The chicken is lifted from the sink, removed from the package, and deposited then on a cutting board. Clarice takes the deboning knife in hand and wonders for a moment, absurdly, if Dr. Lecter ever deboned any of his victims. As the sharp blade cuts into the thigh she decides that she'll just have to ask him the next time she sees him. Hopefully, as much as she may want him in her life, it won't be anytime soon. She hears a clink and a crash come from Ardelia's side of the duplex. Staring into the darkened dining room on Delia's side she tries to make something out of the shadows.
A firm grip is kept on the deboning knife as she steps into the dark and perfectly clean living room. Knowing her luck, it'd be Lecter himself and he'd jump out of the shadows and kill her. With some fava beans and a big Amarone, her mind snickered. Yeah, that's it. She found the light switch and flipped it, illuminating the white couches and armchairs. A vase lay shattered next to the coffee table.
Haunted. No one was in the room with her, and unless they had raccoons running around inside or mice that escaped from the lab of some mad scientist… Oh, wait. I do know a mad scientist. Well, a mad doctor at least. At that moment the quip was a release fro her tension and she was unable to stifle the giggle that accompanied it. Walking out of the living room, she heard another crash, this one from upstairs. Thinking that she should go and retrieve her gun from the other side of the duplex was pushed aside. Yeah, go get the gun and then let whoever it is get away with who knows what of Delia's stuff? The knife would have to suffice as her weaponry.
Check the front door first, still locked. Okay, so how'd the person, thing, ghost, whatever get in? A quick trot back to Delia's dining room revealed that the back door was also quite undisturbed. So it came in on her side of the house. How nice, wasn't her stuff nice enough to get stolen? Absurd thoughts, being jealous because she wasn't the one being robbed. She edged up the stairs, pressing her back against the smooth wall. Careful around the corner, looking before she came around. Don't want to get your head taken off for being dumb.
A scratching sound came from Delia's bedroom. Raccoons, as her first thought, but how'd they get in there? As long as it wasn't a rabid coon she could handle it. Clarice placed a hand on the doorknob and heard the scratching stop. She was probably going to have to hunt it down in Delia's room, but as long as she could catch the damned thing. She cracked the door, firmly planting a foot in the crack and easing in. She didn't look behind her since she assumed her quarry was only a little animal.
She heard the creak of the floorboard right before she whipped around. "What the fuck…?!" her question was met with a solid thunk on the side of her head that sent her to the floor. Dazed and in pain she dropped the knife, felt it bump against her leg as it hit the carpet. She looks up at her assailant and dimmed eyes register surprise that it is, in fact, not the good doctor. The man towering over her, bending now to pull her roughly to her feet is someone that is much, much more terrifying.
Lips curl back, revealing yellow teeth in that rictus grin, the one that reminds her of the Joker. Eyes the color of sulfur burn into her gaze, driving into the depths of her soul. He echoes the same words that Dr. Lecter uses, but it does more than unnerve her, it drives the fear home in her heart.
"Hello, Clarice."
*****
Dr. Lecter relaxes in the cool evening air, comfortable in the patio chair on his deck. A glass of wine sits at his elbow on the glass table, along with the portable phone and the Bushnells. He has been watching her since sunset, when she emerged fro a few gorgeous minutes to stare up at the sky. He didn't know that she had been doing that for the past five years, that his letter had reached her so deeply. He had watched through the Bushnells as she shivered, and dropped her gaze to the horizon, seeking more emerging stars. The sky is now a deep indigo, and looks as if diamonds had been spilt across a velvet plain.
He sees the light go on and off momentarily on her housemate's side of the duplex, on the upper level. A few moments later he sees the living room lights come up. He grasps the binoculars and raises them, carefully adjusting the focus. She passes through the living room, something glints in the grip of her right hand. HE wonders what she is doing, and wishes that he could see more. Alas, his view is limited to that of a voyeur, looking in windows. He sees the light upstairs come on again, remain on for a few moments more this time, then go dark again. Clarice's activities have his full attention now.
He waits, and although he is more than curious about what his little Starling is doing, it does not agitate him in any way. His breathing remains calm and steady, as does his heartbeat. Now, a rather large figure has stepped into the living room. It is not Clarice, which causes a sharp intake of breath. Tall, weighing in at over two hundred pounds, he estimates. The man, it can only be a man, move with a feline grace, almost in imitation of a cat. The figure bends, disappearing from view, then reappears with something draped in his arms.
Now is the time for alarm, as Dr. Lecter draws the only conclusion he can. He rises from his chair in a single fluid motion, returning the binoculars to the table as he does so. The wine and phone are promptly abandoned and forgotten. Inside his temporary home, the slippers are exchanged for a pair of running shoes. A leather jacket is donned, new and very soft. A leather sap is procured from the table by the closet, and slid into the jacket's sleeve. The last piece f the ensemble is also taken from the table. Its weight is pleasant in his hand, new and not yet broken in. The Harpy is unsheathed once, examined briefly in the light, the sheathed and placed in the right pocket of the leather jacket. He takes a single key from his trouser pocket, and carefully locks the door behind him.
*****