For the next few days, Chilton made a nuisance of himself, asking her incessantly about the details of her little interveiw with Dr. Charon. When she refused to comment, he threatened to take her books away, which made her laugh. After a while, he'd left her alone, amusing himself with slobbering all over a new, young, female orderly, although he would come by now and again to leer at Starling or to tell her with glee what a bad girl she'd been for mocking him. Clarice wondered what sort of woman would be interested in Fredrick Chilton.
Precisely six days from her visit from Hannibal Lector, Chilton came striding down the corridor, ignoring the hisses and catcalls from the prisoners. "Your visitor is here again, Miss Starling," he informed her with a snort, and then, with a greasy smile plastered on his greedy little face, he held out a plain envelope of standard letter size toward her. It was almost, but not quite, within an arm's reach of the bars. She had no doubt that he had already read whatever might be inside.
"This came in the mail today, with instructions to give it to you." His slippery grin faltered at the corners as she politely smiled, ignoring his words. He thrust the envelope through the bars, recoiling his hand abruptly as one would from a feral animal.
She took the envelope calmly, folded it carefully after noting the sloppy steam-and-re-tape job that he had done with the seal, and tucked it into her pillow. "Thank you, Dr. Chilton; I'll be sure to read it later." He frowned. "Don't you want to read it now?" "No." She graced him with a chilly smile that made him snort again, and then, with an exasperated flutter of his hand, he left her to her silent chamber.
*****
This time, Dr. Lector had foregone the hazel contact lenses and was simply wearing dark glasses. He removed these once he was in the flourescent glow of the hallway. He smiled faintly when he spoke. "Did you get my letter?"
"Yes, Dr. Charon, I did...I haven't read it yet...Chilton had already taken the liberty of opening it for me."
Hannibal smirked a little. "He's an interesting man, isn't he, Starling? Have you thought about what we discussed previously?"
"About Chilton, sir? I have, in fact." Her face had a mixture of anticipatory guilt and primal amusement painted upon it. She had been thinking about Chilton; especially about how much more interesting he'd be if he were...cut down to size. She smiled coldly, inwardly, at the concept.
Hannibal smiled, showing teeth, now, and they were very white. "I'm not going to make you decide his fate, of course, Clarice, I wouldn't want to mar that pristine moral conviction that you hold so highly." Clarice was not entirely certain that he was not trying to be cutting. It was always difficult to tell with Hannibal Lector.
Clarice inhaled deeply and held her breath for a moment before organizing her thoughts. "Would you like me to look at your letter now, Dr. Charon?"
"Go ahead, it doesn't matter, really, it's only a front...more or less to distract Chilton's prying eyes. You may open it whenever you wish...you will please excuse me; I have a pressing arrangement that I cannot be late for. I will return somewhat later on." He left her on that, and walked lesiurely up the corridor, hands folded neatly behind him, moving at a gentle pace as though he were strolling in the park amidst fragrant blossoms, smiling gently at the prisoners who silenced and withdrew from his prescence. The insane seemed to be able see more easily through the chinks in his human disguise, Clarice thought, much better than anyone stable and compansating. Or perhaps he simply commanded more respect from the mad than Fredrick Chilton could with his own haughty swagger and air of pitible contemptousness.
When she had heard the double gates swing open and then shut again, and heard the footsteps recede into the eerie, distant hollowness that was the free and unseen world, Clarice reached into her pillowcase and withdrew the plain-looking envelope. Inside it was a small, smooth slip of folded vellum paper, and the writing on it was immistakeably perfect; distinctly recognizable to her, and obviously done with a good pen and expensive ink. She grinned to herself at this. Hannibal Lector had always had a weakness for flourish.
He hadn't been bluffing; the letter was a front indeed, just a few breif comments reveiws of whatever ersatz organization that he was telling Chilton that he was from.
There was a small postscript at the end of the letter, however, which said:
P.S. Dr. Chilton tells me that the cells are cleaned once a week...your turn is today, in fact. He will be escorting you to a holding cell on the second floor sometime after noon.
She read the lines to herself several times before re-folding the letter and putting it inside the front cover of Candide and putting the book back on the neat stack of assorted volumes. The envelope she discarded in the largely barren wastebasket.
She wasn't permitted a watch, but a glance at the large analog clock just outside of her cell on the left, perpendicular wall informed her that it was just now 12:01 PM. After noon, anyway. Clarice lay on her bunk and closed her eyes.
******
She was disturbed by the voice of Dr. Chilton as he called her name. She had heard him coming for several seconds before he arrived, but she gave no sign. "Miss Starling, would you please come to the bars and put these on?" His voice was patronizing, his words spoken as one might address a misbehaving child, rather than an allegedly unstable murderer.
Clarice opened her eyes to see that Chilton was extending a pair of gleaming handcuffs, his feet kept at well more a safe distance from her cell. Certainly brave enough around caged tigers, she thought wryly, but he wouldn't last five minutes in the jungle. She stood wordlessly and took the cuffs. For one moment, and one moment only, she glimpsed the slightest flicker of movement reflected in the shining metal. At first, she thought that it was Chilton, but then she saw eyes that were not Chilton's at all. Her heart jumped, but then she was still, and held her breath...Chilton did not notice her breathing, but he saw her eyes widen...
It was a little too late by then, for Dr. Lector had already reached around and put his left hand around Chilton's throat so that his slender fingers were angled evilly into the taller man's windpipe. The skin dented slightly and Chilton gasped damply, his eyes scampering from one image to the next like small and frightened creatures inside of his head. Hannibal smiled and looked at Chilton's right ear as though he had never seen anything as fascinating.
Clarice could see the faint scar on his wrist where his hand had been reattached. It was a nice job, actually; one could hardly tell that it had once been completely severed. She wondered where he had found such a good surgeon, one whom would have kept his identity secret...then she realized that he must have sewn the hand on himself. He was a man of many talents...
He pushed a little harder on Chilton's throat, until little crescents formed around his nails and his charge began to bleed. Chilton choked sickenly as Hannibal pulled the keys out of the man's belt without taking his eyes from his examination of Chilton's right ear. He calmly unlocked Clarice's cell and shoved the man violently inside, directly into Clarice.
Without a moment's consideration, the cuffs were around Chilton's wrists and his face was muffled in the cotton pillow. She felt some satisfaction to think of how humiliating this must be for the pompous creature. Dr. Lector was smiling, rubbing his bloody fingertips with the thumb of the same hand. Fredrick Chilton twitched a little, and then he slipped easily into unconciousness.
Precisely six days from her visit from Hannibal Lector, Chilton came striding down the corridor, ignoring the hisses and catcalls from the prisoners. "Your visitor is here again, Miss Starling," he informed her with a snort, and then, with a greasy smile plastered on his greedy little face, he held out a plain envelope of standard letter size toward her. It was almost, but not quite, within an arm's reach of the bars. She had no doubt that he had already read whatever might be inside.
"This came in the mail today, with instructions to give it to you." His slippery grin faltered at the corners as she politely smiled, ignoring his words. He thrust the envelope through the bars, recoiling his hand abruptly as one would from a feral animal.
She took the envelope calmly, folded it carefully after noting the sloppy steam-and-re-tape job that he had done with the seal, and tucked it into her pillow. "Thank you, Dr. Chilton; I'll be sure to read it later." He frowned. "Don't you want to read it now?" "No." She graced him with a chilly smile that made him snort again, and then, with an exasperated flutter of his hand, he left her to her silent chamber.
*****
This time, Dr. Lector had foregone the hazel contact lenses and was simply wearing dark glasses. He removed these once he was in the flourescent glow of the hallway. He smiled faintly when he spoke. "Did you get my letter?"
"Yes, Dr. Charon, I did...I haven't read it yet...Chilton had already taken the liberty of opening it for me."
Hannibal smirked a little. "He's an interesting man, isn't he, Starling? Have you thought about what we discussed previously?"
"About Chilton, sir? I have, in fact." Her face had a mixture of anticipatory guilt and primal amusement painted upon it. She had been thinking about Chilton; especially about how much more interesting he'd be if he were...cut down to size. She smiled coldly, inwardly, at the concept.
Hannibal smiled, showing teeth, now, and they were very white. "I'm not going to make you decide his fate, of course, Clarice, I wouldn't want to mar that pristine moral conviction that you hold so highly." Clarice was not entirely certain that he was not trying to be cutting. It was always difficult to tell with Hannibal Lector.
Clarice inhaled deeply and held her breath for a moment before organizing her thoughts. "Would you like me to look at your letter now, Dr. Charon?"
"Go ahead, it doesn't matter, really, it's only a front...more or less to distract Chilton's prying eyes. You may open it whenever you wish...you will please excuse me; I have a pressing arrangement that I cannot be late for. I will return somewhat later on." He left her on that, and walked lesiurely up the corridor, hands folded neatly behind him, moving at a gentle pace as though he were strolling in the park amidst fragrant blossoms, smiling gently at the prisoners who silenced and withdrew from his prescence. The insane seemed to be able see more easily through the chinks in his human disguise, Clarice thought, much better than anyone stable and compansating. Or perhaps he simply commanded more respect from the mad than Fredrick Chilton could with his own haughty swagger and air of pitible contemptousness.
When she had heard the double gates swing open and then shut again, and heard the footsteps recede into the eerie, distant hollowness that was the free and unseen world, Clarice reached into her pillowcase and withdrew the plain-looking envelope. Inside it was a small, smooth slip of folded vellum paper, and the writing on it was immistakeably perfect; distinctly recognizable to her, and obviously done with a good pen and expensive ink. She grinned to herself at this. Hannibal Lector had always had a weakness for flourish.
He hadn't been bluffing; the letter was a front indeed, just a few breif comments reveiws of whatever ersatz organization that he was telling Chilton that he was from.
There was a small postscript at the end of the letter, however, which said:
P.S. Dr. Chilton tells me that the cells are cleaned once a week...your turn is today, in fact. He will be escorting you to a holding cell on the second floor sometime after noon.
She read the lines to herself several times before re-folding the letter and putting it inside the front cover of Candide and putting the book back on the neat stack of assorted volumes. The envelope she discarded in the largely barren wastebasket.
She wasn't permitted a watch, but a glance at the large analog clock just outside of her cell on the left, perpendicular wall informed her that it was just now 12:01 PM. After noon, anyway. Clarice lay on her bunk and closed her eyes.
******
She was disturbed by the voice of Dr. Chilton as he called her name. She had heard him coming for several seconds before he arrived, but she gave no sign. "Miss Starling, would you please come to the bars and put these on?" His voice was patronizing, his words spoken as one might address a misbehaving child, rather than an allegedly unstable murderer.
Clarice opened her eyes to see that Chilton was extending a pair of gleaming handcuffs, his feet kept at well more a safe distance from her cell. Certainly brave enough around caged tigers, she thought wryly, but he wouldn't last five minutes in the jungle. She stood wordlessly and took the cuffs. For one moment, and one moment only, she glimpsed the slightest flicker of movement reflected in the shining metal. At first, she thought that it was Chilton, but then she saw eyes that were not Chilton's at all. Her heart jumped, but then she was still, and held her breath...Chilton did not notice her breathing, but he saw her eyes widen...
It was a little too late by then, for Dr. Lector had already reached around and put his left hand around Chilton's throat so that his slender fingers were angled evilly into the taller man's windpipe. The skin dented slightly and Chilton gasped damply, his eyes scampering from one image to the next like small and frightened creatures inside of his head. Hannibal smiled and looked at Chilton's right ear as though he had never seen anything as fascinating.
Clarice could see the faint scar on his wrist where his hand had been reattached. It was a nice job, actually; one could hardly tell that it had once been completely severed. She wondered where he had found such a good surgeon, one whom would have kept his identity secret...then she realized that he must have sewn the hand on himself. He was a man of many talents...
He pushed a little harder on Chilton's throat, until little crescents formed around his nails and his charge began to bleed. Chilton choked sickenly as Hannibal pulled the keys out of the man's belt without taking his eyes from his examination of Chilton's right ear. He calmly unlocked Clarice's cell and shoved the man violently inside, directly into Clarice.
Without a moment's consideration, the cuffs were around Chilton's wrists and his face was muffled in the cotton pillow. She felt some satisfaction to think of how humiliating this must be for the pompous creature. Dr. Lector was smiling, rubbing his bloody fingertips with the thumb of the same hand. Fredrick Chilton twitched a little, and then he slipped easily into unconciousness.