We want to laugh forever
Lived days to full, together
Truth is we're out of time
'Cause we're only a breath away
Skunk Anansie - Breathing
The beauty of the sunrise was overwhelming. Clarice, standing on the terrace, watched as the first beams made the leaves of the trees golden. She inhaled deeply the fresh morning air. The rising sun warmed her face and she closed her eyes for a while to enjoy it. She heard the sounds coming from the street clearly.; cars passing, people talking, children laughing. For a reason she didn't know they made her sad.
She wiped her eyes quickly; that damned brightness made her eyes watery.
She left the terrace and went back into the house, its cool calmness quickly making her forget the vivid sounds and colors of the outside world. The spacious rooms, steady walls and high ceilings seemed to be cut off from the rest of the universe; in here, everything else ceased to exist. It was just the house and its silence so complete it felt it were screaming. And soon, after perhaps only a few days…
Her voice would be the only one left.
The floor didn't make a sound under her weight as she walked to the direction of the master bedroom. She closed her eyes as she walked.
A turn to the right…
A few stairs…
Watch for the drawer…
A few steps and her hand reached for the knob of the bedroom door. She felt the cool metal under her hand instantly, she didn't have to search.
After so many times she knew this all by heart.
As she pushed the door open she opened her eyes, too. The room was pleasantly cool.
"Hannibal?"
Her soft voice called out to him through the peaceful room. She knew it was probably useless; he hadn't been conscious in many days now.
Clarice walked by the bed where he lay and took his hand into her own. The cancer had finally conquered him. He would die soon. And it was probably for the best; he suffered from terrible pains when awake. Clarice touched his face. Under her palm, warmed by the sun, his skin felt cold and lifeless.
"Oh my love… " Her whispering voice was barely audible.
The day he would die was the day she feared the most. To wait for the death of a loved one – more than a loved one – was agonising. And yet on some level she wished for it knowing that it was the best thing for him. But the knowledge didn't take away the pain inside her or ease her mind when she woke up in the middle of the night to listen if he was still breathing. Fearing that she wouldn't be there when he would die and fearing that she would.
It didn't seem fair or just to have it end like this. All the memories she would have would forever be coloured by these last times and by the knowledge that he had died a painful death. She wasn't bitter, really, she just… It hurt.
Carefully, she climbed into the bed and lay next to him, his hand on her own.
Tears made her voice distorted. "If I could take that pain away from you… If I could take your place…"
It just wasn't fair.
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In an experienced manner Clarice changed the infusion bottle. From her appearance it was impossible to say if something was wrong, but inside she was dying. Hannibal had gained consciousness for a while last night and it had killed her to see his suffering.
"Clarice…"
His voice is as silent as a breeze on a winter day but Clarice hears it. In a second she is by his bed. "Shhh… Don't speak." She strokes his face.
He stays silent for a long time, and Clarice thinks he has fallen back to the state where he lately has spent most of the time. Just as she is about to rise he proves her wrong by speaking again.
His whisper has more power now. "Let me go, Clarice."
A wave of coldness runs through her. Does he think he has to hold on for her? To continue the useless fight because of her?
Though it breaks her heart she says the words she thinks he wants to hear. "Go, love. It's time." She tries to keep her voice steady.
Another pause, longer than before. "No, help me. If you love me…" His voice breaks down and he coughs. "…You would help me die."
Clarice doesn't have a chance to answer. A change in his breathing lets her know that he is not with her anymore. His mind has wandered somewhere else, it has once again left the body which has betrayed it. She's glad; she wouldn't have had the words.
Hot tears burn behind her closed eyes. How could she do it? To take the life of he whom she loves the most?
Do I have the right not to? To continue his suffering? The life that has no meaning anymore? Only pain and humiliation. I know how he hates his body now. It's capturing his mind. Oh God…But I can't kill him. I love him so much. I don't want to be left alone… What's there for me after he's gone?
Staring out of the window she tries to find an answer to the question which is tearing her. She has to make the hardest decision of her life; a decision which will affect her more than anything before. The voice of her heart doesn't agree with the voice of her sense.
All day she stands by the window but isn't mentally present. She is in the palace of her memory which Hannibal once taught her to build. She goes through her memories, trying to decide what to do. She re-lives the most important moments of her life seeking for guidance.
By the time night has fallen the reason for her staying in her memory palace has changed. Now, in the depth of her mind, she says her goodbyes.
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Clarice puts the receiver down and looks at her watch. Time is running short but it's not out yet. Slowly, very slowly she walks upstairs and gives not a single thought anymore to the phone message she just left in Ardelia Mapp's answering machine.
Her voice reveals the tears her eyes are shedding. "Ardelia…"
A long, long silence.
Then, out of the hissing of the old tape of the answering machine, her voice again. Stronger this time; the tears are gone.
"It's me, Clarice. I… Shit. Listen. I know I have no right to ask this after what I… After everything. But I really need someone I can trust and you are the only one. Please, Delia, do this thing for me and I'll be grateful till the end of the world and over. Come here and take care of stuff… Take care of the funerals. Would you do that for me?"
The rest of her message, containing the location and other practical matters, is almost impossible to hear due to the hissing of the old tape, so many times re-recorded and used. Needless to say it won't be used ever again; today, the tape is in the dark basement of Quantico, forever locked away from the living world.
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The house is completely silent. Not a single sound can be heard inside the walls that have seen so much, witnessed so many happy and also sad events.
The concealing night has fallen.
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, the windows are open, letting the cool night breeze in. The gentle whisper of wind travels around the room. It swirls around and the feel of it is caressing and smoothing. Ever so slightly it moves the letter on the nightstand.
Should we read it? OK then. But don't tell anyone.
To the one who finds this
My name is Clarice Starling. I don't know if you know who I am; I used to be an agent in the FBI until I disappeared several years ago. Had my friend the discretion I hoped she would have you are probably either her (hi, A) or someone from the American FBI. If that's the case it shouldn't be difficult for you to run my name through the database. When the red lights and the alarm go on don't say I didn't warn you.
But, to get to the point.
As you might have already realised the man in the bed is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a renowned psychiatrist, convicted murderer and the one with whom I shared my life with for years. Imagine that, all in the same package.
Years ago we vanished from the face of the earth after the incidents in the Muskrat Farm. Actually, I'm not quite sure what happened – I wasn't conscious at the time. But Dr. Lecter was and he saved me; he saved my life. Now there's a heading for tabloids.
Anyway, we fled. We spent a few weeks in the US, and after the murder of Paul Krendler – in which I participated – we left. Ever since we've been travelling around the world, but mostly we have lived here in Buenos Aires.
What can I say, life treated us well.
You probably think what the hell is wrong with me, why I voluntarily spent years with Dr. Lecter. Well, the reason is quite simple; I loved him. And he loved me. Close your mouth before you continue reading. It will only make you look stupid if you stand there like a fish on a dry land. And we don't want that, now do we?
Yes, the tabloids were right all along when spreading those Beauty and The Beast –stories. I know you find it impossible to believe but with him I found the peace I had searched for all my life. He understood me in a way beyond your knowledge and loved me more than anyone ever could have. And I loved him, more than my life. No, correction: I love him. No need for the past tense.
I bet I know what you're thinking right now. "Poor girl, Lecter messed up her mind." You couldn't be more wrong. Or maybe he did – I guess I wouldn't know about it. But understand this: I had never been happy before him. And I know that I wouldn't have been if I hadn't accepted my feelings and needs and left with him. He gave me so much; he taught me how to live. How to feel, how to share… How to love.
The day I took him into my life was the day I stopped existing and started living.
What we shared was the most beautiful thing in my life, dare I say the meaning of it. It is impossible to believe, I know. I couldn't believe it myself when I first realised I was in love with him. I thought about the absurdity of our relationship; me, an FBI-agent and he, a serial killer. But then I realised that it's just a coincidence what we are. It could have been just as possible that I would have been, for example, a waitress and he, say, a civil servant. Cos in the end, none of that crap matters.
Our actions don't rule us, they don't change our souls. And love knows no boundaries.
You, who are reading this: I hope that you too will find the same kind of happiness in your life. If you do, remember this: When you meet your soulmate, don't stop to think if your relationship is appropriate or not. If you do and decide it's not… You will throw away the meaning of your life. You will live the rest of your lonely days thinking "what if…?". It could have happened to me and I thanked my fate every day that it didn't. These past years have been so full of love, happiness, passion, caring… It's impossible to put them into words.
As I'm writing this, I'm thinking about death. What to make of it? Should I fear it? No, death is nothing anyone should be afraid of. Death is an experience we all have to go through some day. What terrifies me is not death but the pain I know will wait for me. I have to take his life, a life which I love more than my own.
I don't want to… But he asked me to release him from his sufferings.
I don't want to… But I will because I love him.
I don't want to go on without him.
Of course I could do the same for myself, a release from sufferings. It's tempting, to inject the same overdose of narcotic in my veins as I'm going to inject into his. I admit that I have never longed for death this much. But it would be the easy way out and I'm not going to take it. Do you know why?
I'm a warrior.
Some things are meant to be, it's said. Was it meant for us to share our lives, to be together as a man and a woman? To love, to care, to understand? Don't ask me, I wouldn't know. None of us knows why we are here, but let me tell you this: I didn't care about that when we were together. Not once did I stop to think: "What's the meaning of life? Why am I here?"
Do you know why? I simply didn't give a shit. I had it all, I had more than all. I didn't feel the need for more. There were no possibility for me to be happier, more content, more satisfied – more anything.
I had it all.
And now, as the last minutes are coming to their end, I'm proud to say that I can look back at my life and say: I have no regrets. Do you hear me, you, who are horrified because of my choice, my life with a madman? I'm not sorry for anything.
I hope his death will give peace to the families of his victims. I'm sorry for their sufferings, no one would have deserved them. Did Dr. Lecter deserve cancer? Most may say he did. I, naturally, disagree. I knew him, in the most complete way anyone ever could have. I'm not saying that I knew him perfectly, I'm sure there were parts in him I had no idea about. I doubt he knew himself wholly either.
It is said that God created man as His own image. If that is really the case Dr. Lecter was His masterpiece. And that, my friend, tells more about God than you are ready to admit.
I know the horrible things he has done. But nothing, and I mean nothing can change the fact that he saved me. The one who saves one person saves the whole world. I guess that saying doesn't apply in these circumstances from your opinion, but for me it was reality. What I'm trying to say is that the murderer in him wasn't everything. Remember that there wouldn't be good without evil.
The scales of our society, the standards of our civilisation and the laws of our government say that he, and probably I, were insane. So let it be; I don't care. We lived a feeling which was in its power larger than our limited life, and if that certificates us something that I know we're not… Well, that's your problem.
Nothing takes the past away like the future.
Clarice Starling
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Two years later
Prague is breathtakingly beautiful at this time of year. The whole town feels as if it were pulsating; it beats like a huge, warm heart full of happiness, love and hope.
At least to those who wish to think it so.
It has been two years now since the day of his death, and Clarice Starling hasn't forgot. How could she ever, after all of it? How could she ever forget the last moments of his life when she lay next to him in the dark, silent room and listened to his heartbeats?
Pa-Dam…
Pa-Dam…
'
'
'
And then… Nothing.
No matter how hard she tried to listen… Nothing. When tears blurred her vision and the pain of losing was actually physical, nothing.
How could she forget? The feel of his last breath on her skin? When her tears wet his face as she foolishly hoped for one more breath, even a sigh, no matter how faint? How could she forget the feeling that took her over when she realised that he was actually dead, that she would never, ever again lose herself in the maroon of his eyes or hear him utter her name?
The feel of his lips, still warm, when she kissed him for the one last time? The taste of the kiss… The taste of pain?
The last sight of him before she left the room, the house, the country?
How could she ever forget?
She can't. Every second he is with her, the memory of him surrounding her like the air that she breathes. Sometimes she wishes she would have taken the easy way and killed herself so as to rest the eternity by his side.
Sometimes the pain is too much.
She tries to seek joy from life knowing that it is what he wished but it's hard, so hard. Still, after all this time of trying to adjust, she sometimes can't believe he is really gone. There have been moments when she has mistaken someone in the crowd as him. Several times she has thought she has heard his voice. But it never is him… No matter how hard it is.
For he is dead and will forever remain like that.
Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute she goes on and accepts. It's easier now than it used to be, but it will never be easy. After you have shared your life with someone like she did it will never be easy to be without that someone.
She does not know where his last resting place is. If Ardelia followed her wishes, which she trusts she did, he is buried somewhere in Lithuania. She doesn't regret that she wasn't there to bury him. Knowing that had she been there to see how the cold, icy soil covered the coffin where he lay she wouldn't have been able to leave that place ever again. She would have stayed by his dead body under the ground until death would have claimed her as its own, too.
She doesn't have the need to seek his grave and cry her longing to the tombstone; she has everything she needs in her head. She remembers him and she will never forget.
Though life offers her not much joy these days, she knows he would be proud of her for she survived, she carried on.
She… Is a warrior.
The setting sun colors her hair in bursts of red flame.
She will never be alone.
E voi pur sete quella ch'io più amo,
e che far mi potete maggior dono,
e 'n cui la mia speranza più riposa:
che sol per voi servir la vita bramo.
-Dante Alighieri-
And you, you are the one I cherish most;
you can bestow the greatest gift on me,
and my best hopes in you are sheltered best,
for you alone I long to serve this life.