7
Clarice found, with some surprise, that in the moments following Dr. Lecter's statement she had allowed him to lead her into the cottage. Apparently without protest or struggle, either. She didn't quite remember him taking her by the hand, or opening the door, or stepping inside. She was too busy, assimilating the knowledge that Greg was lost, and had been lost before she made the foolhardy decision to come out here. Now she didn't know what to do.
Dr. Lecter, with the impeccable manners that always attended him, led her to a small but elegant table and pulled out a chair for her to seat herself in. As she slowly sat her eyes were constantly moving, searching for that one thing that may make the difference... however, the only utensils at the two place settings on the table were spoons. Knives and forks had been forgone, as Dr. Lecter had too good of a sense to supply her with ready weapons.
He, the doctor, had busied himself with first lighting the candles on the table, to give the proper soft lighting, and seemed to be paying no attention to Clarice. Of course, she was paying complete attention to him, and it was this that gave her the only hope she had of getting out of here... it was behind him, visible when he moved a bit to the left, was a small elegant table. On top of which rested a phone. It seemed odd that he'd overlook such a detail, but it was possible he thought for sure that she wouldn't be able to get to it, as it was on the other side of the table from her.
"If you will excuse me a just moment, Clarice, I will bring in the first course," Lecter offered cordially. Once she nodded at him, reluctantly though it was, he turned to go into what she presumed was the kitchen... and it was then that she noticed the odor.
He must have taken the lid off a pot, she thought to herself as she silently rose from her chair to edge her way around the table. She wasn't quite sure as to whether she should laugh or cry at the way her stomach began growling immediately, and she became suddenly aware of what a mess she was, as well as the mess she was in. Only a few hours of sleep, and not a decent meal, not to mention the shocks that she'd encountered so recently.
"I just never get a break," she whispered to herself with morbid amusement, as she picked up the handset to the phone, and shot a cautious look towards the kitchen. She could see his back through the doorway, and he seemed to be adding spices to the mentioned soup. She dialed.
**********
When Hannibal reappeared with a bowl of soup in each hand, Clarice had retaken her seat, and didn't appear to have moved an inch. A glance might prove that the handset was still slightly off the cradle, due to her haste in sitting down again... but she hoped fervently that he wouldn't notice.
"Would you care for some wine, Clarice? Last time we dined together, you never drank yours... I'm afraid the drugs were making you feel a bit nauseated," Dr. Lecter asked, not appearing to notice the phone in the slightest as he set her soup down before her.
One glance at the soup, and Clarice nodded, jaw clenched tight. The soup was the precise color of blood - which didn't necessarily mean anything, in truth. In fact, the redness was undoubtedly due to tomatoes. Surely, tomatoes. But it struck a chord in her heart, and she knew she needed the wine, regardless of whether or not it was a good idea.
The wine, of course, was expensive. He poured it generously, a full glass for each of them before he began to speak, to broach the true topic of this evening's dinner. "Now, I'm quite sure you're wondering why you are here, 'Agent' Starling."
Clarice's eyes flickered briefly to the phone behind him, wondering how long it would take for the police to arrive, and how long she would have to endure this man's torture. "The question did cross my mind, Dr. Lecter."
"Of course it did, and I must apologize for having deceived you, in letting you believe that Mr. Smythe was alive and well, and waiting for his precious Clare to come save him. I had a feeling it would be all that would induce you to come with me."
Greg's voice... Clare, Clare, Clare. I'm sorry Clare... did you have any idea, Clare?
How did he know? Starling didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say, nothing that she could think of. She just drank her wine, and waited for the next words to be spoken in his elegant manner, to wrench out her heart and mess with her head.
"Just keep in mind that I intend for you to survive this night. You will, if you do what I say."
His voice was oddly distant sounding to her ear.
"I'm afraid, before I continue with what I was saying, I must ask your forgiveness again..."
He hadn't touched his wine. He hadn't had so much as a sip, she realized, with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"I don't think you should have any more of that," Lecter said, and reached across to take away her wine. "I don't want you asleep, just numbed... and harmless, so that we may both get through this with little difficulty."
He drugged the bloody wine, Clarice realized, resignation mingling with her fear. She was completely harmless, and helpless. Regardless of what he did, her hope of beating him off physically was pretty much nil, now.
Dr. Lecter rose from his chair, and rounded the table to stand beside Clarice, where she struggled to keep her eyes open against the drugs raging through her system. "Against my better judgment, Clarice, I am going to help you. Help your position, in the grand F.B.I... or, really I ought to say I am going to help you keep your current position, as I don't imagine anything I could do tonight would advance you much."
That took a moment to process in Starling's mind, to break through the other thoughts swirling around in her head to make contact. "Why?" she managed to murmur, clenching her hands on the edge of the table to keep herself upright. Whatever he'd given her was working fast.
"It does seem odd, doesn't it Clarice? Seeing the run-ins I've had with the F.B.I. it would make more sense if I were trying to get you out of that cesspool, rather than keep you in it. Can you think of no possible explanation? Hm? No? Surely you know how much you please me, Clarice. If you lose your job, then I'll just get another mindless meal chasing me... and that gets tedious. Very tedious."
She could feel it as he reached out to her, and traced one finger over her cheek. She didn't pull away, as she knew that if she did she would likely fall off her chair. If nothing else, she had to keep at least some level of dignity. It was ridiculous, thinking about dignity when she was in this situation. His finger, once running across her cheek brushed briefly and tenderly across her lips, before the doctor stepped away to gather something behind her, something that clanked with metal.
That's my girl… the kiss... oh god, the kiss... the kiss, then the handcuffs
That's what the metallic sound was, she realized about an instant before he was gently arranging her hands behind her chair so that he could cuff them. She could practically feel his distaste at treating her like this, and was still in the dark as to why he was going against his usual etiquette... when it was quite obvious that she was going nowhere in her drugged up state.
"Now listen carefully, Clarice," Dr. Lecter began, once he had ensured that she was secured well. "I am not enjoying this, but to make sure we have a long and happy future together, you must do what I say... are you listening, Clarice?"
She managed a nod to show she was listening to every word he spoke, though she understood not a word of what he was going on about. Future?
"Good. The police will be here soon. Yes, I know you called them. I wanted you to, Clarice, as it was the only way that this was going to work... I've been planning this for awhile, now. When they get here, they will find you just as you are now. They will have apparently scared me away seconds before I killed you... that, I believe, should clear you of blame in aiding me escape. You are obviously helpless to stop me, drugged and chained, and I don't think it will be drawn into question by anyone but the tabloids, who will undoubtedly see some satanic mating ritual in all this."
Clarice's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of all this... so many questions, and the only one her drugged tongue managed to utter was "Killed me?"
"Before I killed you, Clarice, of course. I'll be careful, don't worry. Now, what you're going to tell them, Clarice... this is important, now. I kidnapped you from your so-called protective custody. You woke up in my car on the way here, already handcuffed. When you got here, I left you alone to go begin our meal, courtesy of Mr. Smythe. You called the police, knowing that your fellow agents would not abandon you to such a monster, and from then on you drank your wine to oblige me... and ended up drugged, by my design. I, being the madman that I am, grew angry when you did not eat my soup, prepared so carefully for your enjoyment. That's when the police arrived."
"When you got angry?"
"Yes, Clarice."
That, that is when she noticed the other thing he had taken from the table when he'd gotten the handcuffs. A hunting knife, long and sleek, gleamed in his hand. Perfect condition, no doubt... and razor sharp, to be sure. That is when it finally clicked in Starling's mind by what he meant by 'before he killed her'. She gave a few half-hearted tugs to the chain holding her to the chair, but knew there was no way to escape it. He was going to stab her. When the police arrived.
It seemed that thought had barely flashed through her mind when the familiar flashing red and blue lights started washing through the window, as the train of cars bounced up the uneven path. They, apparently, had decided that it didn't matter if there was no road... once they'd figured out the path, they just would forge ahead and create a road of their own.
Clarice stared out the window for a moment, and silently raised her eyes to Hannibal's face, alternately washed in red and blue. She knew it was coming, even before she saw his arm move. Even before she felt the sharp burst of pain in her side, and saw his blade come away stained red. Or purple, when the blue lights throbbed outside. She bit back a whimper, as the cut along her side, just below her ribcage, began to sting in protest of the air.
"So strong. Now, make me proud, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, apparently in no rush as he spoke... then bent down to press his lips against hers.
The kiss lasted only an instant. It felt like an eternity, in Clarice's mind, before he pulled away to brush a fond hand over her hair.
"See you soon. Ta-ta."
And he was gone. How he was gone, or how he managed to escape, were two questions that would never be answered. The police rushed in, and medics... apparently an ambulance had been brought along, just in case. Lucky me, Clarice found herself thinking dazedly.
Everything started blurring. The faces of the medics and police above her turned into one multi-colored blur, awash in red and blue from the lights. Red and blue, over and over and over again... and never again would she be able to see those lights without thinking of this night. She'd always think of this night, and her lips would burn in memory.
**********
Author's Note: Thanks go, this time, to Steel, aello, SJ, StrawberryLecter, and Nanci! I love you all. One chapter left to go, I think.
Clarice found, with some surprise, that in the moments following Dr. Lecter's statement she had allowed him to lead her into the cottage. Apparently without protest or struggle, either. She didn't quite remember him taking her by the hand, or opening the door, or stepping inside. She was too busy, assimilating the knowledge that Greg was lost, and had been lost before she made the foolhardy decision to come out here. Now she didn't know what to do.
Dr. Lecter, with the impeccable manners that always attended him, led her to a small but elegant table and pulled out a chair for her to seat herself in. As she slowly sat her eyes were constantly moving, searching for that one thing that may make the difference... however, the only utensils at the two place settings on the table were spoons. Knives and forks had been forgone, as Dr. Lecter had too good of a sense to supply her with ready weapons.
He, the doctor, had busied himself with first lighting the candles on the table, to give the proper soft lighting, and seemed to be paying no attention to Clarice. Of course, she was paying complete attention to him, and it was this that gave her the only hope she had of getting out of here... it was behind him, visible when he moved a bit to the left, was a small elegant table. On top of which rested a phone. It seemed odd that he'd overlook such a detail, but it was possible he thought for sure that she wouldn't be able to get to it, as it was on the other side of the table from her.
"If you will excuse me a just moment, Clarice, I will bring in the first course," Lecter offered cordially. Once she nodded at him, reluctantly though it was, he turned to go into what she presumed was the kitchen... and it was then that she noticed the odor.
He must have taken the lid off a pot, she thought to herself as she silently rose from her chair to edge her way around the table. She wasn't quite sure as to whether she should laugh or cry at the way her stomach began growling immediately, and she became suddenly aware of what a mess she was, as well as the mess she was in. Only a few hours of sleep, and not a decent meal, not to mention the shocks that she'd encountered so recently.
"I just never get a break," she whispered to herself with morbid amusement, as she picked up the handset to the phone, and shot a cautious look towards the kitchen. She could see his back through the doorway, and he seemed to be adding spices to the mentioned soup. She dialed.
**********
When Hannibal reappeared with a bowl of soup in each hand, Clarice had retaken her seat, and didn't appear to have moved an inch. A glance might prove that the handset was still slightly off the cradle, due to her haste in sitting down again... but she hoped fervently that he wouldn't notice.
"Would you care for some wine, Clarice? Last time we dined together, you never drank yours... I'm afraid the drugs were making you feel a bit nauseated," Dr. Lecter asked, not appearing to notice the phone in the slightest as he set her soup down before her.
One glance at the soup, and Clarice nodded, jaw clenched tight. The soup was the precise color of blood - which didn't necessarily mean anything, in truth. In fact, the redness was undoubtedly due to tomatoes. Surely, tomatoes. But it struck a chord in her heart, and she knew she needed the wine, regardless of whether or not it was a good idea.
The wine, of course, was expensive. He poured it generously, a full glass for each of them before he began to speak, to broach the true topic of this evening's dinner. "Now, I'm quite sure you're wondering why you are here, 'Agent' Starling."
Clarice's eyes flickered briefly to the phone behind him, wondering how long it would take for the police to arrive, and how long she would have to endure this man's torture. "The question did cross my mind, Dr. Lecter."
"Of course it did, and I must apologize for having deceived you, in letting you believe that Mr. Smythe was alive and well, and waiting for his precious Clare to come save him. I had a feeling it would be all that would induce you to come with me."
Greg's voice... Clare, Clare, Clare. I'm sorry Clare... did you have any idea, Clare?
How did he know? Starling didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say, nothing that she could think of. She just drank her wine, and waited for the next words to be spoken in his elegant manner, to wrench out her heart and mess with her head.
"Just keep in mind that I intend for you to survive this night. You will, if you do what I say."
His voice was oddly distant sounding to her ear.
"I'm afraid, before I continue with what I was saying, I must ask your forgiveness again..."
He hadn't touched his wine. He hadn't had so much as a sip, she realized, with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"I don't think you should have any more of that," Lecter said, and reached across to take away her wine. "I don't want you asleep, just numbed... and harmless, so that we may both get through this with little difficulty."
He drugged the bloody wine, Clarice realized, resignation mingling with her fear. She was completely harmless, and helpless. Regardless of what he did, her hope of beating him off physically was pretty much nil, now.
Dr. Lecter rose from his chair, and rounded the table to stand beside Clarice, where she struggled to keep her eyes open against the drugs raging through her system. "Against my better judgment, Clarice, I am going to help you. Help your position, in the grand F.B.I... or, really I ought to say I am going to help you keep your current position, as I don't imagine anything I could do tonight would advance you much."
That took a moment to process in Starling's mind, to break through the other thoughts swirling around in her head to make contact. "Why?" she managed to murmur, clenching her hands on the edge of the table to keep herself upright. Whatever he'd given her was working fast.
"It does seem odd, doesn't it Clarice? Seeing the run-ins I've had with the F.B.I. it would make more sense if I were trying to get you out of that cesspool, rather than keep you in it. Can you think of no possible explanation? Hm? No? Surely you know how much you please me, Clarice. If you lose your job, then I'll just get another mindless meal chasing me... and that gets tedious. Very tedious."
She could feel it as he reached out to her, and traced one finger over her cheek. She didn't pull away, as she knew that if she did she would likely fall off her chair. If nothing else, she had to keep at least some level of dignity. It was ridiculous, thinking about dignity when she was in this situation. His finger, once running across her cheek brushed briefly and tenderly across her lips, before the doctor stepped away to gather something behind her, something that clanked with metal.
That's my girl… the kiss... oh god, the kiss... the kiss, then the handcuffs
That's what the metallic sound was, she realized about an instant before he was gently arranging her hands behind her chair so that he could cuff them. She could practically feel his distaste at treating her like this, and was still in the dark as to why he was going against his usual etiquette... when it was quite obvious that she was going nowhere in her drugged up state.
"Now listen carefully, Clarice," Dr. Lecter began, once he had ensured that she was secured well. "I am not enjoying this, but to make sure we have a long and happy future together, you must do what I say... are you listening, Clarice?"
She managed a nod to show she was listening to every word he spoke, though she understood not a word of what he was going on about. Future?
"Good. The police will be here soon. Yes, I know you called them. I wanted you to, Clarice, as it was the only way that this was going to work... I've been planning this for awhile, now. When they get here, they will find you just as you are now. They will have apparently scared me away seconds before I killed you... that, I believe, should clear you of blame in aiding me escape. You are obviously helpless to stop me, drugged and chained, and I don't think it will be drawn into question by anyone but the tabloids, who will undoubtedly see some satanic mating ritual in all this."
Clarice's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of all this... so many questions, and the only one her drugged tongue managed to utter was "Killed me?"
"Before I killed you, Clarice, of course. I'll be careful, don't worry. Now, what you're going to tell them, Clarice... this is important, now. I kidnapped you from your so-called protective custody. You woke up in my car on the way here, already handcuffed. When you got here, I left you alone to go begin our meal, courtesy of Mr. Smythe. You called the police, knowing that your fellow agents would not abandon you to such a monster, and from then on you drank your wine to oblige me... and ended up drugged, by my design. I, being the madman that I am, grew angry when you did not eat my soup, prepared so carefully for your enjoyment. That's when the police arrived."
"When you got angry?"
"Yes, Clarice."
That, that is when she noticed the other thing he had taken from the table when he'd gotten the handcuffs. A hunting knife, long and sleek, gleamed in his hand. Perfect condition, no doubt... and razor sharp, to be sure. That is when it finally clicked in Starling's mind by what he meant by 'before he killed her'. She gave a few half-hearted tugs to the chain holding her to the chair, but knew there was no way to escape it. He was going to stab her. When the police arrived.
It seemed that thought had barely flashed through her mind when the familiar flashing red and blue lights started washing through the window, as the train of cars bounced up the uneven path. They, apparently, had decided that it didn't matter if there was no road... once they'd figured out the path, they just would forge ahead and create a road of their own.
Clarice stared out the window for a moment, and silently raised her eyes to Hannibal's face, alternately washed in red and blue. She knew it was coming, even before she saw his arm move. Even before she felt the sharp burst of pain in her side, and saw his blade come away stained red. Or purple, when the blue lights throbbed outside. She bit back a whimper, as the cut along her side, just below her ribcage, began to sting in protest of the air.
"So strong. Now, make me proud, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, apparently in no rush as he spoke... then bent down to press his lips against hers.
The kiss lasted only an instant. It felt like an eternity, in Clarice's mind, before he pulled away to brush a fond hand over her hair.
"See you soon. Ta-ta."
And he was gone. How he was gone, or how he managed to escape, were two questions that would never be answered. The police rushed in, and medics... apparently an ambulance had been brought along, just in case. Lucky me, Clarice found herself thinking dazedly.
Everything started blurring. The faces of the medics and police above her turned into one multi-colored blur, awash in red and blue from the lights. Red and blue, over and over and over again... and never again would she be able to see those lights without thinking of this night. She'd always think of this night, and her lips would burn in memory.
**********
Author's Note: Thanks go, this time, to Steel, aello, SJ, StrawberryLecter, and Nanci! I love you all. One chapter left to go, I think.
