When Clarice awakened, she was surprised to find herself so disoriented. She blinked several times and sat up.
Where am I?
She tried desperately to clear her head, but with no success. The last thing she remembered was Crawford . . . and Lecter--oh no . . . no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. And yet it was. Clarice was afraid to get up and investigate. In the state she was in, it would be more like wandering aimlessly. For some reason, this struck her as humorous, and she began to laugh. Not a deep laugh, but a girlish giggle. Now she began to recognize this room. It was her room. She was wearing the same dress. She guessed that not much time had passed since she'd fainted. Clarice held her breath as the doorknob turned.
Oh no.
She desperately wanted to disappear, but knowing that this was not possible, she sat up straight and took in a deep breath. A chill ran down her spine as the door slowly opened. It was Lecter, wearing the same suit he'd been wearing a while ago. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd been out, but now she was sure that it hadn't been long since she'd passed out.
"Clarice, are you feeling well?" Always the gentleman, Dr. Lecter kept his distance.
"Yes, I'm fine," she answered weakly.
"You certainly don't sound fine." At this, she became agitated. Who was he to tell her how she should feel. He was not her; therefore he could not know if she was in pain or not.
"Well, I am." She hoped against hope that her tone did not reflect her thoughts. If it did, he paid no attention. A small smile crossed his lips. She noticed that it was still raining out. It was still dark as well.
"I'm very glad to hear this. I had hoped you would be alright. You were out for quite some time. I was a bit worried that you'd be disoriented." She decided not to tell him that his worries were not in vain. This he knew. He knew her much too well to think that she, or anyone, for that matter, could wake up and know exactly where she was and what had happened. It was at this moment she remembered Crawford. Her eyes widened and fell to the floor, as though she were in deep thought.
"I'll assure you that Jack is alright." Her eyes searched his, wondering if this had a hidden meaning. "In that I mean that he is alive and well." Lecter smiled. It was not a stifled smile, but a large grin. Clarice decided to ignore it and press on with her inquiry.
"Where is he?"
"Downstairs. He's been waiting on the pleasure of your company for about an hour now. I'm sure he's quite anxious." Clarice wondered what Lecter had done to restrain Crawford. She sincerely hoped that it was nothing . . . well . . . completely humiliating. Lecter had a habit of doing this to people; especially ones that he didn't particularly like. She could only imagine what had been done to Jack. Lecter took a breath. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm. Clarice stood up and tried to steady herself. No luck there. Lecter was right on cue. "You know, Clarice, I think the stairs would be a bit much for you. I'd never forgive myself for you being injured when it could have been prevented." Without so much as another word, she found herself in his arms.
As Lecter carried Clarice down the stairs, she began to wonder what she might find in her living room. She then wondered if she even wanted to know. She took in a sharp breath as she beheld the sight that lay before her eyes. Jack Crawford, his suit jacket removed, was handcuffed and tied to a kitchen chair. He hung his head dejectedly, and though Clarice could not see his face, knew that he must look miserable. He was mumbling something, and she strained to make it out. "This is all my fault . . . I never shoulda sent her down there in the first place . . . I can't believe I've done this to her." In between words came choked sobs. Clarice began to wonder what Lecter had told Crawford while she was up in bed, passed out. She glanced at Lecter. He seemed quite amused by the whole situation.
That is so like him.
Lecter gently helped her to her feet, holding her by the waist until she seemed stable enough to stand on her own. For this she was grateful, as she would have hated to collapse right then and there. "Jack?" Lecter sounded extremely calm. "You've got a visitor." Though Clarice wasn't looking at Lecter's face, she could hear a smile in his voice. Crawford jerked around to see if it was possible. Could Clarice still be alive? Why hadn't Lecter killed her yet? She came around to the front of the chair, facing him. Tears filled her eyes, though she wasn't sure why. She wasn't sad, nor was she afraid. Not for herself, anyway. She was deathly afraid for Crawford. She knew that most likely, he wouldn't leave this house alive. Not if Lecter had anything to do with it.
What am I supposed to do?
Crawford looked into her eyes, held her gaze. She made no move to look away. This surprised her. Clarice could see that he'd been crying hard.
Was he that worried about me? Or was he worried that he was going to be tomorrow's dinner?
"Clarice." He spoke softly, which made the tears sting her eyes even more. She bit her lip. Clarice Starling would not allow tears to flow freely from her eyes. She would not cry. She couldn't cry. Not now. Now Clarice felt that she had to be brave for both Crawford and herself.
"Please remove Mr. Crawford's restraints." Lecter made no sound. Clarice took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.
"Now, why would I want to do a thing like that?" Clarice tried her hardes to think of a logical, intelligent reply to his inquiry.
"Because I asked politely..."
Oh gosh. What kind of stupid answer was that?
Lecter's eyebrows arched in approval. "Seems reasonable enough. But only if Mr. Crawford promises not to do anything drastic." Lecter drew the last word out for all it was worth. Both Clarice and Crawford knew what he meant by 'drastic', and Crawford knew he'd never make it out alive if he tried.
Where am I?
She tried desperately to clear her head, but with no success. The last thing she remembered was Crawford . . . and Lecter--oh no . . . no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. And yet it was. Clarice was afraid to get up and investigate. In the state she was in, it would be more like wandering aimlessly. For some reason, this struck her as humorous, and she began to laugh. Not a deep laugh, but a girlish giggle. Now she began to recognize this room. It was her room. She was wearing the same dress. She guessed that not much time had passed since she'd fainted. Clarice held her breath as the doorknob turned.
Oh no.
She desperately wanted to disappear, but knowing that this was not possible, she sat up straight and took in a deep breath. A chill ran down her spine as the door slowly opened. It was Lecter, wearing the same suit he'd been wearing a while ago. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd been out, but now she was sure that it hadn't been long since she'd passed out.
"Clarice, are you feeling well?" Always the gentleman, Dr. Lecter kept his distance.
"Yes, I'm fine," she answered weakly.
"You certainly don't sound fine." At this, she became agitated. Who was he to tell her how she should feel. He was not her; therefore he could not know if she was in pain or not.
"Well, I am." She hoped against hope that her tone did not reflect her thoughts. If it did, he paid no attention. A small smile crossed his lips. She noticed that it was still raining out. It was still dark as well.
"I'm very glad to hear this. I had hoped you would be alright. You were out for quite some time. I was a bit worried that you'd be disoriented." She decided not to tell him that his worries were not in vain. This he knew. He knew her much too well to think that she, or anyone, for that matter, could wake up and know exactly where she was and what had happened. It was at this moment she remembered Crawford. Her eyes widened and fell to the floor, as though she were in deep thought.
"I'll assure you that Jack is alright." Her eyes searched his, wondering if this had a hidden meaning. "In that I mean that he is alive and well." Lecter smiled. It was not a stifled smile, but a large grin. Clarice decided to ignore it and press on with her inquiry.
"Where is he?"
"Downstairs. He's been waiting on the pleasure of your company for about an hour now. I'm sure he's quite anxious." Clarice wondered what Lecter had done to restrain Crawford. She sincerely hoped that it was nothing . . . well . . . completely humiliating. Lecter had a habit of doing this to people; especially ones that he didn't particularly like. She could only imagine what had been done to Jack. Lecter took a breath. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm. Clarice stood up and tried to steady herself. No luck there. Lecter was right on cue. "You know, Clarice, I think the stairs would be a bit much for you. I'd never forgive myself for you being injured when it could have been prevented." Without so much as another word, she found herself in his arms.
As Lecter carried Clarice down the stairs, she began to wonder what she might find in her living room. She then wondered if she even wanted to know. She took in a sharp breath as she beheld the sight that lay before her eyes. Jack Crawford, his suit jacket removed, was handcuffed and tied to a kitchen chair. He hung his head dejectedly, and though Clarice could not see his face, knew that he must look miserable. He was mumbling something, and she strained to make it out. "This is all my fault . . . I never shoulda sent her down there in the first place . . . I can't believe I've done this to her." In between words came choked sobs. Clarice began to wonder what Lecter had told Crawford while she was up in bed, passed out. She glanced at Lecter. He seemed quite amused by the whole situation.
That is so like him.
Lecter gently helped her to her feet, holding her by the waist until she seemed stable enough to stand on her own. For this she was grateful, as she would have hated to collapse right then and there. "Jack?" Lecter sounded extremely calm. "You've got a visitor." Though Clarice wasn't looking at Lecter's face, she could hear a smile in his voice. Crawford jerked around to see if it was possible. Could Clarice still be alive? Why hadn't Lecter killed her yet? She came around to the front of the chair, facing him. Tears filled her eyes, though she wasn't sure why. She wasn't sad, nor was she afraid. Not for herself, anyway. She was deathly afraid for Crawford. She knew that most likely, he wouldn't leave this house alive. Not if Lecter had anything to do with it.
What am I supposed to do?
Crawford looked into her eyes, held her gaze. She made no move to look away. This surprised her. Clarice could see that he'd been crying hard.
Was he that worried about me? Or was he worried that he was going to be tomorrow's dinner?
"Clarice." He spoke softly, which made the tears sting her eyes even more. She bit her lip. Clarice Starling would not allow tears to flow freely from her eyes. She would not cry. She couldn't cry. Not now. Now Clarice felt that she had to be brave for both Crawford and herself.
"Please remove Mr. Crawford's restraints." Lecter made no sound. Clarice took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.
"Now, why would I want to do a thing like that?" Clarice tried her hardes to think of a logical, intelligent reply to his inquiry.
"Because I asked politely..."
Oh gosh. What kind of stupid answer was that?
Lecter's eyebrows arched in approval. "Seems reasonable enough. But only if Mr. Crawford promises not to do anything drastic." Lecter drew the last word out for all it was worth. Both Clarice and Crawford knew what he meant by 'drastic', and Crawford knew he'd never make it out alive if he tried.