1
Clarice Starling awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of silence. It had been raining for about four days straight, and she'd grown accustomed to the sound... lulling, relaxing, soothing on nerves that had, admittedly, been put through a gauntlet of late. So when the rain stopped, so did Clarice's relaxation.
What followed was a tense, almost ridiculous pacing of her small kitchen, with a cold beer in one hand and His case file in the other. Trying to find that one little thing that might lead her back to him, the clue that everyone else had missed.
The time was about a month since Paul Krendler had met his untimely death. About a week since they'd given back her title of 'Special Agent'. Four days since they'd put her back on the one case that would ensure that she not fall from grace again... if she made progress with it.
But standing there feeling the chill of the kitchen tiles under her feet, she didn't find any likeliness in that happening. The case file captured the facts, and only the facts. His age, his height, his last known weight. The fact that he was now missing a thumb from one hand, chopped off so that he could free himself from the handcuffs she'd slapped on him.
"He doesn't operate on goddamn facts," Clarice announced to herself, her voice startlingly loud after the near complete silence of her home. Her voice, however, was nothing compared to the crash of the folder against the floor, as she flung it to the side of the room.
Back in her bedroom she curled up with her drink, trying to figure out... well, anything. Just from what she knew. Not what the facts said, but what she knew. He'd gone to Barney, she knew that for certain. One fact that was helpful. The nurse had called her ten days ago to say the good doctor had just left his house, which had greatly influenced the decision to put her back on her case, and give her back her Special title.
"He went to Barney. It makes sense. He'd go to a nurse that he felt he could trust, to get his hand patched up. But after that, where the hell would he go?" she muttered, pressing the cold can against her forehead to keep her awake. "He might go back to Italy. Probably not Florence, that would be too risky, and Dr. Lecter wouldn't want to get caught again. France, perhaps. Maybe he decided to go to the moon, for all I know. He could probably manage it. Right?"
It was, perhaps, that last word posed as a question that made her realize how very empty the room was that she was speaking to. All alone and talking to herself, trusty alcoholic beverage in hand.
"Oh God, Starling," she said to herself with a low sigh. "Next thing you know you're going to start taking orders from Elvis."
*********
Going to the office the next day was nearly unbearable. The office. That was a laugh. They'd put her back into the basement where she'd been before, dim lighting and all. It was always faintly unsettling to walk into the grand building, with the knowledge that she was going straight to the bottom... unlike all the others going all the way up.
She knew that it was more convenient for her, to have that much space to spread out. All her old stuff was still there, exactly as she'd left it. But it was still another reminder that she was different, and that they resented her for it.
Clarice gave a sharp shake of her head as that thought entered it, a thought spoken in the silken tones of the man she was currently hunting. Dr. Lecter. That was how he'd put it too.
"I need a vacation," she murmured, with a sigh. There she went again, talking to herself. If this was going to start becoming a habit, she was in trouble indeed.
The elevator door opened to reveal her home away from home, dark and cluttered with Lecter memorabilia. Her chair sat in the middle of it all, surrounded on three sides by desks. She sat. She started. Another day of pointless searching.
It would do about as much good for a mouse to start hunting a cat.
*********
Barney was in the process of cleaning out the room that Lecter had been staying in while he was healing up. The F.B.I. had cleaned it out of everything of value, anything that might even be remotely connected to the doctor, and he'd finally gotten permission to do away with what little was left that they didn't seem to need. That's how he found it.
It was obscure enough a place for it that Barney wasn't surprised that the forensics experts didn't find it. It was taped with electricians tape to the bottom of the trash can, which was black. It blended in enough that at first glance you wouldn't notice that anything was there, but when Barney had it turned upside down to shake its contents out, he noticed it.
Pulling back the tape revealed a key. A regular silver colored house key, without any readily distinguishable features. Barney may have just put it aside without another thought, if it weren't for the fact that it also had a tag on it. A tag that read only:
Clarice - You're close. Number Fifty-Four.
A tag written in Dr. Lecter's familiarly elegant handwriting. H.
Barney looked at this for a minute, pondering how much it might get him on eBay or a similar site. Probably at least a thousand, for something written in the doctor's own hand, and addressed to the F.B.I.'s angel of death.
But with a sigh he turned to rifle through some papers on the table, to find the piece of paper that Agent Starling had written her number on, in case he thought of something he wanted to tell her. He had, after all, promised.
**********
Clarice had been listening, for the thousandth time, to the Lecter tapes to try and find something else, some clue as to where he may like to go. When the phone starting ringing in her dim little office, it at first didn't register in her mind just what it was... and when it did, she fairly lunged for the phone as she ripped off her headphones.
"Special Agent Starling, here."
"Special Agent Starling? This is Barney. I have something for you."
"What might that be, Barney?"
"Well, I say I have something for you. More accurately, he left something for you."
There was a long pause after he spoke those words. He. He left her something. Somehow she wasn't surprised to find that out, the doctor was one to leave clues, to taunt and tease with hints as to where he might be without ever giving just enough to...
"Agent Starling?"
"I'll be right there, Barney."
*********
"You're close, number fifty-four."
Clarice was talking to herself again, and this time she didn't care a whit about it. She was home, it was night, the key was warmed by her constant touch, and she was cooled by the breeze coming in her opened window.
"Number fifty-four. Fifty-four. Fifty-four what, Dr. Lecter?"
When she'd first received the clue from Barney's hands, she'd been so thrilled. Surely this was going to be her breakthrough, her window into the doctor's mind... and what it actually was was a meaningless saying. Unlike him. Very unlike him, to say something that didn't at least somewhat intrigue or hint at the mind what the answer could be.
"Fifty-four."
Silence.
"Damnit."
**********
He could hear her through the walls. Though the walls were thin, that still indicated she couldn't have been watching her voice too carefully, or else he'd only be able to get a murmur. But he could hear her debating to herself in that accent of hers, just what his little clue might mean.
Lecter knew that he hadn't given enough information to get her anywhere, but that was his purpose. His plan. After all, a game of cat and mouse was no fun at all if the mouse was ensnared too quickly.
He laid back on his bed comfortably, and took a sip of his wine. Not as expensive as he would have liked, but they probably still had watches on the finer things in life, and he had to be careful.
He didn't want the cat to get ensnared at all.
Her voice raised again, repeating the clue to herself on the other side of the wall, trying one last time to decipher it.
Hannibal just smiled in the darkness of his room.
**********
Author's Note: And I begin again! I want to thank, right off the bat here, Plastic Female Plaything for being ever so supportive, and inspirational, and getting me hooked on fanfics in the first place. There. I hope that people will enjoy this as much as they seemed to like the last one. I'm already having fun myself.
Clarice Starling awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of silence. It had been raining for about four days straight, and she'd grown accustomed to the sound... lulling, relaxing, soothing on nerves that had, admittedly, been put through a gauntlet of late. So when the rain stopped, so did Clarice's relaxation.
What followed was a tense, almost ridiculous pacing of her small kitchen, with a cold beer in one hand and His case file in the other. Trying to find that one little thing that might lead her back to him, the clue that everyone else had missed.
The time was about a month since Paul Krendler had met his untimely death. About a week since they'd given back her title of 'Special Agent'. Four days since they'd put her back on the one case that would ensure that she not fall from grace again... if she made progress with it.
But standing there feeling the chill of the kitchen tiles under her feet, she didn't find any likeliness in that happening. The case file captured the facts, and only the facts. His age, his height, his last known weight. The fact that he was now missing a thumb from one hand, chopped off so that he could free himself from the handcuffs she'd slapped on him.
"He doesn't operate on goddamn facts," Clarice announced to herself, her voice startlingly loud after the near complete silence of her home. Her voice, however, was nothing compared to the crash of the folder against the floor, as she flung it to the side of the room.
Back in her bedroom she curled up with her drink, trying to figure out... well, anything. Just from what she knew. Not what the facts said, but what she knew. He'd gone to Barney, she knew that for certain. One fact that was helpful. The nurse had called her ten days ago to say the good doctor had just left his house, which had greatly influenced the decision to put her back on her case, and give her back her Special title.
"He went to Barney. It makes sense. He'd go to a nurse that he felt he could trust, to get his hand patched up. But after that, where the hell would he go?" she muttered, pressing the cold can against her forehead to keep her awake. "He might go back to Italy. Probably not Florence, that would be too risky, and Dr. Lecter wouldn't want to get caught again. France, perhaps. Maybe he decided to go to the moon, for all I know. He could probably manage it. Right?"
It was, perhaps, that last word posed as a question that made her realize how very empty the room was that she was speaking to. All alone and talking to herself, trusty alcoholic beverage in hand.
"Oh God, Starling," she said to herself with a low sigh. "Next thing you know you're going to start taking orders from Elvis."
*********
Going to the office the next day was nearly unbearable. The office. That was a laugh. They'd put her back into the basement where she'd been before, dim lighting and all. It was always faintly unsettling to walk into the grand building, with the knowledge that she was going straight to the bottom... unlike all the others going all the way up.
She knew that it was more convenient for her, to have that much space to spread out. All her old stuff was still there, exactly as she'd left it. But it was still another reminder that she was different, and that they resented her for it.
Clarice gave a sharp shake of her head as that thought entered it, a thought spoken in the silken tones of the man she was currently hunting. Dr. Lecter. That was how he'd put it too.
"I need a vacation," she murmured, with a sigh. There she went again, talking to herself. If this was going to start becoming a habit, she was in trouble indeed.
The elevator door opened to reveal her home away from home, dark and cluttered with Lecter memorabilia. Her chair sat in the middle of it all, surrounded on three sides by desks. She sat. She started. Another day of pointless searching.
It would do about as much good for a mouse to start hunting a cat.
*********
Barney was in the process of cleaning out the room that Lecter had been staying in while he was healing up. The F.B.I. had cleaned it out of everything of value, anything that might even be remotely connected to the doctor, and he'd finally gotten permission to do away with what little was left that they didn't seem to need. That's how he found it.
It was obscure enough a place for it that Barney wasn't surprised that the forensics experts didn't find it. It was taped with electricians tape to the bottom of the trash can, which was black. It blended in enough that at first glance you wouldn't notice that anything was there, but when Barney had it turned upside down to shake its contents out, he noticed it.
Pulling back the tape revealed a key. A regular silver colored house key, without any readily distinguishable features. Barney may have just put it aside without another thought, if it weren't for the fact that it also had a tag on it. A tag that read only:
Clarice - You're close. Number Fifty-Four.
A tag written in Dr. Lecter's familiarly elegant handwriting. H.
Barney looked at this for a minute, pondering how much it might get him on eBay or a similar site. Probably at least a thousand, for something written in the doctor's own hand, and addressed to the F.B.I.'s angel of death.
But with a sigh he turned to rifle through some papers on the table, to find the piece of paper that Agent Starling had written her number on, in case he thought of something he wanted to tell her. He had, after all, promised.
**********
Clarice had been listening, for the thousandth time, to the Lecter tapes to try and find something else, some clue as to where he may like to go. When the phone starting ringing in her dim little office, it at first didn't register in her mind just what it was... and when it did, she fairly lunged for the phone as she ripped off her headphones.
"Special Agent Starling, here."
"Special Agent Starling? This is Barney. I have something for you."
"What might that be, Barney?"
"Well, I say I have something for you. More accurately, he left something for you."
There was a long pause after he spoke those words. He. He left her something. Somehow she wasn't surprised to find that out, the doctor was one to leave clues, to taunt and tease with hints as to where he might be without ever giving just enough to...
"Agent Starling?"
"I'll be right there, Barney."
*********
"You're close, number fifty-four."
Clarice was talking to herself again, and this time she didn't care a whit about it. She was home, it was night, the key was warmed by her constant touch, and she was cooled by the breeze coming in her opened window.
"Number fifty-four. Fifty-four. Fifty-four what, Dr. Lecter?"
When she'd first received the clue from Barney's hands, she'd been so thrilled. Surely this was going to be her breakthrough, her window into the doctor's mind... and what it actually was was a meaningless saying. Unlike him. Very unlike him, to say something that didn't at least somewhat intrigue or hint at the mind what the answer could be.
"Fifty-four."
Silence.
"Damnit."
**********
He could hear her through the walls. Though the walls were thin, that still indicated she couldn't have been watching her voice too carefully, or else he'd only be able to get a murmur. But he could hear her debating to herself in that accent of hers, just what his little clue might mean.
Lecter knew that he hadn't given enough information to get her anywhere, but that was his purpose. His plan. After all, a game of cat and mouse was no fun at all if the mouse was ensnared too quickly.
He laid back on his bed comfortably, and took a sip of his wine. Not as expensive as he would have liked, but they probably still had watches on the finer things in life, and he had to be careful.
He didn't want the cat to get ensnared at all.
Her voice raised again, repeating the clue to herself on the other side of the wall, trying one last time to decipher it.
Hannibal just smiled in the darkness of his room.
**********
Author's Note: And I begin again! I want to thank, right off the bat here, Plastic Female Plaything for being ever so supportive, and inspirational, and getting me hooked on fanfics in the first place. There. I hope that people will enjoy this as much as they seemed to like the last one. I'm already having fun myself.