"I need to give you an injection," he said, holding up the syringe. Her eyes tracked it.

"What is it?" she asked fearfully.

"Immunosuppressants," he answered, although it was not so. "You do know transplanted organs require that."

He took an alcohol wipe and wiped a small spot on her arm. She watched him with trepidation. When he brought the needle up, she grasped his wrist.

"What is that?" she asked again.

"I told you. Immunosuppressants."

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked then. Dr. Lecter supposed that was closer to what was on her mind.

"Because you need it," he said, a note of impatience entering her voice. "You must keep in mind what I've already done to you."

She shrank back, but released his wrist and allowed him to give her the shot. Dr. Lecter performed a few basic physical exams while he waited for the injection to take effect. Within ten minutes or so, it had. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was slow and logy.

Dr. Lecter was pleased. The drug was a major hypnotic. He wished that such drugs had existed when he was practicing psychiatry; they did much of his work for him. Looking down at his drugged and relaxed charge, he began to whisper gently to her. At first she answered him back a few times and fought him; the fear was still very present and very real. And, Dr. Lecter had to admit, very justified. Once he was able to convince her that she was in no danger currently or in the future, he was surprised at how easily she went under. He suspected there might be interesting things to learn.

Finally, once he had gotten her into deep hypnosis, he began his real work.

"Does your back hurt, Erin?" he asked. His tone was paternal and concerned.

"Yes."

"When you feel my breath, your back will stop hurting. No pain at all will bother you." He leaned forward and pursed his lips as if to kiss her. Instead, he exhaled sharply. She jerked.

"Do you feel pain now?"

"No."

He was satisfied. Now, he began to pry a bit more at the doors of her mind. He discovered, tellingly, that she had lost her father as a girl. He mulled a bit over the coincidence and asked if her father had been a policeman. She gave him a vague smile and said no, he had been an electrician. He discovered that everything she had she had been forced to work for; that she resented those classmates of hers who had everything given to them. She hated the coffee shop and thought the manager she worked for wanted to get in her pants. Several older men frequented the coffee shop to check out her body and tried to see if she would see them on the side. She did not like that, and had thought he might be one of them. Dr. Lecter assured her he was not interested in a carnal relationship.

He brought her up a bit, so that she could see and think.

"Now once you leave here," he said, "there are people who will want to talk to you. Some of them are your enemies. You must tell them the wrong things. You must not appear to lie, but do not give them what they seek."

"Why should I lie?" she asked.

Dr. Lecter handed her a black and white picture. "Open your eyes, please." She obeyed, looking down at the middle-aged man with the thin, pinched face in the photograph.

"That man's name is Jack Crawford," Dr. Lecter told her. "He is an FBI agent. He will want you to tell him about me; he will expect you to tell him that my name is Hannibal Lecter."

"Hannibal the Cannibal," she mused.

"Do you know of him?"

"From the papers. He ate people in Baltimore a long time ago. Then he escaped." Her tone indicated no realization she was speaking of the man sitting beside her bed.

Dr. Lecter hadn't expected her to realize his true identity, but was still pleased with himself.

"You must not tell him," he said. "Jack Crawford has been to your coffee shop before; he has kept a close eye on your body."

She didn't respond. All right, he thought.

"Jack Crawford wants you to work the rest of your life in that coffee bar," he said. "He doesn't want you to finish medical school. He would like to force you into poverty so that you'd be forced to accept his advances. He wants you to be forced to invite him into your bed."

Erin twitched. "Why? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did," he explained. "Jack Crawford is a dangerous, obsessive man. He'll try to make you name Hannibal Lecter as your assailant. He'll have the kidneys taken out of you and given to someone else. Then he'll talk to the registrar at your medical school to have you removed."

"Asshole," Erin mumbled. Although Dr. Lecter normally disliked profanity, he couldn't help but find it amusing under these circumstances. The edifice he was trying to build in her mind – just a small trap door, really – was taking form.

"But you can stop him, Erin."

"How?"

"When he asks you who did this to you, tell him that it was Dr. Robert Lawson." He handed her a picture of an older, bearded man with glasses. This actually was the late Dr. Lawson, before Dr. Lecter had killed him and buried him at a highway rest stop. "Memorize this picture, Erin. Memorize everything about it."

Erin studied the picture for several minutes. Once Dr. Lecter was satisfied, he took the picture back.

"Very good," he said approvingly. "Now, there is someone else you should know about. She is also an FBI agent. Her name is Clarice Starling."

"Starling," Erin slurred back.

"Yes. She's not much older than you are. A striking woman with brown hair." He sighed, consciously refraining from telling his drugged and hypnotized charge about how striking she was.

"Is she against me too?"

"No. Agent Starling is not your enemy, Erin. But she works in the service of those who are. She'll tell you I'm dangerous. Sbe'll mean it well, and she'll be very sympathetic to you, and you'll be tempted to tell her everything she wants to know. But it's not the right time."

Erin nodded.

Dr. Lecter continued the session until dinnertime, when he brought her as far up as the drugs would allow. Then he brought in the wheelchair he had purchased, lifted her carefully into it, and rolled her into the kitchen. For dinner tonight, he had cooked lamb chops. Not quite up to his usual standards, but these past few days had kept him busy.

She picked at her food, he noted. It didn't surprise him; she had been through a lot. He made a note to look up the drugs he had given her to see if any of them had an anorexic effect. She was still sleepy from the drugs and did not make much conversation.