He was looking at her with an odd mixture of amusement and something like admiration for just a moment, and then he turned and continued up the stairs to Chilton's office. Clarice followed, pulling the heavy body behind her by the ankles. Its head made thick, unpleasent thuds as it went up and over the stairs, one by one.
*****
The sun on her face felt like the love of heaven itself. Outside of the stone and steel walls for the first time in several years, Clarice could do nothing but stare in awe at the incredible blues and greys of the autumn sky; the intense natural light that warmed her and tingled on her her clammy, colourless skin. Insects hummed and throbbed in fragrant, bittersweet patches of grass behind the gates, she could hear cars moving in the distance.
Gazing at a patch of clouds, she felt her eyes fill with tears, but she had forgotten how to speak or think and merely walked, slowly, like an infant, shivering in the strange new nakedness of freedom. Then Hannibal's voice awoke her from her epiphany, and it was almost gentle, quiet, at least, for once.
"The sun is beautiful, isn't it, Clarice?"
Making no effort to hide the trembling in her voice, she said, "The most beautiful thing that I have ever seen, Dr. Lector. I had forgotten what real light looked like." Her eyes were on her own hands now, the skin translucent and glowing gold in the late afternoon light. He seemed to understand, and said nothing for a while, but then another sound, a harsher one, startled her to reason.
It was the sound of sirens, growing rapidly nearer and nearer.
"Now we really must go!" Dr. Lector took her arm a bit roughly and lead her around to the front of the building, to his car. It was low and round and black, non-descript and matte, but very sleek. The windows were dark, and the surface had a sensual, dull tone like that of a lizard's skin.
Inside, it was cool and dim, and the upholstery smelled of crisp newness. Hannibal Lector drove extremely well and extremely quickly. She saw the speedometer hit ninety as they curled around the highway. The sirens receded into the background.
*****
When the police found Fredrick Chilton's body sixteen minutes later, he was slumped over in his chair at his desk. The terrified orderly whom had summoned the authorities was lurking just outside of the office, his face a mask of wide-eyed mortal terror; his skin shining wetly like a rotted fish. His left hand clutched at a cellular phone. One of the officers escorted him outside for questioning...three officers went on into Chilton's office; six more into the basement lock-off.
They found only a few items disturbed in Chilton's office...the case files had been carefully picked through; an indeterminate few were missing. Little else was absent from the scene, except for some of Chilton's personal effects, including his watch, pocket knife, keys, several pens, a pair of sun-glasses, and some amount of his vital organs; tidy sutures closed the wounds snugly. There was hardly any blood anywhere, except small smears on Chilton's immediate person, and a little on the floor near the door, apparently a skid mark. Wedged in Chilton's throat was an oblong bottle of cheap cologne; one of the officers examined this with his nose wrinkled at the smell.
Some evidence was taken from the site; a few snapshots; some blood samples. Fingerprinting was done but produced vague results. The perpetrator had been exceedingly careful about his or her hands.
A building search recovered Chilton's master keys, but nothing else. All the prisoners except for Clarice Starling were intact and confined. When interveiwed, they lied, each vying for attention; not one of them offering any real assistance.
*****
"Where are we going, Dr. Lector?"
"You may call me by my first name, Clarice."
She tried again, "Where are we going, Hannibal?" "That depends, Clarice, on where we want to be." He didn't turn his eyes from the road ahead.
She waited for a few seconds, wondering if he was going to offer any more information, but he was silent and she wasn't in the mood for mind games. She leaned back and sighed, and in the process dozed off to the soothing hum of the powerful automobile.
*****
"What do you suppose we should do, Frank?", Richard Ambling asked of his superior officer. Frank was tossing his bloodied latex gloves into a waste receptle. He shook his head.
Richard followed him, peeling off his own autopsy gloves; leaving the chilly, antibacterially spotless morgue as quickly as possible. The hard heels of his shows rung out like iron bells on the slick floor. Frank looked Richard in the eye. "We aren't going to to anything, Rick; we've done our bit. The F.B.I. wants this one now...beyond our jurisdiction." His brow furrowed with faint contempt.
Rick nodded. "Sometimes I'm a little jealous, what with the F.B.I. taking all the really...meaty...cases, but in this case, Frank, I'm grateful." His relived voice had just a hint of shame in it. Rick was generally a strong, good man who was an honest upholder of justice. And, in all truth, this particular case was exceedingly distasteful to him, because he couldn't make it right.
It was things like these that made him question his work in the law enforcement services, but he never mentioned this to anyone. Least of all Richard, who was a good cop but much more hardened than Frank would ever want to be.
Frank wondered, though, what really made a good cop. Moral ideals, he decided, were above all the deciding factor in such things. A good standard of integrity was all that you need to be a decent crime-fighter.
*****
When Clarice awoke, the sun was red and very much in the west. She could only guess at where they must be; at the speed at which they were travelling, they must have been several hundred miles away from Baltimore...
She breathed roughly, her heart touched again by the light of the world, even through the dark windows. The red of the sun was maroon through the tinting, and it looked like Dr. Lector's eyes.
"What's the matter, Clarice," he said without looking, "you can look at the world all that like now."
"I was remembering," she responded, with characteristic frankness, "all of the things that there are to experience. I had forgotten the incredible tenacity of life to it's will to go on. I almost lost touch with life."
"Perhaps you would like to hear some music; or dine on some real food, not just prison fare. There are plenty of things to do, Clarice, all you need is to ask..." He did glance over once this time.
"I can't possibly think of them all, Dr. Lector; even everyday pleasures seem miraculous to me...right now though, I think that I'd like to see an opera." She smiled.
"That could be arranged..."the car slowed a little now, as they turned off of the main road and onto a long drive. "We are in West Virginia now, Clarice." He graced her with a fond sort of smirk.
She looked out the window as a plane took off somewhere closeby.
There was a little airport about five miles ahead.
*****
"We are going to see your opera, now, Clarice..."
"At the airport, Dr. Lector?"
He ignored this and went on. "There's a very good opera house that I know of; I'm a patron. I'm sure they'll let their dear Dr. Charon and his lovely wife have tickets, even on such short notice."
"At the airport...?"
He gave her a faintly amused, exasperated glance.
"No, Clarice, not in the airport,...in Florence..."
FIN
*****
The sun on her face felt like the love of heaven itself. Outside of the stone and steel walls for the first time in several years, Clarice could do nothing but stare in awe at the incredible blues and greys of the autumn sky; the intense natural light that warmed her and tingled on her her clammy, colourless skin. Insects hummed and throbbed in fragrant, bittersweet patches of grass behind the gates, she could hear cars moving in the distance.
Gazing at a patch of clouds, she felt her eyes fill with tears, but she had forgotten how to speak or think and merely walked, slowly, like an infant, shivering in the strange new nakedness of freedom. Then Hannibal's voice awoke her from her epiphany, and it was almost gentle, quiet, at least, for once.
"The sun is beautiful, isn't it, Clarice?"
Making no effort to hide the trembling in her voice, she said, "The most beautiful thing that I have ever seen, Dr. Lector. I had forgotten what real light looked like." Her eyes were on her own hands now, the skin translucent and glowing gold in the late afternoon light. He seemed to understand, and said nothing for a while, but then another sound, a harsher one, startled her to reason.
It was the sound of sirens, growing rapidly nearer and nearer.
"Now we really must go!" Dr. Lector took her arm a bit roughly and lead her around to the front of the building, to his car. It was low and round and black, non-descript and matte, but very sleek. The windows were dark, and the surface had a sensual, dull tone like that of a lizard's skin.
Inside, it was cool and dim, and the upholstery smelled of crisp newness. Hannibal Lector drove extremely well and extremely quickly. She saw the speedometer hit ninety as they curled around the highway. The sirens receded into the background.
*****
When the police found Fredrick Chilton's body sixteen minutes later, he was slumped over in his chair at his desk. The terrified orderly whom had summoned the authorities was lurking just outside of the office, his face a mask of wide-eyed mortal terror; his skin shining wetly like a rotted fish. His left hand clutched at a cellular phone. One of the officers escorted him outside for questioning...three officers went on into Chilton's office; six more into the basement lock-off.
They found only a few items disturbed in Chilton's office...the case files had been carefully picked through; an indeterminate few were missing. Little else was absent from the scene, except for some of Chilton's personal effects, including his watch, pocket knife, keys, several pens, a pair of sun-glasses, and some amount of his vital organs; tidy sutures closed the wounds snugly. There was hardly any blood anywhere, except small smears on Chilton's immediate person, and a little on the floor near the door, apparently a skid mark. Wedged in Chilton's throat was an oblong bottle of cheap cologne; one of the officers examined this with his nose wrinkled at the smell.
Some evidence was taken from the site; a few snapshots; some blood samples. Fingerprinting was done but produced vague results. The perpetrator had been exceedingly careful about his or her hands.
A building search recovered Chilton's master keys, but nothing else. All the prisoners except for Clarice Starling were intact and confined. When interveiwed, they lied, each vying for attention; not one of them offering any real assistance.
*****
"Where are we going, Dr. Lector?"
"You may call me by my first name, Clarice."
She tried again, "Where are we going, Hannibal?" "That depends, Clarice, on where we want to be." He didn't turn his eyes from the road ahead.
She waited for a few seconds, wondering if he was going to offer any more information, but he was silent and she wasn't in the mood for mind games. She leaned back and sighed, and in the process dozed off to the soothing hum of the powerful automobile.
*****
"What do you suppose we should do, Frank?", Richard Ambling asked of his superior officer. Frank was tossing his bloodied latex gloves into a waste receptle. He shook his head.
Richard followed him, peeling off his own autopsy gloves; leaving the chilly, antibacterially spotless morgue as quickly as possible. The hard heels of his shows rung out like iron bells on the slick floor. Frank looked Richard in the eye. "We aren't going to to anything, Rick; we've done our bit. The F.B.I. wants this one now...beyond our jurisdiction." His brow furrowed with faint contempt.
Rick nodded. "Sometimes I'm a little jealous, what with the F.B.I. taking all the really...meaty...cases, but in this case, Frank, I'm grateful." His relived voice had just a hint of shame in it. Rick was generally a strong, good man who was an honest upholder of justice. And, in all truth, this particular case was exceedingly distasteful to him, because he couldn't make it right.
It was things like these that made him question his work in the law enforcement services, but he never mentioned this to anyone. Least of all Richard, who was a good cop but much more hardened than Frank would ever want to be.
Frank wondered, though, what really made a good cop. Moral ideals, he decided, were above all the deciding factor in such things. A good standard of integrity was all that you need to be a decent crime-fighter.
*****
When Clarice awoke, the sun was red and very much in the west. She could only guess at where they must be; at the speed at which they were travelling, they must have been several hundred miles away from Baltimore...
She breathed roughly, her heart touched again by the light of the world, even through the dark windows. The red of the sun was maroon through the tinting, and it looked like Dr. Lector's eyes.
"What's the matter, Clarice," he said without looking, "you can look at the world all that like now."
"I was remembering," she responded, with characteristic frankness, "all of the things that there are to experience. I had forgotten the incredible tenacity of life to it's will to go on. I almost lost touch with life."
"Perhaps you would like to hear some music; or dine on some real food, not just prison fare. There are plenty of things to do, Clarice, all you need is to ask..." He did glance over once this time.
"I can't possibly think of them all, Dr. Lector; even everyday pleasures seem miraculous to me...right now though, I think that I'd like to see an opera." She smiled.
"That could be arranged..."the car slowed a little now, as they turned off of the main road and onto a long drive. "We are in West Virginia now, Clarice." He graced her with a fond sort of smirk.
She looked out the window as a plane took off somewhere closeby.
There was a little airport about five miles ahead.
*****
"We are going to see your opera, now, Clarice..."
"At the airport, Dr. Lector?"
He ignored this and went on. "There's a very good opera house that I know of; I'm a patron. I'm sure they'll let their dear Dr. Charon and his lovely wife have tickets, even on such short notice."
"At the airport...?"
He gave her a faintly amused, exasperated glance.
"No, Clarice, not in the airport,...in Florence..."
FIN