"…Io non posso fuggir ch'ella non vegna
ne l'imagine mia,
se non come il pensier che la vi mena…"
Dante Alighieri
I cannot run away, that she does not
come to my mind anew,
for 'tis my very thought that brings her there.
Dr Lecter lay in the broad bed of the hotel room. His eyes were closed but he wasn't sleeping. The pain, physical at the moment, tearing him made his heart beat like a it had been a bird trying to escape from the cage made out of his ribs. His breathing was fast and superficial. Yet not a sound escaped his lips as he suffered pains intolerable for most people.
As the claws of his illness tore him he turned for release to the recollection which had always brought him joy and peace.
…Dr Lecter moves with the speed of light in the palace of his memory. He feels that the palace isn't as safe or secured as it has been; the enemy is getting closer. Here and there he can sense holes in the walls and some rooms have vanished. From time to time the walls move as if they were alive or about to fall down.
On his left now is a room which first revealed his sickness to him; it has almost disappeared. When he first noticed the changes in his mental surroundings he was alarmed, though the errors taking place were close to unimportant; sometimes he wasn't able to visualize all the details or remember the color of some object. But the changes enlarged as - he knows this now- his sickness conquered more of his body and ate both his physical and mental strength. When it came to the point that certain doors of the palace remained closed to him and after that, vanished, he had already realized what was going on. The sickness eating him from inside was lethal.
Dr Lecter has accepted the fact that he doesn't have much time left. He is even shortening it by not taking nothing but the absolutely necessary medicines. This is because the life of a sleeping vegetable does not interest him; he wishes to stay mentally as sharp as he is now all the way to the end.
He has now arrived to the center of the palace in which he has gathered his most precious memories of the love of his life. Dr Lecter stops and stays still. He waits patiently for her to materialize from the shadows. Time, though it makes no difference in here, passes and she does not come. Dr Lecter is nervous. He needs her now, to put out the fire burning him.
Finally, something happens. Immediately Dr Lecter notices that things aren't the way they were supposed to be; the atmosphere isn't relaxing and pleasant, as it should. He turns and sees her, and she is a horrible sight. Her eyes are bottomless wells in which opens the endless, lifeless space and they seem to radiate freezing coldness wherever she looks at. Her hair is a mess and her body is emaciated, nothing but bones and the gray skin over them. Her clothes, if they can be called that, are only rags around her. But the most horrifying thing in her are her ears, burnt from his words, and her mouth, just a bloody gush crossing her skull-like face. She stands there, looks at him and the weight of his guilt is crushing him.
"Clarice… What have I done to you? Forgive me, Clarice, forgive me!"
The creature, which his mind is playing for Clarice to him, grabs its chest and twitches. In the end of its white, thin arm, in its fingers, which look like little snakes, is now a piece of meat, dripping blood. His knowledge of anatomy tells him it's a heart.
Creature-Clarice speaks and its voice is as gruff as the rustle of dry leaves and equally dead.
"This is what you wanted. Take it… I don't need it anymore." The voice is inhumane and raises images of cemeteries and forgotten, bitter spirits.
Dr Lecter is horrified. "NO! I never wanted this, believe me… I love you." He feels helpless; a feeling which he does not appreciate, especially in these surroundings. A wave of dizziness washes over him.
The creature laughs joyless, shallow laughter. Some blood, almost black, drips from its mouth. "Love?"
Dr Lecter is barely able to maintain his consciousness. "…Yes."
Creature's dreadful travesty of a smile reveals its toothless, bleeding gums. "A monster like you? Admit it, you NEVER loved me. You are glad you were able to hurt me. Look at me," The creature spins around. Dr Lecter smells death and decaying. "Ain't I pretty? Do you SEE how pretty you've made me? Aren't you proud of yourself?" With its every cutting word it sucks his life force.
Dr Lecter's answer is nothing but a powerless whisper. "No, no… I love… You…" The words burn his throat like liquid metal.
And then, he falls through the darkness, away from the thing he can still hear jeering after him.
"Love? Love? A monster like you? LOVE?"
He looses his consciousness with an insane laughter in his ears.
Hours later he woke up. His every muscle was aching and he knew he would soon have a major headache. He felt weak both physically and mentally; the horror of meeting Clarice like that in her mind was almost too much for him to take.
I have killed her, ripped her heart out of her chest. I have stole her joy of living.
The pain the realization caused was much worse than the physical pain his sickness made him suffer. Never had he wanted anything bad for her and now, to see what he had done to her… It was pure torture. In some level he understood that the Clarice he had seen was only a creation of his mind; the guilt he experienced over what he had done denied him the comfort that the normal recollection of her would have brought. Yet there was a truth hidden in the awful imagery, he knew it. Though it was most likely that the changes in her appearance didn't exist in the real world, the damages he had done to her inner balance could be impossible to fix. Not only had he betrayed her trust but he hadn't given any kind of explanation for why he did what he did; a thing that he now bitterly regretted. He wasn't sure how Clarice was feeling but was quite convinced she blamed herself for the situation. As he thought about the matter further, he began to see the terrible mistake he had made, and started to wonder what the hell he had been thinking of. Poor Clarice, abandoned so many times in her life – and what did the one she loved do to him? Dr Lecter was ashamed.
Lost in my own fears I didn't see the whole impact this would had on her. How could I have acted so foolish? God's madman, that's what I am.
He got up and felt slightly dizzy. The medicines he was taking kept most of the pain away and, hopefully, slowed the cancer down a bit, but as a side effect he lost some of his equilibrium and became easily nauseous. Headache neither was cheap with its visitations.
Slowly but steady he walked to the chair in which he had sat uncountable amount of time during the time he had spent in the hotel. Not that he would have known how long it had been; a year, a month, a week, a day? An hour? He didn't have the faintest idea. He didn't care – without Clarice all he wished for was a quick death. Yet he couldn't even think about lowering himself to the level of actually committing suicide. Though he had taken many lives he had an appreciation towards his own, if not very high at the moment.
Dr Lecter sat down and made himself comfortable. He turned the CD-player in the shelf on with the remote and closed his eyes to concentrate on listening to Albinoni-Giazotto's Adagio. Melancholic yet unbelievably beautiful music tempted him to open the doors of his memory palace but he dared not for he was afraid what might wait him there. He would go back, absolutely, but not right now. He was too weak, too stressed to fight his demons. To fight one's inner monsters is the most difficult war in the world and he didn't feel prepared for it now, knowing that it might very well be his last. He had no desire to leave this world as the loser of that battle, as a man with a broken mind.
As for now he had other, more important matters to think about. The image of distorted Clarice still plagued him. It's like when you know that the door is locked but you still have to check; Dr Lecter knew that Clarice was still the same, beautiful woman she had been on the last time he had laid his eyes on her, but it just wasn't enough. Surely he acknowledged his own foolishness but he couldn't help it. The croaking thing in his mind had been too vibrant, too real for him to ignore it. So what was there for him to do to prove himself wrong? He couldn't just go and see her. It wasn't even an option, no matter how much he would have wanted it. Nor could he sneak in the shadows and spy on her; he wasn't sure at all if he could stay away from her once he would have seen her again. The only sensible resolution was to use an outsider.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number. The option he was about to use didn't please him but it would have to do for now.
After a short moment a man answered in the other end of the line. By his voice Dr Lecter categorized him aged between 35 to 45. His accent revealed that he didn't use English very much but chose of words and grammar proved that often enough to speak the language satisfyingly. His voice was low and almost melodious; it was a pleasing voice.
"Yes?"
"Luca Arnone?"
"Who's asking?"
"Dr Golding."
The tone of the man's voice changed immediately to more respective. "Yes, Dr Golding. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize your voice – the connection is very bad.
"Mr. Arnone, do you remember our agreement?"
"Of course, of course. But I got the impression you didn't want my services after all."
"I do now."
"Yes. I follow the contact we made?"
"Please do. And get to work as soon as you can – now, if possible. I'll compensate all your financial losses."
"I'm already on my way to the airport, Dr Golding."
"And, Mr. Arnone... One more thing."
"Yes?"
"If you as much as lay a finger on her you will regret. This is not a threat but a promise."
"Yes, yes, I understand. Perfectly."
"Good."
Dr Lecter didn't wait for him to answer and hang up the phone. As he felt he pain starting to rise again he leaned back and prepared himself for it. The night ahead would be long.