Disclaimer: 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 15: Probing the Depths of Clarice
BARNEY'S ATTIC, PORTUGAL
Hannibal carried two mocha coffee's on a tray to Clarice. She had made the bed, and now sat in the center of the freshly made cover, indian-style and a little more awake. He laid the tray before her on the bed, taking a seat at the very edge.
She laughed as she took her cup. "Hannibal, come on. That's silly, there's plenty of room on this bed. Come on, sit by me." She patted the spot on the other side of the tray.
Hannibal rose from the bed, removing a pair of slippers he had found beside the couch. He had changed while Clarice had slept into a pair of silky lounge pants and matching shirt, both a light chalk color. He climbed onto the bed, taking a seat in the center across from Clarice.
Together they sipped their coffee. Clarice sighed pleasantly. "This is good. You are a good cook, you know that? I think I've told you that."
He smiled humbly. "Actually, I don't believe you have."
She returned his smile. "Well, I'm telling you now. You make a damn fine cup of coffee."
Hannibal tilted his head to the side, but chose not to mention Clarice's poor language. She had been cursing a great deal in the past few hours. He was becoming increasingly worried about her. "Clarice, I need to ask you some questions." He placed his cup on the tray.
She followed his suit, then smiled. "Sure, doc, shoot."
Doc? Shoot? What... "What happened on the plane?"
She gave him A Look that said, 'What a dumb question.' "We met again. You WERE there, weren't you?"
He sighed as he placed the tray on the floor beside the bed. "Don't test my patience Clarice. What happened in the bathroom? Why did you kill that young man?"
Clarice scowled. "He was being very rude. You noticed that, right? He was trying to separate our seats, and for the love of God, he was hitting on you!"
Hannibal frowned slightly at that memory. "Yes, but did those actions warrant his death?"
She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand slowly. "No one will keep us apart again Hannibal. I mean it. No one. Please don't ask anything more about him, he was so insignificant. I just wanted him gone. He was such a stupid distraction from something far more important."
The doctor looked into her eyes and saw such devotion. It made his heart warm with happiness. But there was something else to address here. "All right, I will leave Stephan to rest." He pulled together his old persona of psychiatrist, and began to address his patient. "Had you ever done that before?"
Clarice's eyes went dark. She looked down a fraction, just enough to show submission to Hannibal. "Killed?" she whispered. She looked up again. "Yes."
Lecter battled a startled gasp. He looked at her with his intoxicating eyes. "Tell me who, little Starling. Who did you kill before Stephan?"
She bit her lip at the corner as she answered him. "Do you remember the agent from Justice who worked with me on the Drumgo fiasco?"
Hannibal nodded. He remembered everything. "Yes, a Mr. Krendler."
Clarice nodded. "Him. I killed him."
CRAWFORD'S OFFICE, QUANTICO
Crawford was sitting at his desk, swallowing a hand full of various vitamins and pills. He was waiting for Clarice to call in once she reached her hotel room, so that he could brief on where to make contact with the Lecter informants. He had just finished a drink of water when his phone rang.
Crawford cleared his throat and picked up the phone. "Starling?"
A man's voice answered him. "No, Crawford, it's Pearsell. We've got a situation here."
Crawford straightened immediately. "Brief me."
Pearsell took a deep breath and began. "There were storms raging over Europe last night, diverting most planes to the nearest airports for emergency landing. One plane, Flight 763, landed in the Portugal National Airport, with a body in the restroom."
Crawford's breath caught in his throat. "That's Cla- that's Starling's flight."
Pearsell continued. "I know, Jack, I know. Listen to me carefully, OK? There's no other way to tell you. The body was mutilated beyond recognition, everywhere except the torso. The killer... carved a message into the skin." Pearsell paused. "It said, 'Goodbye Agent Starling. Hello Clarice."
Crawford placed a shaky hand to his forehead. "What...?"
Pearsell took a moment, and continued the news. "Jack, she's gone. I've already checked, and she never made it to her contact. A young woman was seen leaving the restrooms just as the plane landed, matching her description. We have to put out a warrant on her, Jack, now. Before she gets too far."
Crawford felt sick to his stomach. "No... Clint, she wouldn't do... she isn't capable..."
Pearsell was relentless. "I'm going to call it out now, Jack. You wait for me to call you after I report her, OK? Give me ten minutes." He hung up before Jack could protest again.
Jack sat dumbstruck. Not Clarice, she couldn't do something like that. Through the whole Lecter/Drumgo ordeal, Crawford never stopped believing in her. He had to stop giving her good assignments to appease the higher powers, but his faith in her ability and honor never faltered. Crawford knew in his heart that Lecter had kidnapped her, framed her, taken her to.. to... do things to her.
Crawford's eyes began to tear, but before the onslaught that threatened actually began, his secretary burst in his office. Out of breath, she handed him the trash paper, The Tattler. She was crying. "Sir, the paper, look! I don't know how they found out, but just..." She ran back out of the office, crying audibly.
Crawford unfolded the paper and jumped from his chair. The headline read: "FBI OFFICER FOUND IN CONNECTION TO WASHINGTON KILLER!"
What?! Crawford turned the page, ignoring his ringing phone. He scanned the story quickly, his already white face turning a chalky grey.
"Officer Paul Krendler of the FBI Justice Department was found this morning behind the Tattler head office. He had been repeatedly stabbed.......a message on his chest......."
Crawford picked up his phone, barely hearing the person on the other end. "Jack, where the hell were you?! Krendler is dead, and that good for shit tabloid got the story! I've got a field team on it now to find out what happened, but everything checks out. Jack? Jack, are you listening?"
Jack Crawford's eyes were misty as he listened to Pearsell and read the story. It couldn't be... It just couldn't be...
Pearsell began shouting. "Jack! Hey, listen to me. The message on his chest, it matches with the Washington killer. It's Hannibal Lecter, Jack. It must have been a message for Starling, a way to get her to come to him."
Jack's eyes overflowed against his will. "What..." Jack swallowed hard to continue. "What was the message, written on Paul?"
Pearsell said with conviction, "The style matches the earlier murders. This time, though, it's a name. It simply says Hannibal. That's it, carved into Paul's flesh is the word Hannibal."
Crawford used his shaking hand to open the Washington murder file. "Clint, are you at the scene now? Are you on the field phone?"
"Yes."
"Turn him over, check his back."
Heavy silence was on Crawford's side while Pearsell ordered the forensics officers to do as he had requested. After a moment, Pearsell returned to the phone. "How did you know?"
Pearsell's question qualified the sigh of despair escaping Crawford's lips. "What does it say?"
"It says, no one... hold on..." Pearsell grunted as he read the sloppy carving. "'No one escapes the lambs..."
Crawford laid his heavy head in his hands. "Have you already run the bulletin on Starling?"
"Just a few minutes ago."
"Call it back," Jack ordered. "And add the Washington murders to it."
"What? Jack, how?"
"I can't explain now, just do it, before she gets too far..." With that, Jack disconnected the line.
A/N: Oh, a cliffie! Can you believe it!? Don't be confused, my loves, it will all come together. And just as a side note, one I didn't mention in the summary, Crawford is alive. Oops, my bad, but he is definetly living. OK? Good... Ta~ Fauna
Chapter 15: Probing the Depths of Clarice
BARNEY'S ATTIC, PORTUGAL
Hannibal carried two mocha coffee's on a tray to Clarice. She had made the bed, and now sat in the center of the freshly made cover, indian-style and a little more awake. He laid the tray before her on the bed, taking a seat at the very edge.
She laughed as she took her cup. "Hannibal, come on. That's silly, there's plenty of room on this bed. Come on, sit by me." She patted the spot on the other side of the tray.
Hannibal rose from the bed, removing a pair of slippers he had found beside the couch. He had changed while Clarice had slept into a pair of silky lounge pants and matching shirt, both a light chalk color. He climbed onto the bed, taking a seat in the center across from Clarice.
Together they sipped their coffee. Clarice sighed pleasantly. "This is good. You are a good cook, you know that? I think I've told you that."
He smiled humbly. "Actually, I don't believe you have."
She returned his smile. "Well, I'm telling you now. You make a damn fine cup of coffee."
Hannibal tilted his head to the side, but chose not to mention Clarice's poor language. She had been cursing a great deal in the past few hours. He was becoming increasingly worried about her. "Clarice, I need to ask you some questions." He placed his cup on the tray.
She followed his suit, then smiled. "Sure, doc, shoot."
Doc? Shoot? What... "What happened on the plane?"
She gave him A Look that said, 'What a dumb question.' "We met again. You WERE there, weren't you?"
He sighed as he placed the tray on the floor beside the bed. "Don't test my patience Clarice. What happened in the bathroom? Why did you kill that young man?"
Clarice scowled. "He was being very rude. You noticed that, right? He was trying to separate our seats, and for the love of God, he was hitting on you!"
Hannibal frowned slightly at that memory. "Yes, but did those actions warrant his death?"
She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand slowly. "No one will keep us apart again Hannibal. I mean it. No one. Please don't ask anything more about him, he was so insignificant. I just wanted him gone. He was such a stupid distraction from something far more important."
The doctor looked into her eyes and saw such devotion. It made his heart warm with happiness. But there was something else to address here. "All right, I will leave Stephan to rest." He pulled together his old persona of psychiatrist, and began to address his patient. "Had you ever done that before?"
Clarice's eyes went dark. She looked down a fraction, just enough to show submission to Hannibal. "Killed?" she whispered. She looked up again. "Yes."
Lecter battled a startled gasp. He looked at her with his intoxicating eyes. "Tell me who, little Starling. Who did you kill before Stephan?"
She bit her lip at the corner as she answered him. "Do you remember the agent from Justice who worked with me on the Drumgo fiasco?"
Hannibal nodded. He remembered everything. "Yes, a Mr. Krendler."
Clarice nodded. "Him. I killed him."
CRAWFORD'S OFFICE, QUANTICO
Crawford was sitting at his desk, swallowing a hand full of various vitamins and pills. He was waiting for Clarice to call in once she reached her hotel room, so that he could brief on where to make contact with the Lecter informants. He had just finished a drink of water when his phone rang.
Crawford cleared his throat and picked up the phone. "Starling?"
A man's voice answered him. "No, Crawford, it's Pearsell. We've got a situation here."
Crawford straightened immediately. "Brief me."
Pearsell took a deep breath and began. "There were storms raging over Europe last night, diverting most planes to the nearest airports for emergency landing. One plane, Flight 763, landed in the Portugal National Airport, with a body in the restroom."
Crawford's breath caught in his throat. "That's Cla- that's Starling's flight."
Pearsell continued. "I know, Jack, I know. Listen to me carefully, OK? There's no other way to tell you. The body was mutilated beyond recognition, everywhere except the torso. The killer... carved a message into the skin." Pearsell paused. "It said, 'Goodbye Agent Starling. Hello Clarice."
Crawford placed a shaky hand to his forehead. "What...?"
Pearsell took a moment, and continued the news. "Jack, she's gone. I've already checked, and she never made it to her contact. A young woman was seen leaving the restrooms just as the plane landed, matching her description. We have to put out a warrant on her, Jack, now. Before she gets too far."
Crawford felt sick to his stomach. "No... Clint, she wouldn't do... she isn't capable..."
Pearsell was relentless. "I'm going to call it out now, Jack. You wait for me to call you after I report her, OK? Give me ten minutes." He hung up before Jack could protest again.
Jack sat dumbstruck. Not Clarice, she couldn't do something like that. Through the whole Lecter/Drumgo ordeal, Crawford never stopped believing in her. He had to stop giving her good assignments to appease the higher powers, but his faith in her ability and honor never faltered. Crawford knew in his heart that Lecter had kidnapped her, framed her, taken her to.. to... do things to her.
Crawford's eyes began to tear, but before the onslaught that threatened actually began, his secretary burst in his office. Out of breath, she handed him the trash paper, The Tattler. She was crying. "Sir, the paper, look! I don't know how they found out, but just..." She ran back out of the office, crying audibly.
Crawford unfolded the paper and jumped from his chair. The headline read: "FBI OFFICER FOUND IN CONNECTION TO WASHINGTON KILLER!"
What?! Crawford turned the page, ignoring his ringing phone. He scanned the story quickly, his already white face turning a chalky grey.
"Officer Paul Krendler of the FBI Justice Department was found this morning behind the Tattler head office. He had been repeatedly stabbed.......a message on his chest......."
Crawford picked up his phone, barely hearing the person on the other end. "Jack, where the hell were you?! Krendler is dead, and that good for shit tabloid got the story! I've got a field team on it now to find out what happened, but everything checks out. Jack? Jack, are you listening?"
Jack Crawford's eyes were misty as he listened to Pearsell and read the story. It couldn't be... It just couldn't be...
Pearsell began shouting. "Jack! Hey, listen to me. The message on his chest, it matches with the Washington killer. It's Hannibal Lecter, Jack. It must have been a message for Starling, a way to get her to come to him."
Jack's eyes overflowed against his will. "What..." Jack swallowed hard to continue. "What was the message, written on Paul?"
Pearsell said with conviction, "The style matches the earlier murders. This time, though, it's a name. It simply says Hannibal. That's it, carved into Paul's flesh is the word Hannibal."
Crawford used his shaking hand to open the Washington murder file. "Clint, are you at the scene now? Are you on the field phone?"
"Yes."
"Turn him over, check his back."
Heavy silence was on Crawford's side while Pearsell ordered the forensics officers to do as he had requested. After a moment, Pearsell returned to the phone. "How did you know?"
Pearsell's question qualified the sigh of despair escaping Crawford's lips. "What does it say?"
"It says, no one... hold on..." Pearsell grunted as he read the sloppy carving. "'No one escapes the lambs..."
Crawford laid his heavy head in his hands. "Have you already run the bulletin on Starling?"
"Just a few minutes ago."
"Call it back," Jack ordered. "And add the Washington murders to it."
"What? Jack, how?"
"I can't explain now, just do it, before she gets too far..." With that, Jack disconnected the line.
A/N: Oh, a cliffie! Can you believe it!? Don't be confused, my loves, it will all come together. And just as a side note, one I didn't mention in the summary, Crawford is alive. Oops, my bad, but he is definetly living. OK? Good... Ta~ Fauna
