~Usual Disclaimers Apply. FINALLY GOT THIS CHAPTER UP!! Haha. Anyway, I
hope you like it. It's kind of long, but I think I did well. Let me know
what you think of it (a.k.a. R&R). Thanks! C.S. Oh, and I promise not to
take so long next time. C.S.~
Clarice Starling had never been one to enjoy family. Not since her father and mother had died and left her orphaned. But tonight, she needed to be loved. She needed to be secure in arms that loved her, telling her it was ok.
She had just heard of Delia's death in a car accident on the radio, and it shook her into a thousand shattered pieces. Sure, they hadn't been on good terms when she left, but Clarice was still her friend. Now who did she have?
She wasn't sure she wanted that answer.
Now, laying on her back in the thing she called a room, in the place she'd been calling home for the past three years, she felt utterly alone. No… worse than that.
Clarice Starling felt abandoned.
It was only eight at night, and she'd only been laying there for a couple minutes. But to her, it felt like…
"A thousand years…" she said outloud.
Her roommate was gone, somewhere in one of the Seclusion rooms, no doubt, and Clarice didn't miss her at all. Angela was a true sociopath. A real son- of-a-bitch who didn't care about anyone or anything. She reminded Clarice of Paul Krendler. A sigh escaped her lips as she heard the knock on her door. She sat up.
"Yeah?"
"Clarice, you got a phone call."
Clarice stared at the door. Probably one of the Agents at the station telling her to come get her shit ASAP or they'd haul it away. She honestly didn't care.
She got herself out of bed and walked into the sad, dreary hallway. She was getting sick of the pale blue and puke yellow she saw all the time, and the sickening peach color got on her nerves. That was funny, weren't they suppose to calm you? Clarice chuckled.
How someone could ever be calm in a place like this was beyond her. She slumped down into the small phone booth and picked up the receiver, waiting until she heard the nurse click off to say something.
She propped the phone between her cheek and her ear.
"Hello?"
"Well, Clarice, I see you've finally let the battle wind your mind."
The voice that filled her ear made blood churn with heat like desire. She tensed her back and thighs, her hands gripping the still air, trying to find their way to the hard wood in front of her.
Her voice wasn't willing to work as well as she'd hoped it would.
"Hello Doctor…" she cleared her throat. "Hello, Doctor Lecter…"
"My, my, you sound horrible Clarice. I do hope they're treating you better."
"I'm fine, Doctor." She said, answering a question not yet asked.
"No, you're certainly not fine, Clarice. I heard about your friend, Agent Mapp. I am truly sorry to hear of it."
Her voice was shaky, but she fought back the sob.
"Yeah, so am I…Not to be rude, Doctor, but is there a reason you called me here?"
She was fighting so hard not to cry to him, not to let him comfort her. Trying so damned hard, and yet she felt she was failing.
"Come now Clarice, can't a person check up on an old friend?"
The word came to her like her heartbeats did.
Friend.
Friend.
Friend.
"Or dare I say, an object of that persons affection?"
At that moment, the flames that had been turning her blood to a boil shot up high, claiming her senses and turning her dark eyes lurid with a carnival light. Oh god, she almost forgot to speak.
"A what?" her voice came to him, merely a whisper.
"So I see you haven't stopped fighting, Clarice."
"Yes I have."
"Oh?"
"I wanted to go with you that night, Doctor. At the lake house. Not really to become anything more, but just to figure out what I wanted. What I needed. To get far away from this place and just live for once. I'm gonna die if I don't break free."
"Do you believe in love, Clarice?"
The question made the flames in her eyes dance as sparks took the place of her pupils.
"Very much, Doctor."
"But you've been let down so many times in the past. How do you know it won't be the wrong choice?"
"Life, Doctor Lecter, is full of wrong choices. And one of them was never being able to figure out if the other would be wrong or not."
He didn't respond, so she continued.
"By that I mean not telling you where the key was. Or telling you why I chose the handcuffs over just letting you go, which, by the way, you knew was going to happen. I was more than upset when you left me at the lake house, only to go back to the FBI, and all the rumors. Then I ended up here. They fired me, obviously. The only thing I regret is not asking you if I could go."
By now, the flames where long gone, and the coldness had returned as she sobbed into the phone, cradling the receiver against her ear, thinking that if maybe she held onto it tight enough, he could reach through and hug her.
She needed a hug right about now.
It was funny how the only psychologist in the world that could break her shell had nothing to do with the hospital they'd put her in to get her so- called recovery.
He still hadn't responded, but she could hear his breathing on the other end. He barely heard what she mumbled next.
"I think I love you…"
He didn't have time to respond. At that moment, the line went dead.
She slammed the phone down, wiping away her tears. She knew it was rude not to tell him goodbye, but it was harder to accept that she couldn't see him. She went through the nights actions in a daze.
Night time meds.
Going to bed.
Listening as the nurse came by for checks.
She didn't know when she'd finally slipped into dreamland, but when she did, it was filled with memories she'd almost forgotten. Ones she hadn't shared with Hannibal. What provoked them was even more horrifying than the dream itself.
Two figures broke from the smashed front door and ran toward the woods where she stood, their nightclothes smeared with soot, their faces white with terror. The person who pushed them out disappeared once more inside to look again. Another window exploded on the upper level. Three of the cottages where in flames, too, and the barn. Lambs screamed in terror as they where chased from their hiding places by a handful of teenage boys. In the West Virginia hills, miles from the nearest town, they didn't expect a fire engine to arrive. Somewhere behind her, a little girl wailed and wailed. "Get her into one of the trucks!" her uncle yelled. "I'm bringing the car around!" "Watch out for snipers." Clarice said to her uncle, looking at him with fear in her eyes. He smiled, despite their position, and was off before she could say another word, back into the house. "Head for Maryland!" her mother shouted, "We'll meet at Rudy's!" Clarice felt a tug on her arm. Her mother stood beside her, panting and afraid. "Where's your uncle?" her mother said, now standing alone with her daughter, her voice was high in pitch. "He went back inside." Clarice said, her voice roughened beyond that of a five year old, thanks to the smoke and the tears, "With Gabe and daddy." Her mothers face paled. She turned to the house, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Ivan!" She started to head for the house, but Clarice grabbed her and held on tight. This wasn't, obviously, the uncle she would be sent to live with. It was the uncle no one knew about. 'What have I done?' Clarice thought. If only she'd stopped those boys. If only she'd told her uncle that they where out of control. She should have taken that lighter from them, but she'd been too afraid and run away. Clarice promised herself she'd never let men get away with it. She promised herself to be strong and to be brave no matter what. To never give in. Figures came around the side of the house. Her father led an older woman, not much older than her mother. Gabe held a shrieking bundle in his arms. Her uncle was nowhere in sight. The fire roared it's victory; and then, with a sickening crack that sounded like a giant's back breaking, a central beam gave way, and the roof collapsed in a peacock tail of sparks and flame. Clarice stood, horrified. "IVAN!!" her mother cried out. But it was too late.
She heard screaming. Crying. Clarice's eyelids burst open to the smell of smoke. She let out a scream and sat up, her breathing shallow in her lungs, and her heart almost falling out of her throat to lay bleeding on the floor. She was sticky with sweat. Why was it so hot in there? She heard screams and people yelling.
"Get 'em outta here! Now!"
"Move! Move!"
She saw smoke dancing its way under the crack of her door as she saw yellow, surreal light in the hallway. 'Oh no…'
She was thankful she was still dressed. She got out of bed and threw her shoes on, not bothering to lace them up. She ran to the door and threw it open, failing to feel the doorknob burn the tender flesh on her hand to the third degree. She jumped back, screaming as flames burst into the room.
I'm going to die in here… she thought. I'm going to die…
Her lungs began to fill with the sour smoke of burning wood and melting metal. She coughed hard, backing up against the wall. Where are those angels when you need them? Her mouth became dry, tasting of blood and tears. The one as hateful as the other.
Her head began to spin, the smoke suffocating her, the flames engulfing her. She backed into a small corner of the room, as far away as she could from the fire. She curled into a ball. She'd read somewhere that when put under a lot of stress, people convert back to childhood. She didn't doubt that now. She began to cry.
"I want my momma!" she yelled. "I want my poppa! Leave me alone!"
Her voice was raspy from the smoke. Her eyes where getting heavy, burning in their sockets, trying to escape the foul smoke of fate. It was only now that she heard the alarms in the hospital, loud and drowning out all other noise. She felt herself starting to slip away from sweet consciousness. She couldn't stop coughing now. She felt the burning heat of the fire all around her.
I'm sorry Hannibal… she thought. I'm sorry I never got to love you…
The fire consumed the room, and Clarice fell backwards, losing the last grip on hope, and losing the final grip on consciousness.
The last thing she heard was-
"Oh my God, Clarice!"
And then she slipped away.
Clarice Starling had never been one to enjoy family. Not since her father and mother had died and left her orphaned. But tonight, she needed to be loved. She needed to be secure in arms that loved her, telling her it was ok.
She had just heard of Delia's death in a car accident on the radio, and it shook her into a thousand shattered pieces. Sure, they hadn't been on good terms when she left, but Clarice was still her friend. Now who did she have?
She wasn't sure she wanted that answer.
Now, laying on her back in the thing she called a room, in the place she'd been calling home for the past three years, she felt utterly alone. No… worse than that.
Clarice Starling felt abandoned.
It was only eight at night, and she'd only been laying there for a couple minutes. But to her, it felt like…
"A thousand years…" she said outloud.
Her roommate was gone, somewhere in one of the Seclusion rooms, no doubt, and Clarice didn't miss her at all. Angela was a true sociopath. A real son- of-a-bitch who didn't care about anyone or anything. She reminded Clarice of Paul Krendler. A sigh escaped her lips as she heard the knock on her door. She sat up.
"Yeah?"
"Clarice, you got a phone call."
Clarice stared at the door. Probably one of the Agents at the station telling her to come get her shit ASAP or they'd haul it away. She honestly didn't care.
She got herself out of bed and walked into the sad, dreary hallway. She was getting sick of the pale blue and puke yellow she saw all the time, and the sickening peach color got on her nerves. That was funny, weren't they suppose to calm you? Clarice chuckled.
How someone could ever be calm in a place like this was beyond her. She slumped down into the small phone booth and picked up the receiver, waiting until she heard the nurse click off to say something.
She propped the phone between her cheek and her ear.
"Hello?"
"Well, Clarice, I see you've finally let the battle wind your mind."
The voice that filled her ear made blood churn with heat like desire. She tensed her back and thighs, her hands gripping the still air, trying to find their way to the hard wood in front of her.
Her voice wasn't willing to work as well as she'd hoped it would.
"Hello Doctor…" she cleared her throat. "Hello, Doctor Lecter…"
"My, my, you sound horrible Clarice. I do hope they're treating you better."
"I'm fine, Doctor." She said, answering a question not yet asked.
"No, you're certainly not fine, Clarice. I heard about your friend, Agent Mapp. I am truly sorry to hear of it."
Her voice was shaky, but she fought back the sob.
"Yeah, so am I…Not to be rude, Doctor, but is there a reason you called me here?"
She was fighting so hard not to cry to him, not to let him comfort her. Trying so damned hard, and yet she felt she was failing.
"Come now Clarice, can't a person check up on an old friend?"
The word came to her like her heartbeats did.
Friend.
Friend.
Friend.
"Or dare I say, an object of that persons affection?"
At that moment, the flames that had been turning her blood to a boil shot up high, claiming her senses and turning her dark eyes lurid with a carnival light. Oh god, she almost forgot to speak.
"A what?" her voice came to him, merely a whisper.
"So I see you haven't stopped fighting, Clarice."
"Yes I have."
"Oh?"
"I wanted to go with you that night, Doctor. At the lake house. Not really to become anything more, but just to figure out what I wanted. What I needed. To get far away from this place and just live for once. I'm gonna die if I don't break free."
"Do you believe in love, Clarice?"
The question made the flames in her eyes dance as sparks took the place of her pupils.
"Very much, Doctor."
"But you've been let down so many times in the past. How do you know it won't be the wrong choice?"
"Life, Doctor Lecter, is full of wrong choices. And one of them was never being able to figure out if the other would be wrong or not."
He didn't respond, so she continued.
"By that I mean not telling you where the key was. Or telling you why I chose the handcuffs over just letting you go, which, by the way, you knew was going to happen. I was more than upset when you left me at the lake house, only to go back to the FBI, and all the rumors. Then I ended up here. They fired me, obviously. The only thing I regret is not asking you if I could go."
By now, the flames where long gone, and the coldness had returned as she sobbed into the phone, cradling the receiver against her ear, thinking that if maybe she held onto it tight enough, he could reach through and hug her.
She needed a hug right about now.
It was funny how the only psychologist in the world that could break her shell had nothing to do with the hospital they'd put her in to get her so- called recovery.
He still hadn't responded, but she could hear his breathing on the other end. He barely heard what she mumbled next.
"I think I love you…"
He didn't have time to respond. At that moment, the line went dead.
She slammed the phone down, wiping away her tears. She knew it was rude not to tell him goodbye, but it was harder to accept that she couldn't see him. She went through the nights actions in a daze.
Night time meds.
Going to bed.
Listening as the nurse came by for checks.
She didn't know when she'd finally slipped into dreamland, but when she did, it was filled with memories she'd almost forgotten. Ones she hadn't shared with Hannibal. What provoked them was even more horrifying than the dream itself.
Two figures broke from the smashed front door and ran toward the woods where she stood, their nightclothes smeared with soot, their faces white with terror. The person who pushed them out disappeared once more inside to look again. Another window exploded on the upper level. Three of the cottages where in flames, too, and the barn. Lambs screamed in terror as they where chased from their hiding places by a handful of teenage boys. In the West Virginia hills, miles from the nearest town, they didn't expect a fire engine to arrive. Somewhere behind her, a little girl wailed and wailed. "Get her into one of the trucks!" her uncle yelled. "I'm bringing the car around!" "Watch out for snipers." Clarice said to her uncle, looking at him with fear in her eyes. He smiled, despite their position, and was off before she could say another word, back into the house. "Head for Maryland!" her mother shouted, "We'll meet at Rudy's!" Clarice felt a tug on her arm. Her mother stood beside her, panting and afraid. "Where's your uncle?" her mother said, now standing alone with her daughter, her voice was high in pitch. "He went back inside." Clarice said, her voice roughened beyond that of a five year old, thanks to the smoke and the tears, "With Gabe and daddy." Her mothers face paled. She turned to the house, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Ivan!" She started to head for the house, but Clarice grabbed her and held on tight. This wasn't, obviously, the uncle she would be sent to live with. It was the uncle no one knew about. 'What have I done?' Clarice thought. If only she'd stopped those boys. If only she'd told her uncle that they where out of control. She should have taken that lighter from them, but she'd been too afraid and run away. Clarice promised herself she'd never let men get away with it. She promised herself to be strong and to be brave no matter what. To never give in. Figures came around the side of the house. Her father led an older woman, not much older than her mother. Gabe held a shrieking bundle in his arms. Her uncle was nowhere in sight. The fire roared it's victory; and then, with a sickening crack that sounded like a giant's back breaking, a central beam gave way, and the roof collapsed in a peacock tail of sparks and flame. Clarice stood, horrified. "IVAN!!" her mother cried out. But it was too late.
She heard screaming. Crying. Clarice's eyelids burst open to the smell of smoke. She let out a scream and sat up, her breathing shallow in her lungs, and her heart almost falling out of her throat to lay bleeding on the floor. She was sticky with sweat. Why was it so hot in there? She heard screams and people yelling.
"Get 'em outta here! Now!"
"Move! Move!"
She saw smoke dancing its way under the crack of her door as she saw yellow, surreal light in the hallway. 'Oh no…'
She was thankful she was still dressed. She got out of bed and threw her shoes on, not bothering to lace them up. She ran to the door and threw it open, failing to feel the doorknob burn the tender flesh on her hand to the third degree. She jumped back, screaming as flames burst into the room.
I'm going to die in here… she thought. I'm going to die…
Her lungs began to fill with the sour smoke of burning wood and melting metal. She coughed hard, backing up against the wall. Where are those angels when you need them? Her mouth became dry, tasting of blood and tears. The one as hateful as the other.
Her head began to spin, the smoke suffocating her, the flames engulfing her. She backed into a small corner of the room, as far away as she could from the fire. She curled into a ball. She'd read somewhere that when put under a lot of stress, people convert back to childhood. She didn't doubt that now. She began to cry.
"I want my momma!" she yelled. "I want my poppa! Leave me alone!"
Her voice was raspy from the smoke. Her eyes where getting heavy, burning in their sockets, trying to escape the foul smoke of fate. It was only now that she heard the alarms in the hospital, loud and drowning out all other noise. She felt herself starting to slip away from sweet consciousness. She couldn't stop coughing now. She felt the burning heat of the fire all around her.
I'm sorry Hannibal… she thought. I'm sorry I never got to love you…
The fire consumed the room, and Clarice fell backwards, losing the last grip on hope, and losing the final grip on consciousness.
The last thing she heard was-
"Oh my God, Clarice!"
And then she slipped away.