'm assuming.
Even so, they
will be looking for your car and not airline reservations, which is again why I
stress you dispose of it.
From there, you
will find a connecting flight to New York City. If you miss one of the four flights, don't discourage, though I
do hope you decide to open this in time. Once you've made it this far, Clarice, going back will be
difficult. Take the flight out of New
York to Frankfurt, Germany. There you
will need to rent a car. I have
reservations at the Schloss Wolfsbrunnen Castle. Very lovely place. You'll
enjoy it. It's approximately two
hundred and seventy kilometers from Frankfurt, near the Eichsfeld forest. While
there are closer connecting flights, I suggest this as one final step in
eluding attention.
I have taken the
liberty of reserving you a private room for now. It's under the name Hannah Fell. Oh, I know that's a tad obvious, but trust me, no one would assume I use
the same alias again. Besides, this is
for you, isn't it? I intend to be far
from Germany by the time any of your esteemed colleagues catch on.
That is, of
course, assuming you join me.
I give you time
and patience, Clarice. That's all I can
offer. If you should decide not to
accept this escape, then I extend my best wishes to you and your
happiness. I will no longer interfere
with your life, though I expect you'll be asked to meddle with mine. Who knows, we might have some fun, yet.
My apologies for
any trouble or confusion I have caused you these past three days, or ten years,
but again, who's counting?
I am now. Your friends do like to crash a good party.
With whatever
you chose, Clarice, I know you do so with reason. Bearing that in mind, farewell. I can ask for no more, nor expect any less. You know you always have my respect and admiration. And even if I can't be there to peer over
your shoulder, be assured I will be watching you, if only from afar.
Will it be from
afar, Clarice? You decide…
Regards,
Hannibal
* * *