It was
a hot day when he moved in, signifying the beginning of a dreadfully long
summer.
At the time, he thought it was by chance that he should
have rented a house in one of the so-called strangest communities of North
America. There were things to note
about the location, things that seemed important at the time, things he
overlooked at first glance. It was a
slender island that extended east of New York, hosting, among other natural
curiosities, two atypical configurations of land.
This was twenty miles from the
city. Two enormous eggs, identical in
form and distanced only by a courtesy bay, extended into the most cultivated
body of salt water in the Western hemisphere.
Being one of marginal wealth, rather than lavish, Jack
Crawford found residence at West Egg, the less fashionable of the two. The house itself was quaint and homey,
located directly at the tip of the egg.
Crawford managed to ignore the temptation to complain about the weather,
it bearing no real handicap on his moving arrangements. In life, he knew the fewer faults he found
with things he could not control, the better he could enjoy himself.
Given the opportunity to be here was one of his greater
joys. Crawford had intended to get away
for some time, and while it remained true that he was far from the outskirts of
decent refinement, or even the crowd that seemed to popularize at East Egg, he
was satisfied, perhaps even happy.
Once the job of unpacking his belongings into the bedroom
his claimed for himself was complete, Crawford meandered to the deck of his new
summer residence – a trial home, really, to see if he liked the place – and
gazed onto the bay. The water seemed to
smile at him, as unaffected by the sun as he was. It extended to the land at the other side – East Egg – where the
mansions of the rich and sometimes famous gloated their chauvinistic wealth.
Crawford found no reason to snarl. In the comings of his life, he had no desire
to be rich. As long as the number in
his bank account was suitable for all those needed luxuries, he was satisfied.
This wasn't, of course, to say that the houses of West Egg
had reason to cower, or even envy their neighbors. Having indulged himself in a pleasant drive through either egg,
Crawford knew the trophy to most elegant and undoubtedly expensive home went to
his very neighbor, a man he knew by name but not face.
Those in town called him Fell. They didn't address him by any other name. Therefore, Crawford's knowledge of his
neighbor remained rather abbreviated, and he found it would be too intrusive to
implore. Perhaps sometime he would
venture beyond the border and introduce himself, perhaps not.
As for today, he had promised his second cousin, twice
removed, that he would visit. It would
be the first time to see her since she married. Once upon a time ago, they worked side by side in the FBI, but
her apprehension of Buffalo Bill succeeded in granting her much prosperity.
This was over five years ago. Not once had Crawford seen her since she left the FBI to 'settle
down.' She lived at East Egg in a
rather extravagant manor that he saw on his exploratory drive. It was lovely and impressive, falling second
only to his neighbor's.
That forced Crawford again to turn his gaze to the Fell
Manor, and he marveled at the expensive lighting structure. There were several vans in the doorway,
people running in and out with boxes of lights, food, and chairs. Before moving in, he had heard that Fell was
rather notorious for his phenomenal parties that tended to occur each weekend,
but Crawford was the sort of fellow that never believed anything until he saw
it.
Mindful of the clock, he finished scrutinizing the bay with
the knowledge there would be plenty of time for all sorts later. With that, he retreated indoors and flipped
off the lights. Making sure everything
was in place, Crawford nodded his confirmation before moving outside.
Crawford's car was modest but nice. Nothing anyone would envy, but he found its
company to be enjoyable and decided he wanted no more.
The drive was short but pleasant. His eyes consumed everything, as the scenery was breathtaking,
something he hoped never to tire of.
After sacrificing so many years to busywork, Crawford was determined to
enjoy this time he had off. However, he
did not frown when he arrived. Despite
everything, he was eager to see Starling again.
No, not Starling, he
had to remind himself. Not anymore.
Outside waited the man he assumed to be his cousin's
husband. Crawford smiled tightly to
himself and wiggled out of the seat.
Smiling, he nodded. "Paul
Krendler, I presume?"
"You must be Clarice's cousin. Jack?"
"Yes." They shook
hands like old friends. Crawford
decided almost immediately that there was something he didn't like about
Krendler. Something in his eyes, a
dark, untrusting gaze.
He was a greedy man.
"Clarice has been waiting for you," Krendler announced,
turning to motion for the door. "She's
very excited when you accepted her invitation."
"I was glad to," Crawford answered as he stepped inside. He was instantly blasted with a foray of
cool air. The rich, notably, had more
reliable air conditioners. The voice
behind him informed where he could find the girls, and Crawford paced forward
at his own inhibition.
There were two ladies in the parlor; both sprawled on
identical, parallel couches. The eldest
of the two was an unfamiliar face, though Crawford's eyes immediately
acknowledged the appreciation for her deceptive beauty.
The other girl was Clarice. Crawford had refrained from looking to her at first for he wanted
to savor the happiness in her eyes. It
was a mutual feeling.
Indeed, he was not disappointed. Clarice was smiling profusely, her flightiness visible through
all the contours of her face. With an
excited laugh, she jumped up. "Jack!"
she exclaimed pleasantly. "I'm so glad
you could make it."
Crawford returned her smile and stepped forward. Likewise, his cousin approached to embrace
him.
When he could see her eyes more vividly, Crawford bit back
his frown. There was sadness in her,
great sadness that she hid well. This
was not the Starling – Clarice – that left Quantico five years earlier. In their years working side by side, he had
grown accustomed to reading her, or at least attempting to do so, when she
refrained from verbally expressing her feelings. This look was one he associated with firm distaste.
Even though he had only stood there a few minutes, Crawford
knew he had not seen her eyes in the same set for so long in their entire
acquaintance. It took two seconds for
him to register her unhappiness, though he made well to respectfully keep it
from sight.
Her embrace was warm and welcoming, and from her reluctance
to let go, he knew how truly happy she was to see him.
"How are things at Quantico?" she asked once she released
him.
He told her how the others wished her well. He didn't tell her how they said it. With that certain bitterness that instantly
displayed their jealousy, and the inability to comprehend why a woman beat them
to it.
"Do they miss me?" she asked. There was a knowing teasing-tone to her voice.
They both knew the answer.
Crawford decided to play anyway.
"The whole place is desolate," he kidded. "If you look at the parking lot, the cars
have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there's a
persistent night wail for those stuck with the later shifts."
Clarice snickered and rolled her eyes. "What a picture you paint, Jack. Paul!"
She called over his shoulder.
"Paul, let's go back tomorrow!"
There was a mild grumble in reply as Krendler approached,
showing some interest in Crawford at last.
He decided to eye this man who was his cousin-in-law, and get to know
the person beneath.
"What do you do, Jack?"
"I thought Clarice told you…I—"
"Oh yeah. The FBI."
"Yes."
"Do you plan to stay here long?"
Crawford's eyes averted to Clarice, only again to register
her pain. "It depends. I am able to retire whenever it is
convenient for me."
"Are you boys going to discuss business all afternoon?"
demanded a lazy voice from the sofa.
All eyes were immediately drawn to the reclining woman that Crawford had
still not made his introduction. "It's
so boring! Besides, it's summer!" With that, she kicked her legs over the side
and fought to her feet. Once satisfied,
she audaciously paraded to Crawford and extended a hand. "Ardelia Mapp. How do you do?"
He smiled thinly.
"Jack Crawford. Pleased to meet
you."
Ardelia was a lively creature, and not as hard to read as
Clarice. Glancing over her once, he
registered her as a lively, flamboyant character who would go to great lengths
to keep from being bored.
"Charmed," she said with mild interest. "Hmmm…you live at West Egg, correct?"
He nodded. "That's
right."
"I know somebody there."
"I don't know a single person," Crawford admitted
sheepishly. "After all, I just moved
in."
With a chortle, Ardelia arched an unbelieving brow. "Is that so? You must know Dr. Fell."
Clarice, whom had only seemed mildly interested in the
conversation, suddenly shot to life from whatever world of her own she
currently occupied. Curiously, Crawford
frowned and looked to her, alarmed when he couldn't read her eyes.
"Dr. Fell?" she demanded.
"What Dr. Fell?"
But he never got the chance to answer. One of the hired servants interrupted to
announce that lunch was ready. Clarice
locked eyes with Crawford but refused to expand on the topic.
The pleasantries were moved to the terrace where a table
sat, prepared with delectables, the food of rich snobs who had their shopping
done for them. None of this rang
classic Starling – erm, Clarice – to him.
It didn't take much to conclude this was not her table, or that she had
any interest in making it so.
Crawford wondered for a minute if she had ever taken
Krendler's last name. He couldn't seem
to remember, but his mind weighed toward no.
For some reason, he couldn't see it.
Clarice Krendler. It didn't
work.
Conversation did not resume until they were all promptly
seated and served with a few beers. The
beverage choice made sitting at the nice table seem like a cliché. Crawford properly folded his napkin into his
lap, casting his eyes to the bay. There
they lingered as he studied the dock.
From across the way, he could see his quaint house, and smiled at the
sight. Standing neighborly next to it
was the Fell Manor.
At that, Crawford thought to bring it up once more, but
found in his daydreaming that he had missed the first part of the continued
dialogue. Krendler was discussing a
book he read, and glaring when Clarice suggested it had pictures in it.
"I'm sorry," she apologized without sorrow a full minute
later. "I just remember what an avid
fan you were of 'Go Dog Go.'"
There was something in Krendler's eyes that Crawford didn't
like. The man lurched forward as if to
slap her, or at least get in her face over the issue, but he was interrupted
when their butler approached and whispered something into his ear. An immediate change came over Krendler. He nodded his understanding and climbed to
his feet, excusing himself before hurrying off.
Clarice let out a snicker when he left. When her eyes returned to Crawford, they
were smiling, though still in that dreary state he recognized in the
parlor. "It's so good to see you here,
Jack," she said warmly, authentically.
"I love having you at my table."
Before Crawford could reply, or even thank her for the
compliment, Clarice stood and muttered something about unfinished business, and
hurried off.
He found himself alone with the charming Miss Mapp. Perhaps now it was best to ask about Fell,
whom she appeared to know. After all,
he didn't want to risk the conversation to have an adverse affect on Clarice,
especially with the look she gave him at mention of the name.
But discussion was the last thing Ardelia wanted. Such was evident by her face. Her head was crooned, ear extended as though
listening for something. There were
muffled voices emitting from inside. An
argument, undoubtedly.
This woman had no shame.
Crawford decided to ask anyway.
"This Dr. Fell you spoke of is my neighbor," he
announced. His mouth was open to
continue, but Ardelia shot him a dangerous look.
"Shhh…don't talk," she commanded, raising a finger to her
lips in illustration of her request. "I
want to hear what happens."
Crawford blinked his ignorance. "Is something happening?"
That drew her attention from the blooming bickering within
the house. Astonished, she turned to
him. "You mean you don't know? I thought everybody knew."
Innocently, he shook his head. "I don't."
"Well…Paul's got some woman in New York."
"Got some woman?" Crawford repeated blankly.
Ardelia nodded.
"She might have the decency not to call him while we're having
lunch. Don't you think?"
But he couldn't answer.
Krendler and Clarice were back.
Lunch resumed pleasantly, though there was an awkward air
to things. Even more so than
before. No mention of the phone call
was made. It was an unspoken
understanding.
* * *
It was nearly dark when Crawford decided to return
to West Egg. He walked with Clarice to
Ardelia's room. He understood she was
staying there for a few days, perhaps the summer, if only to keep her friend
company.
Conversation with the two was nice though
censored. Crawford was tempted to
mention Dr. Fell, just to get a rise from Clarice, to try to distinguish what
he saw in her eyes. It felt allowed
now, knowing Krendler's interests lay in someone else's bed.
"You seeing anyone, Jack?" Clarice asked as they
walked away from the closed guest chamber.
"I can't seem to remember if you were an active bachelor, back in
Washington."
"Not at the moment." This was true.
"Fantastic.
I think I'll arrange you a marriage then," she said, her tone light and
kidding. "You and Ardelia, hmm? Come over often, Jack, and I'll sort
of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock
you accidentally in the linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat."
Crawford chuckled.
"That's not necessary."
With a sad smile, Clarice offered her arm to talk
him to his car. "Really, Jack. You need to get more fun out of life." That seemed to pain her, and her lower lip
quivered slightly as she relinquished her embrace. He thought she might comment further, but she did not.
Crawford did not see Krendler before he left, nor
did he care to. The drive home was
short but pleasant, and he enjoyed the night playing over the bay.
When he arrived home, Crawford turned to look across
the water that separated him from his cousin, and he smiled softly. It pained him to see Clarice trapped in an
institution that didn't love her back, and he wondered briefly how her life
might have differed, should she have stayed with the Bureau after apprehending
Jame Gumb.
There was a life there for her, and yet she had this
one.
Sighing, Crawford pivoted to turn in for the
night. He could not help his curious
eyes from glancing to the Fell Manor, and he stopped shortly to see a man
standing in perfect stillness on his lawn.
From the stature of his pose and the noted expense of his clothing, Crawford
knew immediately it was Dr. Fell. For a
minute, he simply stood there, wondering if his neighbor was out to determine
what was his of their local plain.
A beat or two of silence passed, and no movement
came from either side. Hesitantly,
Crawford decided to call to him. After
all, Ardelia Mapp had mentioned him earlier, and that would do for an
introduction. But when he opened his
mouth, he felt the will to speak drown.
The man on the lawn seemed content in his solitude, undisturbed and
wishing to remain that way.
He was staring intently across the bay. With some measure of curiosity, Crawford
turned his eyes in the direction of East Egg.
He distinguished nothing that hadn't been there before, except a single
green light, flickering on and off against the night, that might have been at
the end of a dock.
When Crawford looked again to Dr. Fell, he was not
there. Once more, he was alone in the
unquiet darkness.
* * *