PART 13



Will Graham stared at the glass. He had an insane impulse to pick it up and throw the tequila in Lecter's face. He did not act on it, nor did he look too closely at whether it had been caution or the need to retain the liquor that stopped him.

His eyes went back to Lecter's. The doctor was looking at him calmly, waiting. He held the bottle by his side, and was positioned between Graham and Starling's gun.

Graham's leg struck out, his foot making contact with glass. The bottle flew from the doctor's hand and shattered on the boards of the deck. Will had no illusions that this would afford him the means to escape, but his anger required that he act. He moved to stand.

Lecter's reaction was swift and extreme. His eyes clouded with anger and a blade appeared in his hand. Graham blanched. It was a twin to the linoleum knife Lecter had used years before in that godforsaken hallway. He saw the recognition in Graham's eyes, and his lips drew back from sharp, white teeth in a satisfied smile.

"Sit, Will. We're not finished."

Graham forced himself to look away from the knife and meet the doctor's cold stare.

"What's left, Dr. Lecter?"

"You obviously have some curiosity in regards to former Special Agent Starling, Will, and I gave her my word that you would have the chance to satisfy it."

Graham stood a moment longer, and then lowered himself back into the chair with a weary sigh. He looked past the doctor to the woman who was still sitting placidly behind him, the gun now resting in her lap.

"Why should you care?"

"I don't particularly. I thought you did, though. You've paid a high enough price for the privilege."

Lecter snorted, shook his head.

"Clarice is laboring under the misguided impression that you deserve the opportunity to examine your life before I end it."

He moved back toward her chair as he spoke, leaning almost casually against the railing just to her left. Her eyes followed him, and his attention turned to her as he settled himself.

Graham watched them with numb fascination, picking up the glass that still rested at his side.

"We really must do something about controlling your more compassionate impulses, My Love." His words were accompanied by an indulgent smile.

"I'll see what I can do," she murmured, returning his smile with one of her own.

"Do what you must, Clarice, but this is becoming tedious."

She turned her attention from him then, dark eyes fixing Graham with a discomfiting stare.

"Exactly what answers do you want from me, Mr. Graham? And I'd suggest that you come to the point. You don't have much time left to ask your questions."

He seemed surprised that he should be the focus of her attention, sheepishly returning the glass to its place on the arm of his chair.

"How do you expect me to respond to that, Ms. Starling?"

"Don't be coy. We're here because you thought I might provide you with answers. You went to far too much trouble to give up now, don't you think?" She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was hard, mocking. "Or would you just prefer to finish your drink and have it done?"

He recoiled as though she had slapped him.

"What are you?"

"A woman, Mr. Graham, just that... certainly not your Rosetta Stone."

"I don't..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I think you do. You can't bring yourself to admit that you already have your answers, because you don't like what you see. What you'd like to hear is that Hannibal dragged me away kicking and screaming, that he brainwashed me. You need to believe that he seduced me, that I stumbled. That would make it all fit nicely into place for you, wouldn't it? If I'm a victim, that means that you've managed to escape. I didn't have the sense to be afraid, and look where it's gotten me."

"No! How could I want...?"

She ignored his protests and went on.

"I'm no victim, Will. I know exactly what Hannibal is. He doesn't frighten me. He doesn't sicken me. He's simply what I want."

Graham stared at her for long minutes, his eyes wide in disbelief. When he managed to speak, it came out in a choked whisper.

"How?"

"Because he is."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the best answer I have. Your mistake is thinking that my choice is going to tell you what you want to know about yourself."

"You think you had a choice?"

"Of course, I did. So did you. You chose to be a victim."

His voice rose in agitation.

"You have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Don't I?" Her eyes narrowed. "You have an ability to understand impulses that horrify you. You tell yourself that you're afraid of it because you're drawn to the darkness, but that's not quite true. You're afraid that the horror will overwhelm you, so you prefer to believe that you've had to struggle to conquer your baser impulses through sheer determination. It lets you pretend you have some strength."

"Is that what he told you?" Graham glared at Lecter, who was watching the proceedings with interest from his perch on the edge of the deck.

"He didn't need to. What drives you is fear. That much is obvious. What does that do for a man's self-image? I can understand why you'd need to find a more honorable reason for it."

She paused, gave him the opportunity to respond. He could only stare at her, mouth agape.

"Did you honestly think that we were so much alike? Jack, the FBI, some experience with Hannibal... am I missing anything else that might have misled you? Beyond a cursory examination, Mr. Graham, you and I are worlds apart. You've been chasing a dead end." She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, not quite waiting for a response. Then... "Perhaps that's not quite right. For all our differences, we do have one thing very much in common."

"What could you possibly think we have in common?" He spat out the words. "I can't imagine what that might be, anymore."

"We've both spent far too much of our lives reliant on fantasies. You've spent the last 15 years trying to believe that what you fear most is real. I spent that same time trying to believe that what I wanted most was. I believed in a noble little fairy tale while you invested in a nightmare, but at the end of the day it all amounts to the same thing... wasted time. I'm fortunate. I have an opportunity for change." There was no trace of remorse as she concluded, "You've run out of time altogether, I'm afraid."

Afraid? You?

Graham caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye as he stared at the woman in front of him. Lecter, pushing away from the railing as if this were his cue to rejoin the conversation.

You must be proud of your protege, Doctor. She's obviously learned a great deal during her months with you. Or maybe she's just obscenely well-suited to you without the benefit of instruction.

The sound of Dr. Lecter's voice claimed his attention.

"Surely this is sufficient, Clarice. As riveting as this... plodding journey towards enlightenment is, I believe Will and I have some unfinished business to attend to."