Well, dear ones, have I tortured you enough? Are you squirming in you seats as you await the next chapter? I only try to please. Huge thank-yous to Troesnaja, for helping me hash out the fine details of harm and torture. She is as gory as Kurt. Next, to LadyOfTruths. I can only say I'm sorry for not reading and reviewing your story earlier. The sad things that happen when I get busy. I am deeply honored by you. Okey dokey then, here we go.

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Clarice has her eyes squeezed shut, feeling the blood that trickles down her cheek like a tear. He watches her reaction as he uses the knife to slice the bra apart. He pushes the now ruined pieces of lace and fabric apart and lays the knife against her pale skin. He wonders for a moment, then stares intently at the knife. No. He can think of something better for her. He stands from the bed, watching to see her eyes open into slits, pupils watching him as he goes back to the door.

*****

Clarice lay on the bed, intensely aware of ever sensation on her body. The twine of the ropes, the blood on her cheek, the brush of the cool air against the now bare nipples. She began to struggle again, wiggling her fingers and curling her hands into fists, hoping she could somehow reach the knots in the ropes. The ropes chaffed her wrists, hurting the tender skin, the only result of her struggles. Unwillingly, her eyes begin to tear as she resigns herself to a death at the hands of a monster. She had been raised with a belief in God, but felt as if she were abandoned by him in the time of need.

A grimace crosses her face as she hears the footsteps coming back up the stairs. It seemed to take an eternity for Darryl to reach her door again. Still in slow motion, the door opened and he stepped into the room. The knife had been replaced with something else in his hands, something which she couldn't identify. He crosses the space between them swiftly and settles down on the bed next to her. He lays the object on the bed and leans to undo the knot in the rope binding her right wrist. She recognizes the object now, but cannot register why he would need a cheese grater.

"Now, listen to me, Clarice. Do not try to run when I undo these ropes. To do so, will only make your experience all the more painful, understand me?" Sulfuric eyes met hers and burned with an evil intensity.

"I understand." she whispered. He loosed the hand and held the rope above her body. He let it drop onto her bared chest as he leaned to unbind her ankle. Clarice didn't move an inch.

*****

The front door on Clarice's side of the duplex eases open, the person entering being quite careful not to make a sound. He pauses in the hallway, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light. The main level of the duplex is dark on Clarice's side, save for the kitchen. His nostrils flare as he takes in the air of the house. The scent of Clarice is unmistakable. Evyan skin crème and l'Air du Temps lingered in the air, marking her. He works his way to the kitchen, moving slowly to avoid running into anything. A pause, looking around the corner into the kitchen, the sap sliding neatly into his hand. No one there, not even a trace of the chicken in the sink. He knows there was chicken, he can smell it strongly in the air there. A creak above him draws his attention to the stairs.

*****

Clarice was now bound resting on her stomach, still spread eagle on the bed. He had removed the remnants of her bra and was sitting on the right edge of the bed, studying her. He had to do this right, he wanted to cause her pain. Just once, to hear a scream that would shatter the order if only for a moment. Something that he could always remember, something to bring into focus when he felt the urge to stray, to abandon the Dragon. Darryl knows that he will die if he ever abandons the Red Dragon, the pain Agent Starling would be a reminder then, of what happens to those who don't acknowledge the Red Dragon. It would also be more pleasurable to remember the pale face of her than the twisted visage of Will Graham. The mattress bounces as he rises from it. His foot steps on a squeaky floor board, and he waits for the silence before he starts to move again. He takes the cheese grater and leans over to look at Clarice.

*****

Clarice tenses as he looks into her face again, she remains stoic as she stares back, trying not to show him any fear. Her heart flutters like a caged bird though, she swears she can feel frenzied wings against her ribcage. She can see him standing again, straightening til his face s out of her range of vision. With him out of sight, she is reduced to her other senses again. She can feel the bed shift and bounce as he climbs back onto it. The warmth of his body as he kneels between her spread legs. The skirt and nylons still cover her lower body, and she is very aware of an itch behind her left knee. The bed shifts again as he leans forward. She feels his breath on her back, the cold steel of the old cheese grater. All this is forgotten in an instant though, as he drags the grater down the length of her spine. It is light pressure at first, but it makes her whimper. A whisper from his lips hangs in the air above her sobs.

"Good." The grater is returned to the top of her back for a second pass, more pressure this time. The whimpers are abandoned as Clarice screams into the night.

*****

Darryl Conrad pauses to survey his work after the fifth pass. He has been increasing the pressure each time, enjoying her screams and the sobs during the time it takes him to return the utensil to the top of her back. The length of her spine, from roughly shoulders to buttocks is a red, bloody mess. Little shavings of pale skin hang on the grater and a few in the blood. He smiles as he leans forward and blows across the wound he is creating, eliciting another scream from his sacrifice. He can feel the Dragon emerging inside him, watching with pleasure as he resumes his work. He leans forward once again, positioning the cheese grater, and begins the sixth pass. He does not know it will be the last.

*****