A/N: I suppose I should go ahead and repost a disclaimer, as much as it hurts me to do it. This story is a work of fiction. The characters in A Killer Romance are property of Thomas Harris, aka Hannibal, Clarice, Barney, Chilton, Crawford, Krendler, and so on. I do not make any claim to owning these characters, nor do I make any profit from this story. While the characters are not mine, the idea for this story is my own.
Chapter 14: Mental Visits, Knowledge Abounds
As the first rays of sun shone through the attic's ceiling window, Clarice lay on the bed. Her chest rose gently with each breath. Occasionally, her eyes would flutter quickly, but that was all. She seemed at peace with herself. If only Hannibal could be at peace.
The doctor lay on the leather couch, watching Clarice sleep. Though he did so love to speak with her, it was rewarding to see her so quiet. Her voice was melodious to his ears, but her paced breathing was so calming and sweet. It gave him the silence he needed to think about what had just happened, only a few short hours ago.
Hannibal Lecter, infamous psychiatrist, conniseur and murderer, was in a state of shock. He had just seen his pure and moral Clarice kill another human being. He had done this many times, of course, but it was different now. She had always held fast to her beliefs, what had affected her so greatly to lead to her kill?
Hannibal's thoughts paused momentarily when he heard a hitch in Clarice's breathing pattern. Observing her face, he saw that it wouldn't be long before she awoke. He had, at most, another hour of quiet. Pulling his eyes from her face, he retreated into his mind again.
IN THE MIND OF HANNIBAL
Hannibal entered his Memory Palace. He went into a room with a heavy oak door, stained the color of wheat. The wood was strong, unbreakable even, and the color was so light that it was distinctly female. He turned the brass handle, around which were carved the most beautiful garland. Through this door, he entered the room of Clarice.
He began to walk past the first time they had met, but made himself stop. There she stood in her cheap shoes, looking so anxious, so determined, so hopeful. Was she scared? Was she ever scared of him? He stepped close to her, as the scene of their first meeting played itself in it's majority, omitting the part where Miggs had "bit his wrist." Living through that once was more than enough.
His Clarice of years before was determined. There was no doubt that she was not a cold blooded killer so many years before.
He moved onward ten years, to see footage of her on the news, gunning down the late Evelda Drumgo. Clarice had done her all within her power to keep her finger off the trigger. Her face showed that same determination as it had ten years earlier, but now there was the horrible look of dread, the kind one only sees in the face of a soon-to-be killer. Clarice had not wanted to kill Evelda, but she did what was necessary, and she did what she could to keep herself safe. Even as she shot Evelda, her thoughts were with the child, the baby soaked in it's mother's blood. She cared so much, and received so little in return.
Blinking back the hot rage that radiated through his heart for the pain Clarice felt, he moved on again. This gap in time was filled with newspaper clippings, news footage, and boxes and boxes of pictures. At the end of his media, he stopped again. This was only two years earlier, a date he well remembered. It was the day they kissed in equal love, and not with one of them pinned against a refrigerator.
The green grass was a lovely contrast to the small, light purple lilies scattered along the ground. But Clarice was, as always, the focal point of this natural beauty.
She was walking on the pathway through her neighborhood park, recalled fondly as 'their' park. She wore navy athletic pants, a running sports-bra covered by a loose tank-top, and a tired smile. Her face was not happy, not exactly, but it was comfortable. He could read her thoughts then, at that very moment. He knew she didn't like the work the FBI gave her, he knew she was tired of her life. He knew it, but she didn't. That single bit of knowledge made her all the more beautiful to him.
He studied her as she walked. She wasn't capable of murder then. What had set her off?
He walked a few paces further in his memory, to the end of their kiss. THEIR kiss. Hannibal sighed, as the fated dialogue began. She couldn't be with him, because he was a killer. She was crying so hard, the sobs racked her petite frame. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks flushed, and her hair disheveled. She was so beautiful, even in such pain...
Hannibal stopped. Could this be it? He relieved the memory again. Could this be the moment that caused Clarice to kill? And why? Had he done this to her?
Hannibal's eyes were wide the blow of reality. He retreated from his palace, running out the front door and back into the attic of Barney's house. He felt a solitary tear drying on his cheek.
Hannibal Lecter had driven his only love to become a true murderer.
AT THE SAME TIME, IN THE MIND OF CLARICE
"I AM THE HONEY!"
Clarice pulled a bleeding Paul Krendler into her kitchen. It was slow going, because Paul weighed more than she had expected. She laughed ruefully at the unconscious figure being pulled across her floor. "You know what Paul? You should lose some weight. I think you're going to lose your girlish figure soon... or maybe you're just fat!" She snickered cruelly as she dropped him in the middle of the linoleum.
Clarice looked at her clothing, which remained remarkably unscathed. Clarice didn't know just how dirty her work would be, so she removed her shirt and pants, leaving her clad only in a bra and panties.
Clarice took her clothing into her bedroom, laying them in a pile on her bed. With the familiarity of routine, she found her handcuffs in her top drawer and carried them with her into the kitchen.
She kneeled on the floor in front of Paul, looking around for something secure. She had a small radiator beside the kitchen table, surely that would do. She cuffed his wrist tightly, then placed the other cuff around the radiator.
She laid her face on the floor in front of Paul's bleeding, stump of a nose. She smiled angelically as she whispered to him. "Paul? Hey, Paul, wake up. Paul....?"
That obviously wasn't working. She sat up on her knees and held his uncuffed hand. She slowly brought it closer to the heat of the radiator, whose warmth seemed only to comfort Paul's chilled skin. Sighing with impatience, she placed the palm of his hand flat on the burning hot pipes.
Paul's eyes flew open in pain, as he chortled a thick scream. He pulled his hand from the pipes, sitting up and backing away in one movement. He began to cry as he held his hand to his chest, the other hand on his now coagulating bloody nose.
"What the hell are you doing to me Starling!" His words sounded funny and and high, the result of the absence of an important facial appendage. Clarice laughed at him.
"What am I doing to YOU? Are you serious?" She rose from the floor and opened a drawer beside the sink. From it, she pulled a large knife, then picking up her exacto knife from the floor to hold them side by side. Seeing the tools, Paul sobbed louder. He began making unintelligible noises.
She put down the knives and knelt swiftly, slapping him across his messy face. "Don't you DARE cry Paul. I mean it, if you cry now, I will bite off the part of you that got you here in the first place." With the final sentence, Clarice turned back to the sink to get her knives.
Paul felt the remaining blood drain from his face. Starling had lost her mind, she was going to snap anytime! He fired up his remaining courage, and tried to look intimidating while holding his burned hand and nose gingerly. "You wanted it Starling. You KNOW you wanted it."
Clarice whipped around dangerously from the counter. "YOU PIG. YOU FILTHY FILTHY PIG. If you thought I wanted what you did to me, than I just KNOW you're going to LOVE this." She pushed the exacto knife to its full extension, walking menacingly toward Paul.
Krendler began to whimper. "Starling, look, you're under a lot of pressure. If you stop now, I'll just make sure you're fired. That's all, no police, no record. Just fired Starling..."
Clarice stopped to stare at him as he muttered under his breath. "What did you say Paul?" That damn fool never knew when to shut his mouth.
Paul cowered as far from her as he could, with his one arm still attached to the radiator via handcuffs. "Nothing, I said nothing."
Clarice felt the rage in her whole body. She leapt through the air like a gazelle, landing precisely on his chest, pinning him in an intimate pose. "What...the... HELL... did you say?"
Paul began to shake beneath her. "I- I said- oh, god, you're going to KILL ME!"
Clarice crooked her head to the side in a young and girlish fashion that shouted innocence. "Yes, Paul, I am. So, you should tell me what you said before you die."
Paul's eyes widened as he began to scream. Clarice began to laugh as she stabbed him unmercifully with her knife, over and over again. As Paul's screams slowly died, her laughter turned to tears. By the time she was finished stabbing him, her face was soaked with blood, sweat and tears.
She checked the clock on the wall and saw that she would miss her plane if she didn't hurry. She had one hour until she had to be on her plane, barely enough time to dispose of the body. But before she could rid herself of him forever, she took out the large kitchen knife and began to carve.
LEAVING THE MINDS
Hannibal rose from the couch as Clarice began to stir. He was concerned about her, now that he had figured out why she was so... off-balance. He sat beside her on the bed, waiting for her to become alert.
She slowly opened her eyes, looking about, then into the eyes Hannibal. "Oh... hello Hannibal. What time is it?"
Hannibal ran his hand over her hair, slowly, drinking in the silky texture. "It's early morning. We have much to discuss, my dear. I suggest you rise from your dreams, and I'll make us some mocha coffee. Alright?"
She smiled softly. "Sure, that's good. I'll get up now."
As he turned away, he felt his heart lurch in his chest....
How could he have hurt someone he loved so much?
A/N: Oh, no! Is Hannibal the reason that Clarice killed Paul? Who is to blame for Clarice's sudden change in behavior? Find out in the next installment of as the world tu-
Oh, sorry, of... A Killer Romance!!!!
Chapter 14: Mental Visits, Knowledge Abounds
As the first rays of sun shone through the attic's ceiling window, Clarice lay on the bed. Her chest rose gently with each breath. Occasionally, her eyes would flutter quickly, but that was all. She seemed at peace with herself. If only Hannibal could be at peace.
The doctor lay on the leather couch, watching Clarice sleep. Though he did so love to speak with her, it was rewarding to see her so quiet. Her voice was melodious to his ears, but her paced breathing was so calming and sweet. It gave him the silence he needed to think about what had just happened, only a few short hours ago.
Hannibal Lecter, infamous psychiatrist, conniseur and murderer, was in a state of shock. He had just seen his pure and moral Clarice kill another human being. He had done this many times, of course, but it was different now. She had always held fast to her beliefs, what had affected her so greatly to lead to her kill?
Hannibal's thoughts paused momentarily when he heard a hitch in Clarice's breathing pattern. Observing her face, he saw that it wouldn't be long before she awoke. He had, at most, another hour of quiet. Pulling his eyes from her face, he retreated into his mind again.
IN THE MIND OF HANNIBAL
Hannibal entered his Memory Palace. He went into a room with a heavy oak door, stained the color of wheat. The wood was strong, unbreakable even, and the color was so light that it was distinctly female. He turned the brass handle, around which were carved the most beautiful garland. Through this door, he entered the room of Clarice.
He began to walk past the first time they had met, but made himself stop. There she stood in her cheap shoes, looking so anxious, so determined, so hopeful. Was she scared? Was she ever scared of him? He stepped close to her, as the scene of their first meeting played itself in it's majority, omitting the part where Miggs had "bit his wrist." Living through that once was more than enough.
His Clarice of years before was determined. There was no doubt that she was not a cold blooded killer so many years before.
He moved onward ten years, to see footage of her on the news, gunning down the late Evelda Drumgo. Clarice had done her all within her power to keep her finger off the trigger. Her face showed that same determination as it had ten years earlier, but now there was the horrible look of dread, the kind one only sees in the face of a soon-to-be killer. Clarice had not wanted to kill Evelda, but she did what was necessary, and she did what she could to keep herself safe. Even as she shot Evelda, her thoughts were with the child, the baby soaked in it's mother's blood. She cared so much, and received so little in return.
Blinking back the hot rage that radiated through his heart for the pain Clarice felt, he moved on again. This gap in time was filled with newspaper clippings, news footage, and boxes and boxes of pictures. At the end of his media, he stopped again. This was only two years earlier, a date he well remembered. It was the day they kissed in equal love, and not with one of them pinned against a refrigerator.
The green grass was a lovely contrast to the small, light purple lilies scattered along the ground. But Clarice was, as always, the focal point of this natural beauty.
She was walking on the pathway through her neighborhood park, recalled fondly as 'their' park. She wore navy athletic pants, a running sports-bra covered by a loose tank-top, and a tired smile. Her face was not happy, not exactly, but it was comfortable. He could read her thoughts then, at that very moment. He knew she didn't like the work the FBI gave her, he knew she was tired of her life. He knew it, but she didn't. That single bit of knowledge made her all the more beautiful to him.
He studied her as she walked. She wasn't capable of murder then. What had set her off?
He walked a few paces further in his memory, to the end of their kiss. THEIR kiss. Hannibal sighed, as the fated dialogue began. She couldn't be with him, because he was a killer. She was crying so hard, the sobs racked her petite frame. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks flushed, and her hair disheveled. She was so beautiful, even in such pain...
Hannibal stopped. Could this be it? He relieved the memory again. Could this be the moment that caused Clarice to kill? And why? Had he done this to her?
Hannibal's eyes were wide the blow of reality. He retreated from his palace, running out the front door and back into the attic of Barney's house. He felt a solitary tear drying on his cheek.
Hannibal Lecter had driven his only love to become a true murderer.
AT THE SAME TIME, IN THE MIND OF CLARICE
"I AM THE HONEY!"
Clarice pulled a bleeding Paul Krendler into her kitchen. It was slow going, because Paul weighed more than she had expected. She laughed ruefully at the unconscious figure being pulled across her floor. "You know what Paul? You should lose some weight. I think you're going to lose your girlish figure soon... or maybe you're just fat!" She snickered cruelly as she dropped him in the middle of the linoleum.
Clarice looked at her clothing, which remained remarkably unscathed. Clarice didn't know just how dirty her work would be, so she removed her shirt and pants, leaving her clad only in a bra and panties.
Clarice took her clothing into her bedroom, laying them in a pile on her bed. With the familiarity of routine, she found her handcuffs in her top drawer and carried them with her into the kitchen.
She kneeled on the floor in front of Paul, looking around for something secure. She had a small radiator beside the kitchen table, surely that would do. She cuffed his wrist tightly, then placed the other cuff around the radiator.
She laid her face on the floor in front of Paul's bleeding, stump of a nose. She smiled angelically as she whispered to him. "Paul? Hey, Paul, wake up. Paul....?"
That obviously wasn't working. She sat up on her knees and held his uncuffed hand. She slowly brought it closer to the heat of the radiator, whose warmth seemed only to comfort Paul's chilled skin. Sighing with impatience, she placed the palm of his hand flat on the burning hot pipes.
Paul's eyes flew open in pain, as he chortled a thick scream. He pulled his hand from the pipes, sitting up and backing away in one movement. He began to cry as he held his hand to his chest, the other hand on his now coagulating bloody nose.
"What the hell are you doing to me Starling!" His words sounded funny and and high, the result of the absence of an important facial appendage. Clarice laughed at him.
"What am I doing to YOU? Are you serious?" She rose from the floor and opened a drawer beside the sink. From it, she pulled a large knife, then picking up her exacto knife from the floor to hold them side by side. Seeing the tools, Paul sobbed louder. He began making unintelligible noises.
She put down the knives and knelt swiftly, slapping him across his messy face. "Don't you DARE cry Paul. I mean it, if you cry now, I will bite off the part of you that got you here in the first place." With the final sentence, Clarice turned back to the sink to get her knives.
Paul felt the remaining blood drain from his face. Starling had lost her mind, she was going to snap anytime! He fired up his remaining courage, and tried to look intimidating while holding his burned hand and nose gingerly. "You wanted it Starling. You KNOW you wanted it."
Clarice whipped around dangerously from the counter. "YOU PIG. YOU FILTHY FILTHY PIG. If you thought I wanted what you did to me, than I just KNOW you're going to LOVE this." She pushed the exacto knife to its full extension, walking menacingly toward Paul.
Krendler began to whimper. "Starling, look, you're under a lot of pressure. If you stop now, I'll just make sure you're fired. That's all, no police, no record. Just fired Starling..."
Clarice stopped to stare at him as he muttered under his breath. "What did you say Paul?" That damn fool never knew when to shut his mouth.
Paul cowered as far from her as he could, with his one arm still attached to the radiator via handcuffs. "Nothing, I said nothing."
Clarice felt the rage in her whole body. She leapt through the air like a gazelle, landing precisely on his chest, pinning him in an intimate pose. "What...the... HELL... did you say?"
Paul began to shake beneath her. "I- I said- oh, god, you're going to KILL ME!"
Clarice crooked her head to the side in a young and girlish fashion that shouted innocence. "Yes, Paul, I am. So, you should tell me what you said before you die."
Paul's eyes widened as he began to scream. Clarice began to laugh as she stabbed him unmercifully with her knife, over and over again. As Paul's screams slowly died, her laughter turned to tears. By the time she was finished stabbing him, her face was soaked with blood, sweat and tears.
She checked the clock on the wall and saw that she would miss her plane if she didn't hurry. She had one hour until she had to be on her plane, barely enough time to dispose of the body. But before she could rid herself of him forever, she took out the large kitchen knife and began to carve.
LEAVING THE MINDS
Hannibal rose from the couch as Clarice began to stir. He was concerned about her, now that he had figured out why she was so... off-balance. He sat beside her on the bed, waiting for her to become alert.
She slowly opened her eyes, looking about, then into the eyes Hannibal. "Oh... hello Hannibal. What time is it?"
Hannibal ran his hand over her hair, slowly, drinking in the silky texture. "It's early morning. We have much to discuss, my dear. I suggest you rise from your dreams, and I'll make us some mocha coffee. Alright?"
She smiled softly. "Sure, that's good. I'll get up now."
As he turned away, he felt his heart lurch in his chest....
How could he have hurt someone he loved so much?
A/N: Oh, no! Is Hannibal the reason that Clarice killed Paul? Who is to blame for Clarice's sudden change in behavior? Find out in the next installment of as the world tu-
Oh, sorry, of... A Killer Romance!!!!
