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"But first, I'd like to clear up a little misunderstanding for you, Jack." Neither Crawford or Clarice spoke. "As you know, there was a bit of a controversy about exactly how events transpired that fateful evening at the . . . late . . . Paul Krendler's lake house. And while there were so very many accounts published, I regret to say that not a single one was accurate. Perhaps you'll allow me to take this occasion to, shall we say, set the record straight?" It was not much of a question, per se, but a statement of what was to come. Crawford refrained from allowing a sigh of relief to exit his body. He then wondered what would happen if he refused to listen. Swallowing hard, he decided he did not want to know.
"Now, Jack, I'm sure you've heard of our pleasant dinner with Mr. Krendler just before his unlikely demise, as well as what it consisted of." Lecter was right, Crawford had read it in the papers. "But what you may not know is what I shared with my dear Clarice as I departed." It made Crawford's blood boil to hear Lecter refer to her as 'my dear Clarice'. He couldn't stand to hear it. It simply made the pain even more unbearable. "Perhaps you'll allow me to demonstrate."
Clarice's pulse rose. She tried very hard to take a deep breath and calm herself, but found it near impossible with Lecter there. An omnious presence filled the room. Clarice now found it difficult to breathe. She knew what was coming, and though she'd dreamed of it, she wasn't sure that she was ready for it again.
NO. Not again. This cannot be happening. Not again.
Crawford was intrigued, and though he couldn't help but think that this would be something horrible, he couldn't turn away. He watched Lecter slowly and gracefully approach Clarice. Lecter placed his hands on her waist. "Clarice, you're trembling."
Wow. What a newsflash.
"You're not . . . nervous, are you?" He grinned. So what if she was? If she voiced her opinion, would he stop? "What do you say, for old time's sake?" How could he make jokes at a time like this? His humor showed up at what she considered very inappropiate times.
"Do I have a choice?" she whispered.
"Of course, my dear." With that, he pinned her arms to the wall.
Oh gosh. Here it comes.
"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me, 'Stop, if you loved me, you'd stop'?"
He leaned in, as though preparing to bite her. A small cry came from Crawford's throat. This pleased Lecter, but he continued. He pulled away. Tears filled Clarice's eyes. "Yes," she whispered.
Lecter looked at her quizzically. "Yes," she said between choked sobs, "I would. I'd say it . . . ." Lecter, for once, was truly surprised.
"Well-"
"I'd say it forever if I had to," she interrupted. Tears streamed wildy down her cheeks. It seemed as though Crawford's presence was absent from the room. Neither Clarice or Lecter missed it. "I swear I would. I'm so sorry for what I said then and I-it's different now, it really is. You understand me, and I know that now. I mean . . . ."
"I think I know what you mean, my dear." His eyes were soft and compassionate. Inside, he was ecstatic. He had finally gotten through to her. He loved her and had tried forever to show her. The one he loved had finally admitted her love for him. He could barely contain his joyful feelings. He smiled kindly at her.
"But . . . I could never . . . ." Lecter arched his eyebrows. He hated second thoughts. Just go with your instincts, he always thought. Why couldn't more people feel this way? Now, she seemed to be having an internal conflict. She looked very distressed.
"What is it, my dear? You know how I do hate to be kept waiting." Her breaths were quick and short, as though she'd just finished several miles on the track. Getting a bit impatient, he asked, "What is it that you could never do, dear Clarice?" His eyes and tone softened simultaneously. "You could never come with me, no matter how much your heart desires it?" She looked up at him. He knew at once that he was correct.
"Yes. I couldn't ever...." By this time, Crawford was very close to throwing up. "Even if I wanted to. And I do want to." Sobs broke her voice. "I want to more than anything. I've finally realized that you care about me like no one else does. That you love me." Crawford looked up.
"What?!" He exclaimed. "Clarice, I more than 'care for' you. I don't know how you can say that, especially to HIM! Clarice, he's a serial killer! You were assigned to track him down and capture him; to put him back in that vacant cell! I love you, Clarice! I do! I always have! How could you say that no one else has...? How could you say that? How, Clarice? How...?" His voice dissolved into sobs, just as Clarice's had done earlier.
"Jack, may I suggest a psychiatrist? I hear they're quite helpful with situations such as yours." He smiled. Crawford glared at him.
"You! This is all your fault!" he screamed. "You got inside her head, poisoned her thoughts!" Clarice looked at Crawford kindly. She moved toward him.
"Jack, you've been wonderful to me. You truly have. You were there for me, always backing me up with Krendler and his lies. No one else would have done that for me, and I appreciate it. I really do, whether you believe that or not."
"Well, now that we've covered the final farewells, I believe, Jack, that it is time for you to take one last look at your precious Clarice."
Final farewells? Oh no. No freaking way.
Lecter approached Crawford, his hand in his breast pocket. Clarice knew exactly what was to come and backed away. She noticed that she'd stopped crying. After a flash of silver, blood almost magically appeared on Crawford's throat. Clarice gasped and turned her back on the gruesome scene.
Lecter turned to Clarice, placing his hands on her waist to steady her and prevent her from turning away. Blood garnished his mouth as he leaned in closer to her. Her pulse hastened and she found herself in yet another strange scenario. He kissed her with a fire like never before. Clarice began to tremble. Lecter sensed her nervousness and pulled away. "I'll send for you, my dear." With that, he freed Crawford and carried him out the door.
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"But first, I'd like to clear up a little misunderstanding for you, Jack." Neither Crawford or Clarice spoke. "As you know, there was a bit of a controversy about exactly how events transpired that fateful evening at the . . . late . . . Paul Krendler's lake house. And while there were so very many accounts published, I regret to say that not a single one was accurate. Perhaps you'll allow me to take this occasion to, shall we say, set the record straight?" It was not much of a question, per se, but a statement of what was to come. Crawford refrained from allowing a sigh of relief to exit his body. He then wondered what would happen if he refused to listen. Swallowing hard, he decided he did not want to know.
"Now, Jack, I'm sure you've heard of our pleasant dinner with Mr. Krendler just before his unlikely demise, as well as what it consisted of." Lecter was right, Crawford had read it in the papers. "But what you may not know is what I shared with my dear Clarice as I departed." It made Crawford's blood boil to hear Lecter refer to her as 'my dear Clarice'. He couldn't stand to hear it. It simply made the pain even more unbearable. "Perhaps you'll allow me to demonstrate."
Clarice's pulse rose. She tried very hard to take a deep breath and calm herself, but found it near impossible with Lecter there. An omnious presence filled the room. Clarice now found it difficult to breathe. She knew what was coming, and though she'd dreamed of it, she wasn't sure that she was ready for it again.
NO. Not again. This cannot be happening. Not again.
Crawford was intrigued, and though he couldn't help but think that this would be something horrible, he couldn't turn away. He watched Lecter slowly and gracefully approach Clarice. Lecter placed his hands on her waist. "Clarice, you're trembling."
Wow. What a newsflash.
"You're not . . . nervous, are you?" He grinned. So what if she was? If she voiced her opinion, would he stop? "What do you say, for old time's sake?" How could he make jokes at a time like this? His humor showed up at what she considered very inappropiate times.
"Do I have a choice?" she whispered.
"Of course, my dear." With that, he pinned her arms to the wall.
Oh gosh. Here it comes.
"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me, 'Stop, if you loved me, you'd stop'?"
He leaned in, as though preparing to bite her. A small cry came from Crawford's throat. This pleased Lecter, but he continued. He pulled away. Tears filled Clarice's eyes. "Yes," she whispered.
Lecter looked at her quizzically. "Yes," she said between choked sobs, "I would. I'd say it . . . ." Lecter, for once, was truly surprised.
"Well-"
"I'd say it forever if I had to," she interrupted. Tears streamed wildy down her cheeks. It seemed as though Crawford's presence was absent from the room. Neither Clarice or Lecter missed it. "I swear I would. I'm so sorry for what I said then and I-it's different now, it really is. You understand me, and I know that now. I mean . . . ."
"I think I know what you mean, my dear." His eyes were soft and compassionate. Inside, he was ecstatic. He had finally gotten through to her. He loved her and had tried forever to show her. The one he loved had finally admitted her love for him. He could barely contain his joyful feelings. He smiled kindly at her.
"But . . . I could never . . . ." Lecter arched his eyebrows. He hated second thoughts. Just go with your instincts, he always thought. Why couldn't more people feel this way? Now, she seemed to be having an internal conflict. She looked very distressed.
"What is it, my dear? You know how I do hate to be kept waiting." Her breaths were quick and short, as though she'd just finished several miles on the track. Getting a bit impatient, he asked, "What is it that you could never do, dear Clarice?" His eyes and tone softened simultaneously. "You could never come with me, no matter how much your heart desires it?" She looked up at him. He knew at once that he was correct.
"Yes. I couldn't ever...." By this time, Crawford was very close to throwing up. "Even if I wanted to. And I do want to." Sobs broke her voice. "I want to more than anything. I've finally realized that you care about me like no one else does. That you love me." Crawford looked up.
"What?!" He exclaimed. "Clarice, I more than 'care for' you. I don't know how you can say that, especially to HIM! Clarice, he's a serial killer! You were assigned to track him down and capture him; to put him back in that vacant cell! I love you, Clarice! I do! I always have! How could you say that no one else has...? How could you say that? How, Clarice? How...?" His voice dissolved into sobs, just as Clarice's had done earlier.
"Jack, may I suggest a psychiatrist? I hear they're quite helpful with situations such as yours." He smiled. Crawford glared at him.
"You! This is all your fault!" he screamed. "You got inside her head, poisoned her thoughts!" Clarice looked at Crawford kindly. She moved toward him.
"Jack, you've been wonderful to me. You truly have. You were there for me, always backing me up with Krendler and his lies. No one else would have done that for me, and I appreciate it. I really do, whether you believe that or not."
"Well, now that we've covered the final farewells, I believe, Jack, that it is time for you to take one last look at your precious Clarice."
Final farewells? Oh no. No freaking way.
Lecter approached Crawford, his hand in his breast pocket. Clarice knew exactly what was to come and backed away. She noticed that she'd stopped crying. After a flash of silver, blood almost magically appeared on Crawford's throat. Clarice gasped and turned her back on the gruesome scene.
Lecter turned to Clarice, placing his hands on her waist to steady her and prevent her from turning away. Blood garnished his mouth as he leaned in closer to her. Her pulse hastened and she found herself in yet another strange scenario. He kissed her with a fire like never before. Clarice began to tremble. Lecter sensed her nervousness and pulled away. "I'll send for you, my dear." With that, he freed Crawford and carried him out the door.