Three! Can you believe it - a third chapter, I'm so amazed, and it's such fun too! Major thanx to you reviewers, you're fabulous, wonderful and inspiring! LOL! Definitely keep me writing with such positive reviews and helpful comments! Okay… maybe I'll get on with the chapter now!!
…Nothing. At least nothing out of the ordinary, there was her bed, in the centre with a tired looking duvet cover in a hideous shade of peach, as well as her high street bought bedside cupboards, her average cheap pine wardrobe stuck in the corner.
The walls were bare accept for her FBI graduation certificate and photo framed and stuck on the wall, a small one of her and Ardelia sat on her bedside table. The carpet was brown and cream and suddenly Clarice Starling felt utterly depressed, did she actually live here, it seemed as if nothing of herself her own personal self existed here? It was grim and unappealing and as with a sudden painful flash of clarity Clarice realised she had no home, no where she felt she could relax and be herself, and she wondered why.
Am I afraid to bear my soul, are my defences, my walls become too stiff, too hard and unyielding, is there any hope for me, will I ever be a wife, a mother, will I ever love freely, laugh uninhibitedly, what stops me from having this? Why am I like this, why am I stuck here, not progressing, not getting on with my life?!
Clarice suddenly felt a hollowness in her that swallowed her in hopeless blackness, and she sat on the edge of her bed, feeling more miserable than she could ever remember. It seemed that every thing she had ever strived for had been in vain, because she was back where she'd started- with nothing at square one.
The trouble was, she mused, I placed value on all the wrong things, I worked hard to get the grades, to get the scholarships to become a 'special agent' and only really because of Dad. Now I'm 33 with nothing to speak of, except a lasting strange one-way friendship with a cannibalistic sociopath and a job with which I've lost faith in.
"Great!" she muttered angrily, and flung herself back on her bed, only to jump up again as something sharp pricked her neck, with a sharp exclamation she drew back her bed sheets to uncover a single beautiful white rose. Startled she gently picked it up and smelt it carefully; it was sweet and light, fresh and pure, and she took a deep breath of the essence, no doubt an expensive one. Suddenly things didn't seem so bad, despite the fact that Dr Lecter had left the rose for her (of this she had no doubt-who else?) it was still the most romantic thing, and she did really need a pick up for her flagging morale.
The white rose swept away the blackness and the silence of her pain disappeared to be replaced with the old Clarice, who bounced up to run downstairs and place it in some water, before enthusiastically packing for the morrow.
Outside Clarice's house, in the shadow of the trees across the street Hannibal Lecter lowered his binoculars with a curve of his lips, and a glitter of his maroon eyes that only just showed that he was pleased and he was. Clarice had been pleased with the rose, good, and she was coming to him in Paris, even better. Seeing Clarice in so much pain had been exquisite but he had been surprised to discover it had a sour tang to it, so her reaction to his rose had been very pleasant; he stored the memory away in his memory palace for later reflection on his strange feelings. Now she would be ready to face him for another set of games in Paris, ah the Lovers City, he wondered if she had realised that yet? Smiling languidly Hannibal Lecter moved away with a cat like grace that was eerie to see, melting into the shadows as if they were a second skin.
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The noise was persistent, and getting louder, with a groan Clarice Starling rolled over in her bed and slammed her hand down on top of her alarm clock aiming for the snooze button but instead catching he edge of the table instead. The pain awoke her and she went "Owww!" for a while before smacking off her alarm that was still going and clambering out of her twisted sheets. It was 6:30 am.
At the end of her bed stood a suitcase, and hung on the back of her wardrobe door was the suit she would wear today, she gave a crooked smile at this positive step. Until she reached the bathroom and discovered she had packed her only toothbrush, at which the usual early morning Clarice emerged so that the only thing to be heard for a while were bear like growls and heavy thuds as she was anything but graceful in the mornings.
However after a shower and washing her hair, some mouthwash (she couldn't be bothered to search for her toothbrush) some dry cereal (she'd run out of milk) and a urr, very strong coffee, she was what could be identified as homosapien, fairly human. And as such she made her way to the airport to catch the early flight to Paris.
