The drive into the city was uneventful. Dr. Lecter inserted a Mozart CD into the car's CD player. It was quite peaceful, he thought. Perhaps Cadillacs were not so bad. He felt wrapped up in his own little world, a world of carpets and leather seats and pleasant music, as his car raced along the highway towards the city.

It was eight-thirty by the time he arrived. That was for the best, even though the coffee shop closed at nine. He knew that Erin worked this shift, and she closed up. She usually preferred to close up alone. He pushed open the door and walked inside. The shop was not terribly busy, and he was able to get a seat right at the bar. Erin was her usual flurry of motion, from hither to yon and back again. When she saw him, she smiled.

"Hi, Dr. Lawson," she said. "What would you like today?"

"Any recommendations?"

"We've got a nice almond amaretto in today," she said.

"I'll try that, then. Thank you."

"Espresso or cappucino?"

"Espresso, please."

He watched her flit to the coffee machine and heard the machine make its loud bray. A few minutes later, she poured it into a cup and gave it to him.

"Two-twenty-five, please," she said with practice.

Dr. Lecter handed it to her along with a two-dollar tip. He sipped at it and found it quite good. When he finished, he ordered another. Although closing time was approaching quickly, she did not make faces at him, as some of the other staff did.

"How is medical school?" he asked.

"Fine. Keeping me busy."

"Have you read the article in JAMA that I recommended to you?"

She thought for a moment. "Yes, I did. It was interesting. Thank you for pointing it out."

"I think he's mistaken, though."

The shop was calming down as customers left. She had a moment to pause and stood on the other side of the bar from him.

"You're a psychiatrist," she objected.

"I have worked in trauma before."

"But once it comes time for a thoractomy, things are pretty bad anyway. Maybe his technique will save a few people."

"His case examples are self-serving," Dr. Lecter observed. "For every person it saves it will kill two others. It will only work for a certain type of gunshot wound."

"I guess you'd know better," she admitted. "I'm not even an intern yet."

"You'll get there."

Closing time came, and Dr. Lecter had only finished half of his espresso. Another employee came up to Erin and asked about leaving. Erin told him to finish up a few small chores and go. They continued discussing medicine until it was ten minutes past closing time. The other employee in the bar stacked up the chairs on the tables. Then he interrupted to announce that he was leaving. Dr. Lecter glanced at him as if nervous.

"That's okay," Erin assured him. "We don't put up the bar stools."

"If you need to close up, I'll leave," Dr. Lecter offered. "I certainly don't want to keep you from your studies."

Erin eyed him carefully. She was weighing something in her mind; doing her job the way it was supposed to be done or humoring the big tipper. Dr. Lecter removed a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the counter. It was enough to tip the balance in his favor, apparently.

"No, you can stay," she said. "I just have to balance my drawer and lock up, then you have to go."

Balancing her drawer took only a few minutes; she rarely made drawer mistakes. It took slightly longer to run through the checklist of the closing ritual: lock back doors, drop the cash in the drop safe, get the lights, arm the alarm system. Dr. Lecter stood politely by the door as she approached to lock it.

"May I walk you to your car?" he asked, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his camel's hair overcoat, even though he wore gloves.

Erin smiled at him ruefully. For a moment, he was reminded overwhelmingly of Clarice Starling.

"I don't have a car," she said. "I take the bus." She punched in the code to arm the alarm, and Dr. Lecter memorized it.

"I can give you a ride, if you like," Dr. Lecter offered graciously.

Her mouth twitched. He supposed she was going to the dialysis center. She tried to hide her illness, and would not want to share it with him. Ah, but my dear, if my hypothesis is correct, you'll never need to see that temple of misery again, he thought.

"No, that's OK. Thank you, though. I don't want to inconvenience you." She flipped the sign to CLOSED, shut the door, and set the lock. On the other side of the door, the alarm box shifted from green to red and announced this with a high-pitched beep.

Dr. Lecter took his left hand from his pocket. In it was a cloth soaked in ether. He removed his empty right hand from his pocket and flexed it. When he moved, he moved quickly.

"I insist," he said, and grabbed Erin's right wrist with his right hand. He expertly maneuvered her against the wall. Dr. Lecter was much stronger than he looked, and the girl had little chance. He felt her take a deep breath to scream and covered her lower face with the rag.

She fought him, but it was to no avail. Dr. Lecter glanced up and down the street. People were on the sidewalks, but so far no one had paid them any attention. He needed to get her inside, quickly, or that would change. Her keys still hung in the door lock, and he let her right hand go. He grabbed the key and twisted it. The light above the keypad flicked from green to red and emitted a threatening beep. He pulled her into the darkened espresso bar and entered the code he had seen her use. The alarm shifted back to green, emitted a mollified chirp, and bothered him no more.

He locked the door behind him, groping with his free right hand as he kept her up and held the cloth over her mouth and nose. He was easily strong enough to hold her with one arm, but physics applied to him as everyone else; he had difficulty getting the leverage he needed. Once inside the bar, he was able to use both hands to control her. She succeeded in knocking one chair off its table, which attracted no attention from those outside. Her struggles were already growing weaker, and within a few minutes she went limp against him. Once unconscious, she was quite light and easier to control.

He made his way through the bar to the back door, which opened onto a grubby alleyway. Parked near the back door was his leased Cadillac. Dr. Lecter hauled his captive over to it, grabbed the passenger-side doorhandle, and stuffed her inside. That done, he went over to his own side, opened it, and set about securing her. He fastened the seat belt on her and tied the rag so that it stayed on by itself. That would work, he thought; even if it slipped off he would have ample time to replace it before she could stir enough to resist him.

Satisfied, Dr. Lecter started the Cadillac and prepared to drive home. He had not been a fan of Cadillacs before his incarceration – it was nothing like the supercharged Bentley he had owned prior to his incarceration. Still, it met his desire for luxury and his desire to be inconspicuous. A Bentley or a Jaguar would have drawn too much attention to him. While the Cadillac was a step below his normal standards, it had its charms. The side windows were tinted; he would have privacy.

He drove home with his prize, to the house he had rented in the country. It took him perhaps ninety minutes. She did not stir on the ride home. Once there, it was much easier to move her into the house and to the operating theater he had set up in the basement. The donor was already there, although by now, Dr. Lecter believed she would be brain dead. She had certainly been sucking gas long enough.

Dr. Lecter had already set up what he needed. He had made sure to eat beforehand and sleep late. The procedure would need to be done quickly, and he did not have the luxury of a surgical team. A normal surgeon could not have done it, but Dr. Lecter knew he could. He had, after all, spent eight years on a ward for the criminally insane listening to madmen howl out their demons for hours on end. It was merely a question of will and desire.

He carried her down to the pre-op room he had set up and laid her on the gurney there. His fingers moving with a smooth economy of motion, he cut her clothing off with a set of EMT shears. He attached the electrodes of an EKG to her chest. Unlike most men would have done, he paid no attention at all to her breasts; there wasn't time for that and he considered it rude, anyway. As a psychiatrist, he knew the value of trust. And a person must trust their surgeon as well as their psychiatrist. He inserted an IV butterfly into the back of her hand and started a saline drip. He rolled her carefully onto her stomach, turning her face to the side. Then he replaced the rag with a proper mask hooked to a tank of isoflurane. The mask's rasping provided him ample opportunity to monitor her breathing.

Dr. Lecter rolled her into the operating theater and took the opportunity to scrub up at a nearby sink. It wasn't exactly surgical procedure, but he believed it would do. He had scrubbed the room down with Betadine and disinfectant. He also had antibiotics at the ready for Erin, and the donor would not be concerned in any case.

Dr. Lecter had a cap, gown, mask, and gloves ready to go on a hanger, since he had no surgical nurse to help him. After donning his gear, he walked in between the cot the donor lay on and the gurney that his charge lay on. He lifted his scalpel from a tray.

"Very well then," he said to the empty air and two unconscious women. "Let the experiment begin."

It took almost fifteen hours from start to finish. Dr. Lecter did not care about the donor, of course, but he did intend for his charge to survive the procedure. It took a few hours to free the first organ. He had decided to tranplant it first, then go back for the other one once he was satisfied it was alive. He knew well that his incision would most likely be on his charge's back for life, and this displeased him. Rather than mar her with a single straight slash, Dr. Lecter carefully carved a curving S-shape with curled tips into her back. She would be marked, yes, but perhaps the markings would be easier to bear if they were attractive. Like a Stradivarius violin, Dr. Lecter thought as he carefully sutured Erin's blood vessels to her new kidney. The old one Dr. Lecter had simply dropped in a medical-waste bowl. When he finally removed the clamps and saw the kidney turn pink, glistening with life, he simply smiled, nodded, and turned to the donor to get the other one.

When all was said and done, Dr. Lecter was exhausted. He did not show it, thought, and he discharged his responsibilities to his charge admirably. He rolled the gurney carefully up a ramp to the outside of the house and then in through the double doors on the ground floor. He would have preferred to avoid the trip outside, but he judged it as the lesser evil to taking her off the gurney.

She had just had major surgery, after all.

Back in the house, he rolled the gurney to the white room he had decided his charge would spend her convalescence. He set her on the bed as carefully as any mother ever handled her newborn. He sighed. Now came some unpleasantries.

Dr. Lecter selected a Foley catheter and inserted it. She was still anesthetized and did not move. It was a simple matter to hook the tubing to a plastic collection bag attached to the side of her bed. Dr. Lecter thought catheterization a particularly demeaning act, and was not pleased with having to do it to his charge. His displeasure was mollified as he saw liquid begin to flow into the bag already.

Next, he took from a drawer a set of institutional restraints. Dr. Lecter had seen these used often on the cellblock, but never on him: Chilton had known those were much too lenient for him. These were simple, tan leather cuffs, designed to fit around the average person's wrists. Again, Dr. Lecter did not particularly enjoy tying down his charge, but he deemed it medically necessary. He fastened them around her upper arms just above the elbows instead of her wrists; they were very small, and this would allow her at least some dignity.

From the same drawer, he took a set of white silk pajamas. He had already cut a hole in the pajama pants for the catheter tube, as well as slits in the sleeves to allow for the cuffs. He had attached two nylon straps to the bed itself; these he threaded through the slits and attached to the cuffs. When she woke, she would be able to move her lower arms somewhat, but not her upper arms or her body. Better that she not attempt to wander or escape once she awoke. Not until he had the chance to speak with her and explain what had been done to her.

He thought for a moment and fastened another strap around her wrists, but one she could undo. It was merely to keep her hands out of her face and to ensure the IV needle in the back of her hand remained safe. Until the experiment was complete, she was his charge, after all. It was his responsibility. He knew she would sleep for at least three more hours and allotted himself two hours.

The thought of his bed was quite welcome. Dr. Lecter injected her first series of drugs into the IV and then tucked a comforter around her. He was concerned about infection and gave her extra antibiotics just in case.

He went down to his own bedroom and laid down for his two-hour nap. It seemed to him that almost as soon as he closed his eyes, he was awake again. A glance at the clock ensured that one hundred and twenty minutes had gone by. He arose, splashed cold water on his face, and went downstairs, where he took the donor's body out to the outside shed. Before he buried the body, he took care to remove the money from her grasp. Then to the kitchen, where he made himself a quick meal and returned to Erin's sickroom. He brought a book with him and sat down in the chair by her bedside.

Quietly, he began to read, looking up at her every few moments.