Well, I'm very pleased to see that the last chapter was so well received. The "not writing gore anymore" isn't going to stand for long, Kurt and Chameleon convinced me otherwise last night. Reminding me that we are Lecterphiles and not Starlingphiles. LOL Thanks guys. Inspire my inner sociopath. Also, for my reviewers: Steel, Kurt, Chameleon, Nanci, Saavik, LadyOfTruths, Troesnaja, Luna, Diana, Horserider, Tara, and littlp. You guys are the reason I keep writing this stuff. Big giant 'Thank You' to all of you! Tralala and off we go…
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Graham was dead. Clarice tried to come to grips with the fact of the matter as she sat, chin resting in an open palm, staring out the window. She felt that she was to blame, at least partially. She was the one who had called him, convinced him to come up here to assist on the case. He was only supposed to look over the file, give an opinion, then return to his life in the keys, doing whatever it was he did with his days. But, she reasoned, he was the one who had decided to stay, offer his experience to catch the new Red Dragon. As she blinks Starling is absolute that it was the Dragon who had done this to Will. Finishing the job Francis Dolarhyde had begun all those years ago.
Her thoughts begin to wander then congeal into a theory. Graham wasn't just killed to finish the job. No, the Dragon didn't kill without reason. Graham was a stumbling block for him, something that prevented him from completing his so-called Becoming. So what did that bode for her? Did the Dragon see her as an obstacle too? Or was it something that roused a deeper fear, that he saw her as a step in his Becoming? Starling shudders at that thought, trying to brush it aside. She sat silently and listened to the other Agents that were left in her house. Soon they would be gone, and she would be summoned to Crawford's office.
The phone ringing brought her from her misery, and she cast a glance towards it. Slowly rising from the chair in the dining room she walked into the kitchen. The box that had contained Will's head was gone, but the blood stains from the seepage on the bottom of the box remained on the white counter. The physical presence of the blood would soon be removed, Pine-Sol could accomplish that with ease, but there would always be a stain on Starling's memory. She picked up the phone, ignoring the agents who chatted in the corner opposite from her.
"Hello?" she didn't realize how much exhaustion was in her voice as she spoke. The caller certainly did.
"Good morning, Clarice. How are you weathering the recent tragedy?" Cold seeps through Starling's veins as she listens to the metallic voice coming across the connection. His voice is as calm and dry as if he were asking about the weather they'd been having lately, as if Graham's murder were nothing more than idle chit-chat. She tries to contain her adverse reaction, instinctively that it would not be wise to draw attention to herself at this moment. His next sentence makes him appear to be omnipotent, as if he could see her actions and hear the thoughts in her brain. "No, don't draw attention to yourself, Special Agent Starling. That would really be an inconvenience for me."
The agents in the corner are stepping out of the kitchen, trying to appear polite by not eavesdropping on her conversation. Starling manages a wan smile at them as she presses the phone against her ear. "What do you want?" her voice is only a few notches above a whisper, and the rolling accent is prominent. Fear and exhaustion always did that.
"I am sorry to hear of Will's passing. Too bad, really, now you'll never get to ask him why we were just alike."
"Did you turn the killer on to him like you did before, Doctor…" she catches herself before she speaks the name. There may be no one in the kitchen, but the walls weren't exactly sound proof.
"No, I did not. I did stop in and have a little chat with him last night. We talked about the case, about your new Red Dragon. We talked about you, Clarice."
"Great." her voice was flat. She heard a dry chuckle on the other end.
"I can help you catch him, Special Agent Starling."
"Okay, how?" She was being drawn into his game once again. She waited with the same dreaded anticipation and fascination a fly waits with as the spider descends to web.
"Quid pro quo, Clarice. You tell me things, I tell you things."
"What do you want to know, Doctor…" Dammit, her tongue almost let it slip again. To make it worse, one of the agents was leaning in the doorway, telling her that they were leaving. Clarice presented him with a smile and nodded, waving him away. She held her breath until she heard the front door close. Alone. "What do you want to know, Dr. Lecter?"
"Something simple, dear Clarice. Something you owe me from before." a beat of silence, playing the waiting game.
"Okay."
"Have the lambs stopped screaming yet? Did saving Catherine Martin silence them? You were a hero, you know. Saved the doomed girl and killed the feared killer."
The reply is cautious. "They stopped… for a little while."
"That's what I suspected, Clarice. Do you think they'll stop if you capture the Red Dragon? You will tell me, won't you Clarice?"
"Maybe. You said you could help me catch him. Tell me Dr. Lecter."
A small sigh from the other end, like that of a patient teacher as he deals with the student that just can't comprehend. "First principles. I'm sure you've gone over them already."
"Yes. He's trying to achieve order. He's Becoming, Dr. Lecter."
"Very good. You know he is, don't you?"
"We have a name." again, she is being very cautious. She is fairly certain that he would not lie to her, but she cannot be sure.
"Ummmm. Yes. I know who he is, Clarice. He covets, like our dear Billy did. How do we begin to covet?" The voice of a teacher, continuing with the lesson plan, bringing the subject at hand slowly into the light.
"We covet what we see everyday."
"Good girl. Look closely about you Agent Starling. He's watching you."
Her eyes widened as she listened to him. "Who is he?!" it was too late. The connection had bee broken by him and she was speaking to the silence that precedes the dial tone. Again, she was left with a glimmer of a clue, but not quite enough of one. For once, as she hung up the phone, Starling wished he would give her a single direct answer.
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An elegant looking man sat on the patio of an apartment that was located behind the cul-de-sac that Clarice Starling's duplex occupied. A pair of Bushnell binoculars were raised to his eyes, trained on the kitchen window of the aforementioned duplex. A portable phone sat on the small glass table next to him, and a smile played across full red lips. In the binoculars' field of vision a woman paces, seen through the pane of window glass. She runs a hand through thick auburn hair and looks to the ceiling. Her head tilted back, exposing the length of her neck and throat, presenting a lovely picture for him. The glasses are slowly lowered and the tip of a pointed red tongue parts the lips. He was sorry about Will, he had been a good opponent. Much more so than either the incompetent Chilton or the over assuming Crawford. Yes, Will would be missed, since he would no longer have someone who was just alike to play his games with. Pity really. The glasses are raised again and the tongue returns to its lair, tracing over his teeth as he watches his Starling in her kitchen.
*****