At Last!! I got hit in the head with a flying plot – about time eh?

Add the usual – I'm not making any money from this even tho I could really use it.

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Something was making a funny noise.

It took Clarice a few moments to realize that it was the phone beside her bed. The answering machine picked up after the third ring and she could hear Agent Pearsall shouting at her,

"Starling, if you're there pick up! God dammit, pick up!" She glanced at the clock that read 5:26 am, before she grabbed the phone and mumbled a sleepy hello.

"Oh, Starling thank God! Is he still there? Are you all right?" Agent Pearsall asked in a rush. Clarice thought the line of questions was pretty funny. Everybody knew she didn't have a boyfriend. And why would Pearsall ask her if a guy was still here and then ask her if she was all right? She shook her head in amusement, but then her eyes opened wide in remembrance of the past evening's festivities. Waking up in that house and then supper with Paul. She felt rather detached emotionally from those events. It wasn't until she remembered the confrontation in the kitchen that she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. They'd lost him again!

"I'm all right, sir," she replied.

"Is he still there, Starling?" Pearsall almost yelled at her.

"Who?" Clarice asked confused.

"LECTER!" At that point, the image of a man's hand, on the stick shift of her car, flashed in her memory. It had been HIM! Clarice's glance tore around the room, taking in the sight of the dress hanging on the door of her closet, as she checked for any sign of immediate danger. She'd had him right beside her and she'd fallen asleep! Clarice let out a string of very colourful metaphors, as she jumped out of bed. She glanced down at the t-shirt and boxers she was wearing. He must have carried her in from the car, and put her to bed. Just like a little girl; just like her father had done – she'd fallen asleep in the car with Dr. Lecter!

"Starling…" Pearsall started to order, but was cut short with a very definitive,

"Shut up!" Clarice began to check her house, room by room, shadow by shadow. Nothing was out of the ordinary until she reached the living room and found a pillow, stacked on top of a blanket, folded at one end of the couch. He'd slept on her fucking couch! The nerve of that man! Although she cracked a bit of a smile as she admitted to herself that it had probably been the safest place for him to spend the night. Particularly when she had been comatose in the bedroom. There would be time enough to chastise herself for that faux pas later. She still had to check the kitchen – his preferred domain. Just as she stepped into the kitchen, she realized that she didn't have a weapon. Adrenalin pumped, as panic hit. She let out a sigh of relief as she realized that there was no one there.

"The house is clear," she informed Pearsall over the phone she still had clutched to her ear.

"So, you realize just who drove you home last night," it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes sir," she replied, knowing no explanation would be sufficient. They might have let her off if he'd just escaped at the lake. They might have believed her story, the truth, but not now, not ever again.

"You're suspended until the hearing, don't bother coming in to file a report, you can tell your story at the trial," with that he hung up. Clarice cursed again and turned the phone off. She stomped back to her bedroom, intending to try to get more than three hours sleep. In her huff, she didn't notice that the French door, to the patio, was open and slightly ajar.

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K, maybe that plot didn't hit me quite hard enough, cus I had to leave it there. Any suggestions as to what should be out there and why? Let me know – luna.