2
"There has got, got to be something that you can do. You can't be telling me that there's absolutely no possible way to trace this key's origins."
It had already been a long morning, and it was scarcely ten o'clock. The rest of the day did not appear to be shaping up much better. The key, the only clue they had, was a dead end, and the note was just as useless.
All they'd managed to get was that it was indeed from the good doctor.
Clarice had been on the phone with just about every forensics expert she could find, and they all told her the exact same thing. Sorry, no dice. Some of them phrased it differently, but they all got that message across... it was a hopeless cause, trying to trace a single silver key without any idea as to what it could belong to.
Finally her last phone call was finished, useless as the rest, and she just leaned back in her chair to try and collect her thoughts. Her reason. Surely, if nothing else, her reason could do something with this hopeless case.
No inspiration came. Just the mail.
"Hey Danny," Starling murmured, stretching as the young man pushed the mail cart through the curtain covering her door. "What do you have for me?"
"Nothin' much Agent Starling. Looks like the results from forensics on the note, a few random letters, and some guy gave me this package to give to you. Ran into him into the hallway, jammed it into my hand. Guess he was in some sort of a hurry."
Danny had barely gotten through his second sentence before Clarice sat up and snatched the package from his hand. "Thanks Danny, you can go now." She didn't even notice as he walked out, looking quite indignant at her dismissal of him.
The package looked innocuous enough, but she had a distinct feeling of what she'd find inside. Gloves were donned, and a knife claimed to do the work of opening it... and she couldn't help but think of how it all began last time. With a package, enclosing a letter.
Just like this letter.
With the package opened the smaller envelope slide out into her gloved hand, with her name written across the front in reddish ink. She hoped it was ink. She turned it over, and it had the familiar wax seal holding down the flap, which she easily dislodged with a flick of her knife.
The letter enclosed was short, only one page.
Dear Clarice,
You are, I've observed, quite confused about the note that I left you. I'm sorry I was not more clear as to its meaning, but it would be no fun at all if you figured it out too quickly.
I'm going to give you another hint, which I think is more than generous of me, as what I've already given you is more than enough to find me, if you were paying enough attention. But, as it doesn't seem to be enough, I'm going to send you on a little treasure hunt.
Be sure to wear socks, Clarice, so you can tuck in your trousers.
Yours truly,
Hannibal Lecter M.D.
Clarice read the letter twice before folding it back up, and grabbing at the phone. This was even worse than they had expected. "Hello? Yes... no sir, I know you're busy... no... well, sir, I just thought you'd like to know that Hannibal Lecter, number one on the ten most wanted list, just waltzed through the F.B.I. building and left me note. Yes. This F.B.I. building. Yes, sir. Yes, I'm sure it was he; he wouldn't send a messenger boy. Damn indeed."
**********
Fifteen minutes later she was in meeting with her superiors. They were all, one by one, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the letter. A meaning which she, all by her little old self, had figured out.
"Excuse me, sirs," Starling voiced, trying to break into the intense chatter emanating from all around her.
"Just be quiet, Starling, and think."
"I did sir, and I think..."
"Why would she need to tuck in her trousers, Stan? Do you suppose he wants her to go wading?"
"What the hell does wading have to do with it, Joe?"
"Why are we bothering, he's just a psychopath anyway."
Clarice just listened to all the nonsense they were spouting for another ten minutes, trying to keep her calm, and thereby keep in their good graces. But it wasn't worth it, particularly when they started debating the idea that it was just nonsense. She said one word, not quite yelling but loud enough that they could not brush it away.
"Rats!"
Special Agent Donnor turned to her with his eyebrows raised. "Where, Special Agent Starling?"
"No. Rats. That's the reason for tucking in my trousers, rats. To be specific, the rats in Raspail's old garage. That's what the owner told me to do when I first went to investigate it. I don't know how Dr. Lecter would have found that out, I didn't tell him, but it's what it means."
There was dead silence surrounding the table when this proclamation was finished. The first to speak up was, again, Special Agent Donnor, with his expression the mirror of a father placating a child. "What makes you so certain, Agent Starling?"
"Special Agent Starling, Special Agent Donnor, and I'm so sure because I've encountered this man before in different circumstances. I don't know how he'd have known what the old man told me at the garage, but I don't doubt that he could have found it out. There's reason behind everything he does. He'd never say he was going to give me a hint, and give me only nonsense."
"You put an awful lot of trust in a madman, Special Agent Starling."
"Trust? I suppose. I trust him the same way you'd trust a snake to strike when you pissed it off."
That seemed to satisfy all parties as being a sensible response, and the head of the little meeting group made his decision. "All right, Starling, you can go to this garage. Take whatever men you want with you."
She replied with, "Thank you sir, but I'd prefer to go alone."
This wasn't at all pleasing, that much was obvious in the creases of the man's forehead. But he accepted it without trying to talk her out of it, which was the first time someone had done that since... perhaps since her father died. "Very well. But we expect to be kept updated at all times. You will let someone know before you enter the garage, and when you come out. If the time spent inside seems overly much, someone will be dispatched to come and make sure that you're all right. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Dismissed."
**********
Lecter knew that he'd taken quite a risk in entering the F.B.I. building, not even disguised beyond an overcoat and a hat. But that way he had been able to catch a glimpse of dear Clarice before leaving to set up the rest of the game they were now going to play together. She was still every bit as... vibrant as he remembered her to be. It was always a pleasure to see her again, even if he was not close enough to breathe her in, and savor every part of her in his senses. It was enough.
It had taken him a while to figure out exactly what sort of game they were going to play, but he knew that no matter what he chose, they were going to have a lot of fun.
The reason he'd picked a treasure hunt was for sentimental reasons, really. He wanted to take her on a tour of her past, make her remember all the details and sensations that she'd forgotten as the years flew by. A sort of montage of memories to relive. Raspail's garage would be the first, and he hoped she'd discover how he knew what the caretaker had told her, about the rats. It would make it considerably more... fun.
**********
Clarice could remember the garage from those years long past, a dark and dank place. She didn't want to return to it, and had a twist in her stomach from knowing that she must... but there was also the slight thrill of knowing that progress was being made. That she was a step closer to finding the man who had dominated her thoughts for so many years.
"Perhaps I'll finally put him where he belongs, back behind the glass," she murmured to herself... and then promptly brushed the thought away, as it didn't quite taste right on her tongue... like sucking on a greasy coin.
A quick check over her person showed that she had everything she needed with her. She had her socks, just ready to be tucked into, a small knife in an ankle strap, and her gun strapped securely to her side.
But one look at her face in the mirror showed how very much she wasn't ready.
**********
Author's Note: Yay! I have people to thank! Steel, chameleon, DianaLecter (wow!), Abbadon the Bad One, Nanci (yay!), and luna, thank you all for reviewing. It's for you all that I write.
"There has got, got to be something that you can do. You can't be telling me that there's absolutely no possible way to trace this key's origins."
It had already been a long morning, and it was scarcely ten o'clock. The rest of the day did not appear to be shaping up much better. The key, the only clue they had, was a dead end, and the note was just as useless.
All they'd managed to get was that it was indeed from the good doctor.
Clarice had been on the phone with just about every forensics expert she could find, and they all told her the exact same thing. Sorry, no dice. Some of them phrased it differently, but they all got that message across... it was a hopeless cause, trying to trace a single silver key without any idea as to what it could belong to.
Finally her last phone call was finished, useless as the rest, and she just leaned back in her chair to try and collect her thoughts. Her reason. Surely, if nothing else, her reason could do something with this hopeless case.
No inspiration came. Just the mail.
"Hey Danny," Starling murmured, stretching as the young man pushed the mail cart through the curtain covering her door. "What do you have for me?"
"Nothin' much Agent Starling. Looks like the results from forensics on the note, a few random letters, and some guy gave me this package to give to you. Ran into him into the hallway, jammed it into my hand. Guess he was in some sort of a hurry."
Danny had barely gotten through his second sentence before Clarice sat up and snatched the package from his hand. "Thanks Danny, you can go now." She didn't even notice as he walked out, looking quite indignant at her dismissal of him.
The package looked innocuous enough, but she had a distinct feeling of what she'd find inside. Gloves were donned, and a knife claimed to do the work of opening it... and she couldn't help but think of how it all began last time. With a package, enclosing a letter.
Just like this letter.
With the package opened the smaller envelope slide out into her gloved hand, with her name written across the front in reddish ink. She hoped it was ink. She turned it over, and it had the familiar wax seal holding down the flap, which she easily dislodged with a flick of her knife.
The letter enclosed was short, only one page.
Dear Clarice,
You are, I've observed, quite confused about the note that I left you. I'm sorry I was not more clear as to its meaning, but it would be no fun at all if you figured it out too quickly.
I'm going to give you another hint, which I think is more than generous of me, as what I've already given you is more than enough to find me, if you were paying enough attention. But, as it doesn't seem to be enough, I'm going to send you on a little treasure hunt.
Be sure to wear socks, Clarice, so you can tuck in your trousers.
Yours truly,
Hannibal Lecter M.D.
Clarice read the letter twice before folding it back up, and grabbing at the phone. This was even worse than they had expected. "Hello? Yes... no sir, I know you're busy... no... well, sir, I just thought you'd like to know that Hannibal Lecter, number one on the ten most wanted list, just waltzed through the F.B.I. building and left me note. Yes. This F.B.I. building. Yes, sir. Yes, I'm sure it was he; he wouldn't send a messenger boy. Damn indeed."
**********
Fifteen minutes later she was in meeting with her superiors. They were all, one by one, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the letter. A meaning which she, all by her little old self, had figured out.
"Excuse me, sirs," Starling voiced, trying to break into the intense chatter emanating from all around her.
"Just be quiet, Starling, and think."
"I did sir, and I think..."
"Why would she need to tuck in her trousers, Stan? Do you suppose he wants her to go wading?"
"What the hell does wading have to do with it, Joe?"
"Why are we bothering, he's just a psychopath anyway."
Clarice just listened to all the nonsense they were spouting for another ten minutes, trying to keep her calm, and thereby keep in their good graces. But it wasn't worth it, particularly when they started debating the idea that it was just nonsense. She said one word, not quite yelling but loud enough that they could not brush it away.
"Rats!"
Special Agent Donnor turned to her with his eyebrows raised. "Where, Special Agent Starling?"
"No. Rats. That's the reason for tucking in my trousers, rats. To be specific, the rats in Raspail's old garage. That's what the owner told me to do when I first went to investigate it. I don't know how Dr. Lecter would have found that out, I didn't tell him, but it's what it means."
There was dead silence surrounding the table when this proclamation was finished. The first to speak up was, again, Special Agent Donnor, with his expression the mirror of a father placating a child. "What makes you so certain, Agent Starling?"
"Special Agent Starling, Special Agent Donnor, and I'm so sure because I've encountered this man before in different circumstances. I don't know how he'd have known what the old man told me at the garage, but I don't doubt that he could have found it out. There's reason behind everything he does. He'd never say he was going to give me a hint, and give me only nonsense."
"You put an awful lot of trust in a madman, Special Agent Starling."
"Trust? I suppose. I trust him the same way you'd trust a snake to strike when you pissed it off."
That seemed to satisfy all parties as being a sensible response, and the head of the little meeting group made his decision. "All right, Starling, you can go to this garage. Take whatever men you want with you."
She replied with, "Thank you sir, but I'd prefer to go alone."
This wasn't at all pleasing, that much was obvious in the creases of the man's forehead. But he accepted it without trying to talk her out of it, which was the first time someone had done that since... perhaps since her father died. "Very well. But we expect to be kept updated at all times. You will let someone know before you enter the garage, and when you come out. If the time spent inside seems overly much, someone will be dispatched to come and make sure that you're all right. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Dismissed."
**********
Lecter knew that he'd taken quite a risk in entering the F.B.I. building, not even disguised beyond an overcoat and a hat. But that way he had been able to catch a glimpse of dear Clarice before leaving to set up the rest of the game they were now going to play together. She was still every bit as... vibrant as he remembered her to be. It was always a pleasure to see her again, even if he was not close enough to breathe her in, and savor every part of her in his senses. It was enough.
It had taken him a while to figure out exactly what sort of game they were going to play, but he knew that no matter what he chose, they were going to have a lot of fun.
The reason he'd picked a treasure hunt was for sentimental reasons, really. He wanted to take her on a tour of her past, make her remember all the details and sensations that she'd forgotten as the years flew by. A sort of montage of memories to relive. Raspail's garage would be the first, and he hoped she'd discover how he knew what the caretaker had told her, about the rats. It would make it considerably more... fun.
**********
Clarice could remember the garage from those years long past, a dark and dank place. She didn't want to return to it, and had a twist in her stomach from knowing that she must... but there was also the slight thrill of knowing that progress was being made. That she was a step closer to finding the man who had dominated her thoughts for so many years.
"Perhaps I'll finally put him where he belongs, back behind the glass," she murmured to herself... and then promptly brushed the thought away, as it didn't quite taste right on her tongue... like sucking on a greasy coin.
A quick check over her person showed that she had everything she needed with her. She had her socks, just ready to be tucked into, a small knife in an ankle strap, and her gun strapped securely to her side.
But one look at her face in the mirror showed how very much she wasn't ready.
**********
Author's Note: Yay! I have people to thank! Steel, chameleon, DianaLecter (wow!), Abbadon the Bad One, Nanci (yay!), and luna, thank you all for reviewing. It's for you all that I write.