There are those of us who come first ,and those who come second. This is not always a rank; often it is simple chronology, the passage of time and events. If a man has two sons, the second son may be more successful, more intelligent, and more dedicated. But despite all that, he will never be his father's firstborn son. This holds true in groups as well as individuals. If a man has children by two women, the children of the second and the children of the second will often become rivals.
Rivalry is often bitter and spiteful, and it can be bitterest when two women are rivals for the same man's affections. Two women who may be very similar—who might, had the mists of chance and circumstance taken them down different paths been inseparable friends --may end up as the bitterest of enemies. It is simple human nature to devalue your rival, to deny her better qualities. Indeed, when the sharpest of emotions are on the line, it is a darker side of human nature to depersonalize your rival, to regard her as simply evil. Devoid of any good or even recognizably human qualities. And when two women are rivals for the same man's affections, and one has the other in a vulnerable position, the results can be tragic.
Erin Lander was a perfect example of this as she gazed down on the unconscious form of Clarice Starling. It had taken quite a bit of effort for Erin to lift Clarice to the dining room table. She might have superior surgical knowledge to Dr. Lecter, but she lacked his antlike strength. Erin was small and Clarice was a heavy burden to haul up onto the table. But she had been determined, and now Clarice was arranged neatly on the table.
Many women will bitterly fantasize about harming their rivals. Idle fantasies of killing or mutilating the other woman tumble through the heads of a lot more women than would ever admit it. Erin Lander was slightly more burdened in this. Every day, Erin Lander cut open someone else's body. She knew exactly what to do and where to go with a scalpel. She could simply scar Starling -- if so she chose -- but she also knew just how and where to cut in order to do worse.
We commonly convince ourselves that doctors are all good people, ethically forbidden from harming others. The nine victims of Dr. Hannibal Lecter might inform us differently. Dr. Erin Lander, by her nature, was not a killer. But her years of medical training offered her no extra ability to deal with jealousy and anger. She knew each and every organ in the body, and how to repair each one, but that gave her nothing extra at all in helping her deal with the emotional deluge that had drowned her rationality and soaked her lizard brain with rage. Clarice Starling wanted Hannibal Lecter back in a filthy cage. Clarice Starling wanted to take Dr. Lecter away from her. That was bad enough. But worse, Clarice Starling occupied a firm, unassailable place in Hannibal Lecter's mind. Dr. Lecter might care for her now, might even love her now, but he could never fully love Erin Lander for as long as Clarice Starling was alive.
Her eyes were hot and bitterly angry as they perused the other woman's face and body. She bit her lip in anger as she wondered what would do. Her lips paled with anger as she wondered what would do for the bitch. Anger and hatred tasted coppery on her tongue, like a cheap coin. What would be the most appropriate? What would Dr. Lecter approve of?
Was it her eyes? Erin could get those out inside of ten minutes. She hadn't brought along anything more specialized than a scalpel, forceps, and hemostats, but she could still get them out. The hard part was getting to the optic nerve. If Dr. Lecter liked her eyes, Erin would give them to him. He could keep them on his desk or on a shelf. She would let him, she decided. Or perhaps he fancied Starling's hair? Auburn and beautiful in the light. Like a winter sun, Starling's hair was remotely glorious. That was even easier: trace around the scalp with a scalpel, then carefully peel it free. The sort of thing an intern could do.
Or perhaps he wanted her face. Entire and unmarked. Erin could deal with that too. She closed her eyes and wondered how she could get through the neck. The scalpel would take forever. Wait, she thought. This was a country house. There was probably a hatchet around here somewhere. Maybe a chainsaw. Erin closed her eyes and thought about the amputation she had watched the other day. The churning teeth of the chainsaw would chew up Starling's neck some, but she could trim it off and make it neat for him. Dr. Lecter would have his Starling. He would be able to see those eyes whenever he wanted. But of course, he would eventually put her away once she could no longer interest him.
Dr. Erin Lander thought about Clarice Starling's severed head in a jar. Thought about it stored away in the basement of a house somewhere where she lived with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. What did you ever do with that old head? she would ask. And he would reply, Oh, that. I lost interest in that thing. Never mind. I needed it before, but not anymore. And he would put it in some dark place where Dr. Lander would be able to occasionally look in on her in triumph.
Or perhaps he would like something more visceral. That was fine; she could accommodate even that. Erin put her hand on Clarice Starling's chest and felt the beating of her heart. Fifty-six beats per minute; apparently she took care of herself. She toyed with the idea of ripping out Clarice's heart while it still beat, holding it high in her hand like an Aztec priestess. She wondered if she could time it so that the anesthetic wore off just in time for Clarice Starling to awake, take in the gaping hole in her chest, realize that the chunk of bloody meat in Erin's hand was her own heart. I would be the last thing she ever saw.
That would be harder, the surgeon in her allowed. She had nothing to break the ribs with, and that was the hardest part. There might be pruning shears in a gardening shed somewhere. There was a fireplace poker adorning the fireplace that she could use once she got through the skin: just lever the point in between the ribs and push on it until they broke. The heart itself would be easy to remove.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter had a large psychiatric practice before his arrest, and he had counseled quite a few killers. He knew well what a fledgling killer thinks and feels as they begin their first attempt at transformation. He had been there for some of them, nodding approvingly and encouraging. Dr. Lecter could have told the FBI a thing or two about a killer's first kill: the killer often queasy and terrified, nausea tickling the back of their throats as they prepare to do their unspeakable deeds for the first time. He had calmed them down, helped them do what they were born to do, an unspeakable midwife at the birth of a killer's career. He knew the wide eyes, the screaming nerves, and the racing heart of the first-time killer. He would have recognized them in his Erin now, as she began to lay out her instruments.
Scalpel. Forceps. Retractors. Small and large scissors. IV needles.
Dr. Erin Lander took a deep, shuddering breath and looked down at her victim.
...
Paul D'angelo ran up the stairs. His heart was pounding. Somehow, he just knew his prey was Hannibal Lecter. The footsteps he had heard were too heavy to belong to Dr. Lander; from what she looked like she wouldn't break a hundred pounds unless she was soaking wet and wore heavy boots. And there was something else. He could sense the man in front of him. Paul D'angelo was a mindhunter in his own right, and while he did not know Lecter as well as Clarice Starling did, he did know the man fairly well.
He reached the top of the stairs. There was a short hall, and Paul headed down it. His gun was out and up. His pulse roared in his ears. He knew all too well what the good doctor had done to those prison guards brought to watch him in Memphis. And he held no illusions about Dr. Lecter. If he found the man alone, the possibility was very real that Paul would have to kill him.
The first room was a bedroom, furnished simply in the Midwestern fashion. Paul checked it quickly. Fear spilled adrenalin into his He did not see Dr. Lecter under the bed or in the closet, so he left, closing the door behind him. In the next room, he found the monster.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood calmly in the center of the room. He wore a simple but elegant blue suit. Paul was somewhat deflated: in the flesh, Dr. Lecter seemed to be just another man. Hair elegantly coiffed and suit immaculate, but he was somehow less than the vampire that had stared from countless mugshots in Paul D'angelo's office. He tilted his head and studied Paul through basilisk eyes.
"Hello," Dr. Lecter said calmly.
Paul held the gun in both hands and aimed it straight at Dr. Lecter's nose.
"Dr. Lecter, I'm Agent Paul D'angelo of the FBI. You're under arrest." His voice quavered just a bit in fear. At first he cursed himself, then he realized that you would have to be insane not to feel fear in the same room as Hannibal Lecter.
"I see," Dr. Lecter said, unruffled. "D'angelo. Of the angel. Italian, is it not?"
"Yes, it is," Paul confirmed. "Now listen to me, doctor, and listen to me well. If you screw with me, you're going to find out firsthand if there are angels or not. I've seen your crime scenes and I know what you're capable of. If I have to, I'll kill you without a second thought."
Dr. Lecter nodded approvingly. How rare. An FBI agent who correctly used 'well' instead of 'good'. Dr. Lecter raised both hands to shoulder height. Even this gesture of surrender seemed to be elegant, as if Dr. Lecter was simply handing two glasses of wine to someone.
"That shall not be necessary," Dr. Lecter said smoothly. "I have an offer to make you, Agent D'angelo. A reasonable one you will have no ethical problem in fulfilling."
"Dr. Lecter," Paul said, the muzzle still hovering in front of him, "I'm not going to fall for any tricks here."
"No tricks," Dr. Lecter assured him. "Now I'm sure you're here with Special Agent Starling."
Paul hesitated. A bead of sweat slipped down his forehead into his eye and made him blink. Then he nodded.
"As you no doubt know, here in this house is my…personal physician, I guess you could say. Dr. Erin Lander. Whom you spoke with earlier today." Crazily, Paul thought that Dr. Lecter sounded like the sergeants in the squad room, at the morning roll call when he was on DCPD.
"I'm sure you know firsthand, as I do, that jealousy can make people do unspeakably ugly things to each other," Dr. Lecter continued. "I believe that Agent Starling may be in the throes of jealousy herself, and that she may do something to Dr. Lander that she does not deserve."
Paul's mouth twitched, and too late he realized that he had just telegraphed to Dr. Lecter that his suspicions were correct. Why not give the guy a notarized deposition, Paul? This guy is good, way good.
"Agent Starling is quite capable of being fair," he said robotically, and almost kicked himself as soon as it came out.
"Nonetheless, Agent of the angels, I will make you an offer. I will go along quietly without even the slightest bit of trouble. You've got a gun and I don't, after all. In return for this, I want to see Dr. Lander go free. She's done nothing she shouldn't have done. I called her here, and I want her to leave unmolested. Unhandcuffed, unharmed, and out the door. Let me see it with my own eyes. If you do that for me," Dr. Lecter stopped and took in a sharp breath, "I will return to custody without issue."
Paul D'angelo considered. They would definitely want a statement from Dr. Lander, but that could be done later. And as he had told Starling on the plane, no DA in his right mind would try to indict Dr. Lander: it was her job to help the wounded, just as it was his and Clarice's to protect the public – the lambs, one might say.
Was that all Lecter wanted? There had to be a trick. Or was he just trying to protect Erin? That Paul could believe: Erin had protected him, and Dr. Lecter would not ignore such a thing. Paul Krendler and Dr. Doemling had opined that Lecter did not have emotions like respect or love. Paul D'angelo knew they were wrong.
Under the red gaze of those basilisk eyes, Paul felt unpleasantly as if under a microscope. Dr. Lecter seemed to be scanning him, reading him for useful information. Paul knew that Dr. Lecter was a monster, and that whatever he was able to glean would not be used for good purpose.
Better that he be the one to bring Lecter in than Starling. He was afraid for Starling. The monster knew her very well, and could exploit her weaknesses. But in the end, he realized, he had to answer the doctor's question.
"All right, Doctor," he said calmly. "First I want you to turn around. I'm going to put cuffs on you. If you move at all, I'm going to shoot you until you stop moving. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, indeed," Dr. Lecter said, and let out a mighty sigh, like a father asked to play the dragon for his son. But he turned around obediently, still holding his hands up.
Paul D'angelo approached Dr. Lecter. His right hand gripped his gun. Sweat made it slippery in his grasp. With his left hand, he took out his handcuffs. Fear tasted coppery in his mouth as he approached the monster. With a shaking hand, he fastened the handcuff onto Dr. Lecter's wrist.
"I'll lower my arms now," Dr. Lecter said as calmly as he might have to a Swiss masseur. "Mind the other hand, please. I've just had surgery on it. It's sore."
Paul said nothing, but put his gun back in his holster in order to handcuff Dr. Lecter. Although his heart rate jumped when he did, the monster made no move to attack. Dr. Lecter held his hands compliantly as Paul locked the manacles on.
Courteously, Dr. Lecter waited until Paul had taken a few steps back and taken out his weapon. He knew what the younger man must think of him. The monster. And Dr. Lecter would admit that characterization was not completely wrong.
"So how is Agent Starling?" he asked conversationally. His pupils expanded slightly as he watched Agent D'angelo's reaction. What he saw did not please him and he buried it immediately in the oubliette of his memory palace. Agent D'angelo's eyes widened a bit. His pupils darkened. The look that passed over his face for only a fraction of a second spoke volumes.
Agent D'angelo cared for Starling. He could tell immediately. Dr. Lecter pursed his lips. A shame, he seemed like such a promising young man.
"She's fine," D'angelo said neutrally.
"Very well," Dr. Lecter said, closing off the conversation before he said or did something he regretted. "May I see her, please? And Dr. Lander, as per our agreement?'
Paul considered. Dr. Lecter could almost hear the thoughts clicking back and forth in the efficient computer of his mind.
"No tricks," he said curtly.
"None at all."
"All right." Paul did not take his eyes or weapon off Dr. Lecter. "Starling?" he called. "Starling, you there? It's D'angelo. I've got Dr. Lecter in custody."
No reply came at first. Then a woman's voice, choked and clotted with emotion, called out.
"Down here, you son of a bitch."
Paul D'angelo and Hannibal Lecter traded looks for a moment. Both knew the voice was not Clarice Starling. Without needing to be told, Dr. Lecter walked slowly forward, his mien nonthreatening. A few moments later, D'angelo walked after him. Down the stairs they went to the dining room.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Agent Paul D'angelo took in the sight before them with identical looks of surprise. Clarice Starling was stretched out on the dining room table like a sacrificial offering. She seemed to be drugged or sleeping. At her head, Erin Lander stood with a scalpel in one hand. Her mouth was trembling and her eyes wide and glassy with fear and rage, but the hand holding the scalpel next to Clarice Starling's unguarded throat was steady as a rock.
When Erin spoke, her words were sophisticated, but her voice jagged up and down the scale in hysteria.
"Dr. Lecter, Agent D'angelo," she said. "You're finally here. We can begin."
"Hey, put that down," Paul D'angelo barked immediately. Both Erin and Dr. Lecter ignored him.
"Erin," Dr. Lecter said simply.
"Dr. Lecter," Erin returned. "I'll let you start. Pick an organ, any organ."