Dr. Lecter called the Medic Alert toll-free number later that evening.

"Medic Alert, can I help you?"

"Yes, my name is Dr. Robert Lawson. A young girl has passed out on the sidewalk near my house, and she's wearing your bracelet."

"What is the number, please?"

Dr. Lecter gave the operator the number off Erin's bracelet.

"OK," the operator said. "That's Erin Lander. Blood type O, dialysis patient."

"Do you happen to have her tissue type?"

"I'm sorry, no. Just blood type and dialysis."

"I see. That's hardly your fault. Thank you so much."

"Mm-hmm, thank you for calling."

Dr. Lecter sat back and considered. He had the time and the money. He knew he would have to hide out here for a month or so before his papers would be ready. This might be an interesting experiment…a welcome means of diversion. And what a wonderful way to thumb his nose at the medical establishment it would be. Of course, if he was to do this, he would need to do it right: she would need to be kept under his control for about a week. And he could not exactly hire a visiting nurse, so all of the responsibility for her care would fall on him. Dr. Lecter wasn't terribly concerned about the FBI, but he did have to keep them in mind. No, for him, the question was mostly one of whether or not he was able to take her on as his charge or not. For once he had, it must be done right or not at all.

Yes, he thought. The house, the car, and the furnishing of this temporary life were all good enough, but not what he had been used to. He preferred the finest things in life. To him, the large country house with its furnishings and china were a step below. He could sit here in this house for a month and hide, but he knew that he would become resentful. Resentful of the location of the house, for not being close to the opera and theater. Resentful of the Cadillac, for not being a Jaguar. Resentful of the china in the cabinet, for not being Gien French. Resentful of himself, for having to live a step below his usual standards. This would occupy his mind, at least, and give him something to do.

Well, he would do some research first. His computer had a cable modem, which he liked a great deal. He thought the web was a simply wonderful invention: it enabled him to track down rare books and gourmet food. Quite a signal-to-noise problem, though. After a moment or two of reflection, he sat down at the computer he had purchased and opened several browser windows.

He cruised to amazon.com, google.com, and several vendors of medical textbooks. In each search window he typed the words 'kidney transplant'. He ordered several books for next-day shipping and reviewed a few articles. Little of the information was for a doctor's level of understanding; it was mostly for patients.

The next morning, Dr. Lecter checked the local hospitals against the list of transplant centers on the UNOS website. Once he found the proper one, he called its main number, explained what he wanted, and successfully navigated the bureaucracy until he spoke to a very charming older woman with the transplant program. He told her Erin Lander was a patient of his, and he would like a copy of her medical records with them, if he could trouble them for that. The woman on the other end of the line stated that she would be happy to, once they had a signed release form from the patient. She offered to send or fax one to Dr. Lecter's office. Dr. Lecter gave her his fax number and thanked her very much.

Once he got it, he signed it with her name and set it beside his fax machine. He would send it later. Checking his doorstep revealed that the books he had ordered rush delivery had arrived. He decided to read those for a while and then send it towards the end of the day.

Dr. Lecter settled back with the books. He was not a surgeon by trade, but his more jaded tastes had cultivated his skills in the area of removing human body parts. As he read, he considered and thought, jotting notes in the margins in his old-fashioned copperplate. He read the books quickly, but was confident that he could have quoted back any page in any of them, had the need arisen.

After finishing four of the books, he faxed the release form back to the hospital. A few moments later, papers began spitting out of the fax machine. Dr. Lecter's fax machine was an excellent model with the best resolution, and he was able to glean most of what he needed from the file. There were a few wild doctor's scribblings he could not make heads or tails of, but he had what he needed.

"I've got you, Erin," he murmured as he opened another book and prepared to commit its contents to memory. "Now all I need is a donor."

When the fifth book was finished, Dr. Lecter was sure he would be able to do this. Not the way the books said to do it, but still he could do it. In fact, he believed his technique was better. All he needed was a victim. A particular victim, he knew; this must not be a slapdash effort. He needed someone whose tissue types were close to Erin's.

In the end, it proved to be simpler than Dr. Lecter had thought. He located another city, three hours away, and sought out the area that all cities had – the area for the working poor, barely blue-collar. He put up signs advertising a study and offered twenty dollars for a blood sample. Those of the desired blood and tissue types, the sign advised, would be offered the chance to be in a study of bone marrow for a thousand dollars apiece. Then it was merely a matter of renting a small office and waiting for business to boom.

There were quite a few takers, Dr. Lecter surmised. Most of these people were not willing to turn down twenty dollars for a simple vial of blood. Dr. Lecter was faintly amazed at how much personal data these people parted with willingly for the sum as well. He had to go to a medical supply company for more, but with Dr. Lawson's medical license it was as routine a transaction as buying soap.

Once he had a thousand, he sent them off and hoped for the best. This was costing him a bit of money, but he had, after all, ordered cases of wine costing twelve thousand dollars. Now that he had access to the money in his best-hidden accounts, the sum his experiment cost him was merely a rounding error.

He got them back a few days later, and in perusing the test results, he was pleased to find a possible donor. Five tissue matches out of six, about as good as he could expect from an unrelated donor. He telephoned the woman whose tissue matched from a pay phone.

"Good morning," he said on the phone. "I'm looking for Deirdre Richardson."

"At's me."

"Mrs. Richardson, I'm Dr. Lawson. You participated in a blood-type study a few days ago?"

"Yeah, I did. Why?"

"Your tissue types match up with my study. If you would like to participate, it would simply involve removing some excess tissue and some bone marrow."

"What's it pay?"

Dr. Lecter had counted on this. "The pay for subjects is one thousand dollars."

"A thousand!" He heard raucous, scratchy laughter emitting from nicotine-scarred lungs. "You got it, bub. Name the place."

"My office," he said. "Do you remember the address?"

"I got it off yer flyer," she grumbled.

"When would be convenient for you?"

"After six. I gotta work at the diner."

"Six-thirty, perhaps?"

"OK, see ya then."

The woman hung up on him. Dr. Lecter's lips pursed. The woman seemed to be quite rude.

At six-forty-five, the woman flounced into the furnished office Dr. Lecter had rented for a month. According to the form she had filled out, she was scarcely older than Erin, but looked twenty years older.

She grinned at Dr. Lecter with yellowing, discolored teeth and raised a hand.

"Hey," she wheezed.

"Good evening."

"So where's this study? Here?"

"Yes. Please come with me into the exam room."

"OK, whatever." She pushed past him through the hall and into the exam room. There was a stretcher there, and she flopped herself down on it. The stretcher emitted a faint 'wuff' as the cushions compressed under her.

"First I need to give you this injection," Dr. Lecter said, and did so.

"Whatever, doc. Just so I get my grand and blow this joint."

Dr. Lecter pretended to perform a few more basic medical tests until the tranquilizer took hold. Once the donor was unconscious, he rolled her out to the loading dock, where his Cadillac was parked. He dropped her into the trunk without effort. Before he closed the trunk door, he carefully placed fifty twenty-dollar bills in her limp hand.

"There you are," he said, and drove home.

At home, he brought her down to the basement, where he had set up a rudimentary operating theater. There was a cot there already, which he put her on. He cut away her clothes and strapped a mask over her face. The mask was attached to a canister of gas, which he turned on. The donor lay completely limp and unmoving. Just in case, he locked the door to the operating room. He thought he was being silly; with the mask and the gas constantly running, it was much more likely that the donor would be a brain- dead vegetable in a few hours than an escaped victim.

Well, the donor was here. Now he needed his recipient.