Author's Note: I had a little bit of difficulty with this chapter…mainly because of the conflicting characters from the play. If you haven't seen the film, this might be very strange. My apologies if that is the case. Heh. I had the pleasure of watching 'My Fair Lady' on stage yesterday…it was both very amusing and inspirational.

 

~~~



Chapter Five

There was nothing for three days. While her instructors certainly thought it odd that Starling had developed the habitual of skipping school, no one approached Mapp in question. That was the way it was; either you could cut it or you couldn't.

The second day she heard the first rumor. Nothing earth shattering or unexpected. A fleeting whisper in the hallway suggested that Starling had finally crumpled under the pressure. It wasn't even an accusation, more or less one more name to add to the marks etched in the women's restroom in ordinance with the remaining students. Another one bites the dust. Mapp knew of several undergraduates whom had dropped out when the courses proved too tough, but it burned her still to know the implication fit at the end of her friend's name. Especially when the actions of her very own instructors initiated Starling's bizarre reform and convinced her to turn to a stranger for whatever comfort he had to offer.

Mapp still thought the doctor was a dirty old man, despite what he promised. Anyone who made that sort of bet could not be of sound mind. But as much as she hated to admit it, she was developing the nagging feeling that Starling was better off in his clutches than she was under the incessant diagnoses of her superiors.

The third day she saw Jack Crawford looking particularly pathetic on the way to one of his seminars. She couldn't suppress a snicker, nor could she tear her eyes from his when he glanced over. Though she wasn't in the mood to chitchat, she was slightly eager to hear what he had to say. Unlike Starling, Mapp never suffered hesitation in speaking her mind. She had decided long ago that Crawford was long overdue for a good talking to.

The man was actually approaching her.

"Excuse me," he said very conversationally, doing his best to hide the nature of his manifestly new interest in her. "Aren't you Starling's roommate?"

Mapp smirked, her eyes narrowing. "Nope. As of now, I'm her former roommate. You can find someone else to do your goddamn dirty work." At that, she paused, savoring the shock on his face though noting that perhaps this situation should be approached with caution. After all, he was her superior. While she was talented at playing devil's advocate, such situations had to be handled delicately. "With all due respect, of course…Sir."

Whether Crawford was more astonished at her words or at the news, she didn't know. She wanted to think it was a little of both. "What are you talking about?" he finally barked, a flash of temper flaring. He was a man that usually kept his wits about him, not easily provoked. Some topics, she knew from speaking with Starling, were more sensitive than others.

She warned herself that she had to be careful. The man was still morning the loss of his wife.

"Starling," Mapp replied simply. "She's on personal hiatus."

"What about her? What?"

On the other hand, she was subtle with no one. This could be sinfully fun. Mapp adopted a look of shock and released a powerfully convincing gasp. "Oh! You don't know. Your own little crony and you don't know." Something between shame and anger passed Crawford's face, and she had to fight back another sneer. Cautions be damned. His expression valued a trip across hot coals. "She moved in with a doctor, Starling did. Left the duplex three days ago, I think."

For a minute, there was nothing but the twisted look of hurt and betrayal. Mapp clamped her teeth on the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth shut. As a student, there were truthfully many things she would like to say but couldn't. She had spoken out of place already. However, though she didn't know Crawford very well—always conveniently skipping class when informed that he would speak, her friend had trusted him. A blind dog leading a blind man. Given her background, Mapp was very hesitant on placing confidence in one person or institution. Generally, once she met and labeled someone, it was difficult to defy it. Such was the case with Crawford. There was that notorious lecture he gave at UVA, something she made a special point to miss, which her friend—of course—attended with sickening devotion. Watching how the Guru had used that loyalty, scarring Starling in the long run, did little to alleviate her opinion of him.

In Mapp's book, there was rarely anywhere to go but down.

As much as she hated to admit it, there was something to be said for Starling taking this unmarked leap; she was seeing the world wasn't the colorful, friendly place she had blindly believed it to be. Even with her past as it was, the death of her father, Mapp was surprised at how she maintained the notion that people, in general were a good, morally founded populace.

"What?!" Crawford finally erupted. "What about school? What about graduation? What about—"

"Hell if I know," she replied with a simple shrug. "All I know is she picked up her things the other day and told me she was staying with a doctor for the next few months. Dr. Lecter, I think." Mapp knew very well that Crawford, given this information, would pay his protégé's new mentor a special visit, one she would shell out the bucks to witness. It wasn't fair to let Starling have all the fun.

This was as close as she was going to get.

After a minute passed, silently as he considered his shock, she added thoughtfully, "She did say he was very sexy. I dunno. Maybe she thinks the FBI ain't for her. Can't say I blame her. A wealthy benefactor like that…" Mapp shrugged, again clamping her teeth down to silence a wild cackle. The look on his face was priceless. "I met the guy a couple nights ago. Don't remember much, but…"

"What kind of things did she take with her?" It was all he could manage, manifestly torn. "Everything? Are you sure she's not coming back?"

If only Starling were here to see this.

And Ardelia Mapp, true to her word—ecstatic that the opportunity had surfaced, smiled very sweetly and said very spitefully, "Pretty much everything but her clothes."

There was nothing further that needed to be said; nothing more that she cared to say. Inwardly snapping a picture of his expression, she flashed her smile once more and excused herself. After all, it was time to get to class.

It was perhaps the first time that Mapp ever cared to be punctual. Her smirk remained perfectly in tact for the rest of the afternoon. She only hoped to run into Paul Krendler before the day was out.


* * *



Reformation was tedious. Now in day three of their sessions, Starling was unsure if she was made to endure these exercises for the sake of his own perverse pleasure, simply to torture her, or if there was a point to it all. Not much had been accomplished since she arrived.

Phase one consisted of ridding her of her southern intonation. At first, the insinuation was horribly insulting. Starling had faced discrimination for years in credit to her tone. The idea that one man could judge dominance based on place of birth flooded her with rage. She didn't know how she was to survive six months when every other thing he said drove her over the preverbal edge.

"There's nothing wrong with my accent!" she argued hotly when he announced it was the first thing to go. "Just because I don't sound all properly like you doesn't mean I speak wrong!"

Dr. Lecter's patience was outstandingly tolerant, though she suspected she could drive him up the wall with the right provocation. It would be interesting to experiment and draw conclusions. There was no way she would allow these lessons to become one-sided. "My dear, I am not insulting your origin," he replied calmly, though his telling eyes allowed her to see the infuriatingly superior tease dancing in devilish pupils. "You, by all means, have no control on the conditions of your birth. Geography is one of those finer luxuries we earn the right to later in life. However, people are a clumsy and thoughtless animal, and the southern stereotype is difficult to circumvent, despite talent." Then he winked, and she flustered, something she had not yet mastered immunity to. While she was able to keep her wits about her in nearly all scenarios, there was something about both his wink and his smile that deactivated her defenses and rendered her helpless to hide any show of emotion.

"There, there." His tone was so wonderfully condescending and she was tempted to leap at him and claw those prancing eyes out. "Now, again. Repeat. A."

"Aaaa."

"No. Less accent on the tail. Straightforward and to the point—no need to drone it out. After all, it's merely a letter. Again. A."

"Aaaa."

Dr. Lecter sighed and shook his head. "Dear, dear Clarice," he muttered in mock sympathy. "If you cannot master this language, how can I hope to teach you Latin?"

"Latin?"

He nodded simply, not reacting to her astonishment, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. To coax her in foreign language was one thing. Starling was prepared to shape up her schoolgirl French and Spanish, but Latin was useless. A dead idiom, used only at the Vatican, to her knowledge, and other assorted Catholic settlements.

"It is the root language for all others, Clarice," Dr. Lecter explained. "If you hope to perfect your other dialects, it is best to start at the beginning."

"Doctor, I'm only going to be here for six months. How do you propose I learn all these languages in that amount of time?"

"Do you underestimate my ability as an instructor?"

"No! I'm just saying I don't think even God could make off that well, with or without the Tower of Babel. Six months!"

Dr. Lecter chuckled and shook his head. "Oh Clarice, it's not so difficult. We'll start simply. In Latin, it is merely a matter of matching the declensions with the text. Take amo, the translation for 'I love.' The stages we will cover will remain uncomplicated, given our time. I don't expect you to progress beyond the conjugations of amo, which of course descend in the order of amas, amat, amamus, amatis, and amant. Hmmm? Perhaps that and a few nouns. Let's say rex, puella, and templum. Very elementary. You will be saying it in your sleep."

"Ammo? Is that how you pronounce it?"

"No." He developed an almost irritated look. "Unless you associate the root word for love with some perverse fetish for firearms. Your 'a' is too soft. Try again. Amo."

"Ammo," she repeated, intentionally incorrect just to see what he would do. If there was one thing she had learned in the course of the past three days, trying the doctor's patience was one of the finer treats in life.

"No!" Aha! There it was. A flash of irritation crackled behind his eyes. Small victory as it was, she reveled in it. The incidents of his fortitude slipping were numbered and almost deserved a celebration. In the weeks to come, she hoped to have time to wear it effectively. This man's self-control surpassed any human capacity.

Her triumph, however, was short-lived. The next she knew she, her jaw was roughly jerked to face him, and he locked her gaze with his with minimal effort. Briefly, he seemed to scrutinize her, consider her at this proximity, but the notion was fleeting and likely nonexistent. "Repeat. Amo," he commanded lightly.

As she obliged, Dr. Lecter guided her chin to produce the sound he was searching for. "Amo."

"There." Without releasing her jaw, he smiled, another deactivating exchange. "Was that so painful?"

"No." Her mouth barely moved.

"No more than its conjugations will be, but I do suppose we are getting ahead of ourselves. You must still master your own alphabet." He paused and seemed to consider, thumb moving idly across her skin. She quivered beneath his touch. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "This method is proving constructive. Recite your vowels."

"A. E. I. O. U." She spoke with his hand guiding her mouth, his eyes flashing when she made an error, lingering on a letter a beat longer than she was evidently supposed to.

"Again."

"A. E. I. O. U."

This could have gone on for some time had Barney not intervened. She was in mid-recitation when the parlor door's opened, and she expected Dr. Lecter to immediately relinquish his position, but he did not. Instead, he looked up and nodded casually, slowly rising to full stature and freeing her chin only when it surpassed his reach. "Ah. Good afternoon, Barney," he greeted considerately.

"Uhhh…Doctor?" Their guest seemed embarrassed. Though he was across the room, Starling was sure she saw him redden. She smiled and immediately looked away to hide her amusement. The suggested implication was neatly ridiculous.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Pearce wanted me to tell you that the mail has arrived."

"Ah, splendid," he replied as though he was expecting something important. "Thank you." Glancing to Starling, he seemed to dismiss her, nodding a casual pardon and excusing himself from the room.

"Continue with your vowels," Dr. Lecter instructed before closing the door.

For a minute, surrounded by the silence he left her in, Starling did nothing. Her skin was aflame where he had held her jaw, and the notion bothered her horribly. Was it possible to flail at the touch of the same man that pressed her patience and temper to its finer limits? The room seemed empty without his mesmerizing eyes peered over her shoulder in patronizing dissatisfaction with the never-ending order to reiterate her vowels.

Three days.

The impression was fleeting and left her as quickly as it struck. And then she was left just as she was, a woman irritated with the world, even with her instructor, and forced to the last reliable link. Shaking her head, Starling leaned toward the directed gramophone and continued the incessant recitation.


* * *



Mild irritation as it was, Dr. Lecter reflected that it was for the better that Barney interrupted them when he did. For the briefest instance inside the parlor, he was sure that the air between himself and his young protégé had crackled with more than the revival of an otherwise dead language. Uncanny that she would affect him like this, only after three days. No woman had before.

He composed himself at once and followed his friend into the study.

"The mail, sir," Mrs. Pearce greeted, extending a handful of fat, uninteresting envelops. Dr. Lecter's correspondents usually consisted of professors asking him to lecture on the fundamentals of good psychiatry, insurance agents, lawyers, and anyone who needed money. Occasionally, he received an inquiry from the editor of one of his prized journals asking him to do another piece. Those always proved successful. Otherwise, it was routine to not check the return address and throw away anything inconsequential.

"Pay the bills," he said, flipping through them once before returning them to her. "And say no to the invitations."

Barney had taken station near the window, his eyes darkly fixed on the doctor, as if he had captured him in a moment of ill repute. When his minimally flared temper was not acknowledged, or even defended as misplaced, his gaze withered and softened. It was not in Dr. Lecter's nature to react to irritability, and his guest knew this.

He accepted the glass of wine when the doctor offered it.

"Doc?"

"Yes, Barney?"

Briefly, Dr. Lecter wondered if his friend would berate him for the brief display he had the misfortune to interrupt. The conflict that sprawled across his face was both amusing and courteous. This continuous exhibit for the care of Starling's comfort never failed to impress him. But in the end, but Barney shook his head and decided against it. "I was thinking, you can't go on working the bird this way. Making say her alphabet over and over, from sunup to sundown, even during meals. You'll exhaust yourself. When'll it stop?"

"When she does it properly, of course," he answered simply. "Is that all, Mrs. Pearce?"

"There's another letter from Bill Gates. He still wants you to lecture on the benefits of Internet investment."

"Yes, well, throw it away."

"It's the third letter he's written you," she objected. "You should at least answer it."

"I suppose you're right. Leave it on the desk, Mrs. Pearce."

She placed the envelope atop a medley of papers, studies, essays, journals, and other reading material that the doctor bothered to keep up with. "Oh, Dr. Lecter. There is a man from the FBI downstairs who wants to see you," she informed him as she made her way across the study. "Jack Crawford, I believe. He says you have his student here."

Dr. Lecter paused, smiling to himself. It was only a matter of time before someone came around in search of the missing trainee, and it honestly surprised him that this was the first caller he had received since assuming the project. If Starling were in one of his regular, conventional classes, he suspected he would have made his way here days ago.

And now, the infamous Mr. Crawford was under his roof.

Quickly, he turned to his first meeting with Starling; rerunning her relayed, manifest betrayal. The hurt in her voice, even inside his own cavity, cut him deeper now. Now that he knew her.

The initial night of her stay, Dr. Lecter had probed her protective outer wall until she caved and engaged in a lengthy conversation, for the better of the experiment, of course. Names were released then, other than the already-mentioned Paul Krendler. Though she was hesitant at first, it didn't take much to open the floodgates. Anxieties always intrigued him, and Starling had had it rougher than anyone he could recall.

Her worries pleased him, but similarly stirred another emotion, one darker and disturbing: anger at those responsible for such stress.

"We're going to have trouble with him," Barney muttered as Mrs. Pearce excused herself to lead Crawford to the study.

Dr. Lecter shook his head. "No, I think not. Any trouble to be had, he will have with me, not I with him." Well, he reflected, with any luck. Though a tolerant man, he couldn't shake the unsettling notion that any resolve he instituted could be defied when it concerned the bird.

The bird: Barney's affectionate nickname that still managed to refrain from sounding condescending.

A moderately tall man entered the room behind Mrs. Pearce. Thin, gray, and shrewd. First impressions came and went. Dr. Lecter saw great conflict flickering behind his eyes, mixed with jaded sadness relating to a recent loss. This Bella that Starling mentioned to her friend the night they met, perhaps.

Hmmm…

"Mr. Jack Crawford, sir," his housekeeper announced before turning promptly to vacate the room.

The guest waited a beat before stepping forward, trading glances from one man to the other. After a minute, composing himself, Crawford drew in a breath and began. "Dr. Lecter, I presume? Which one of you—"

"Here, my good man," the doctor answered, directing him over with a solicitous hand wave. "What may I do for you?"

Crawford nodded and immediately ignored Barney, the target of his inquiry spotted. "Good morning," he greeted. "I'm here on a very serious matter."

Just like that, Dr. Lecter knew this man would be a delight to toy with. Nodding as though gravely concerned, he pursed his lips in consideration, turning to Barney. "Raised in Massachusetts, I should think. What is it you want, Jack? May I call you Jack?"

"I don't care what you call me. I want my student, that's what I want."

"Well, of course you do," he agreed amiably. "You are her mentor, aren't you? I'm glad to see you have a spark of interest in your pupil's welfare. Regardless, I don't believe she wants to see you just now. You're free to try, of course. She's down the hall, in the parlor."

It was obvious that Crawford had arrived prepared to brawl. Surprise at the doctor's cooperation spread vibrantly across his face. He tried several times to piece a reply, but finally yielded to frustrated confusion. "What?"

"Do as you will," Dr. Lecter replied. "Do you think I am going to keep you away from your protégé? I do have an interest in her education, even if you do not."

Crawford blinked in resentment, though he flushed at the accusation. "Ah now," he said shortly. "Is this reasonable? Is it 'fairity' to take advantage of a man like that? How do you know what's best for her? You got her here, and you wouldn't if you were too concerned. She's throwing away her future. Where do I come in?"

He shrugged and leaned casually, clearly unthreatened, against his desk. "Who's to say? Redirect the question to yourself."

"Well…what would any teacher come for? Be human, doctor."

"You sent her here."

Crawford bristled and scoffed. "I most certainly did not!"

The doctor shook his head heavily. "But you did, with your negligence to see how you damaged her stamina and wounded an otherwise fiery spirit. Why else would she turn to a stranger for comfort? You certainly know her better than that. I do, and I have only had the pleasure of a few days in her company. How did you come to know she was here in the first place?

The man's eyes flashed. "I'd tell you, Doc, if only you'd let me get a word in. I'm willing to tell you. I'm wanting to tell you. I'm waiting to tell you." It was apparent that he was clinging to the very end of his patience, and furthermore, that he forfeited control rarely to anyone. All the more reason to patronize him.

Dr. Lecter smiled. "You know, Barney," he said thoughtfully without glancing to his friend, still stationary at the window. "This fellow possesses a certain natural gift of the rhetoric. Observe the rhythm of his native intonation. 'I'm willing to tell you. I'm wanting to tell you. I'm waiting to tell you.' Almost melodic, is it not?" His grin tautened as he turned back to his guest. "How did you know Clarice was here?"

At that, Crawford flinched as though it was painful to hear her given name, but he wisely bit his tongue. "Her roommate tends school with her. She said that Starling came back for her things, and that she didn't take any clothes. What was I to think from that? I ask you, as a concerned teacher, what was I to think?"

A chuckle rippled through his body. "So you came here to rescue her from a fate worse than death, is that right?"

There was a momentary pause as Crawford considered, but when he couldn't find a better way to phrase it, he nodded with a shrug. "That's right."

"Yesss…" Dr. Lecter hissed, his eyes dancing. "I see." And then his attentions were away, but never far. "Mrs. Pearce!" The hustling busybody, stationed reliably at her post outside the study, hurried in at once. "Mrs. Pearce, Clarice's mentor has come to take her away. Give her to him, will you?"

"Now wait a minute, sir, wait a minute!" Crawford objected. "We're men of the world, aren't we?"

"Oh, we're men of the world now? Interesting. Yes, well, perhaps you'd better excuse yourself, Mrs. Pearce."

The confused housekeeper nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. "I think so indeed." Then she was gone again, down the hall this time.

"Wait! Wait!" screamed his guest, perceptibly unaccustomed to being in a position where he held no control. "I'm not about to drag her outta here. I don't have that kind of authority. All I mean to do is make sure she's all right, and that you're—"

At last, the silent Barney stirred, silencing the air with his baritone voice. "I think you ought to know, Mr. Crawford, that Dr. Lecter's intentions are entirely honorable." Then he was quiet again, his tone ringing to stillness.

"I'm sure they are," their guest replied snidely. "Pretty young woman and an older man. What man wouldn't kill to be in your position, Doc?"

Dr. Lecter shrugged. "Believe what you want, of course. I am in no position to influence your conviction."

That wasn't enough. Crawford wanted blood. Vindication for whatever ambiguous crime. Perhaps for the unbearable knowledge that a man of his age had reached the student he coveted. Dr. Lecter identified desire easily, though he didn't believe the man had come to terms with it himself. A rebound off his deceased beloved, whom he obviously had loved dearly. "Some gentleman you are," the wounded tutor snapped bitterly. His tone gritted with restrictive tightness, as if to assure himself that he wouldn't have leapt at the opportunity to do the same. "Taking advantage of a young girl."

"Mr. Crawford, what would it take for you to leave? Hmm?" Dr. Lecter's eyes blazed, his temper not effectively worn, but suffering the allegation of ill manners didn't rest well with him. Though he was notoriously calm and collected, there was a line to be crossed. "Do you need to see Clarice to settle your conscience that I have not acted savagely toward her? Perhaps a generous pay off? Yes, interesting. How much are your values worth to you?"

"What?"

"Would you sell those tedious moralities that prompted you to visit me for the sake of a dollar sign?" Dr. Lecter knew the answer well in advance. Bureaucrats were too easily bought and too soon returned. This would prove a useful exercise in his further sessions with Starling. The fraud of corruptibility. "One hundred? Two?"

"Now wait just a minute—"

"No, eh? I suppose that should be somewhat reassuring. Shall I promote it to thousands? One thousand?"

"Doc—"

"Two?"

"This isn't fair—"

"Five?"

Crawford paused. "Five? What happened to three and four?"

Dr. Lecter smiled broadly, turning to stroll behind his desk. Glancing upward in brief, he pulled open a drawer and retrieved his checkbook. "Splendid! Five it is, then."

"What are you trying to pull?"

"Your silence, of course." He was no longer looking at Crawford, instead intent on writing out the amount. "At the time being, Clarice has every intention of returning to Quantico and your squabbling delegates once her lessons here have run their duration. If you decided—and I'm not saying you would—to open your mouth and prevent that from happening, I foresee the feats we are working to accomplish here amounting to very little. This…" He held up the check, watched the man's eyes widen at its authenticity, "is to remind you that your pupil is working to better herself, to return and repeat her year with better dealings on discrimination, what little good it might do." Carefully, he placed the check on the corner of his desk and stepped back in ode to ownership. "If this makes you uncomfortable, I will not watch you accept it. It is not necessary to witness your deceit. I will not look at it until you are long away. Perhaps Mrs. Pearce may make some use out of it if you don't care to."

Barney, at the window, watched this transaction with the utmost fascination. When Dr. Lecter glanced in his direction, he read that his friend knew very well what Crawford would do. Neither flinched in surprise when he moved forward and slipped the check off the surface and into his waiting pocket.

"I don't feel good about this," he let them know, and it was true. So plainly true that the doctor might have pitied him if distaste had not begun to fester and boil.

Money was money. Green was green. And though he might like to deny it, Jack Crawford was no different from the rest. He put on many different faces for many different people.

"Regardless, it is in your possession, and I will not take it back," Dr. Lecter said shortly. "Please make your leave, Mr. Crawford. I believe you know where the door is."

A brief hesitation, but he agreed with a somber nod. The air curtained densely, encompassing a house that had not known such silence in three days. It already felt bizarre. Starling had a very real presence here.

It didn't last long.

"I won't! I won't! I won't!" Without any prolonged entry, the woman of the hour burst through the closed study doors, eyes livid and followed closely by Mrs. Pearce. "I won't say those fucking vowels one more time!"

She stopped short in the doorway and stared deadly at Crawford. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, a winter storm brewing behind her voice, immediately ignoring everyone else in the room. It was one of her greater talents—acting as herself in front of any company. Starling never wore masks. What you saw was what you got, and similarly, what you got left you wanting nothing more.

Not many would realize that.

Crawford was bewildered, and his face reddened like the child whose hand was discovered deep in the cookie jar. Watching someone contort in conflict was always a pleasure, but Dr. Lecter made special note to savor this. Shame sprawled across the man's face, along with failure and self-resentment. In that, his true colors were revealed. Kind and thoughtful, someone who truly wanted the best for his students, but no less besmirched. The handsome check, cheap paper money, which resided in his pocket was proof of that. The doctor was almost insulted that he had settled for such a minimal amount. A person's life could not be measured with nickels and dimes. Especially not Starling's.

It was another one of those secret delights he would keep from her.

"I was just on my way out," Crawford announced. "Goodbye, Starling."

And he was gone, brushing past her without another word. She remained immobile in confusion, anger shielding the better part of her senses. It seethed off her in no attempt to remain concealed. Dr. Lecter enjoyed the primitiveness of her emotions, and relished them as though they were his own.

"What did he want?" she asked a minute later through gritted teeth. Her eyes blazed and finally met his.

Much to his surprise, he was unable to stop the small shiver that ran through him in affect. However, physical reactions were easy to manage and manipulate, and he quickly regained control. "Say your vowels," he ordered, promptly ignoring her question. It was best she didn't know just yet.

"I know my vowels," Starling snarled. "I knew them before I came."

"Well, if you know them, say them."

"A. E. I. O. U." Her tone rang of the West Virginia hills, modest effort as it was.

"Wrong!" Dr. Lecter grinned widely, shooting a brief glance to Barney, who was dumbfound. "Listen and repeat. A. E. I. O. U."

"That's what I said! A. E. I. O. U."

Suggested irritation. Excellent. Her fire was brief but consistent, finding a victim wherever it went. In time, she would scream her fury at Crawford, perhaps to his face. That would be delicious.

There was still that possibility that he could build better than he knew, and that one day that anger would release on him. Not that he hadn't seen a flare or two, but he doubted Starling knew the taste of real rage.

They would both find out in time. But for now, there were more important things.


* * *