Author's note: Here we are, a chapter before I leave for a week.
Things came to a head quickly. Once the situation had been explained and the necessary evidence taken, the FBI moved swiftly. The local authorities were willing to surrender jurisdiction without much fuss, and that Clarice found oddly comforting. She would be able to help in the hunt for her niece's kidnapper.
She'd gone in to work, feeling an odd sense of vertigo. Everything at the FBI was much the same as it had been yesterday; the same buildings, the same people, the same computers. But now the world had been fundamentally changed. Some lunatic had kidnapped her niece.
Clarice's car was over at the evidence labs; she'd cadged a ride from 'Delia in to work. She sat down at her office and stared at the flying-toaster screen-saver, wondering what the hell she was supposed to be doing. Had anyone called Patty? Was that her responsibility? Clarice found herself dreading that, but she would do it if no one else had. But still, the sheer, unmitigated horror of having to tell her younger sister that some crazyman had stolen her only daughter right out of Clarice's driveway tore at her.
The phone rang. Clarice stared at it with dread-rimmed eyes for a moment or two and steeled herself. Agent Starling, we've found a body…we want you to come identify it. A lump rose in her throat and she forced it back down. It took rather more will than she expected to grab the phone and lift it to her ear.
"Starling," she husked powerlessly.
"Starling, it's Crawford."
"Do we have anything? We have to find her. The odds of her…safe return drop a lot within three hours."
Crawford stopped and sighed. He knew as well as she did what she was referring to.
"We managed to get a print off your car's hood. Where he…must've…pinned her down."
Clarice thought about her innocent little niece slammed against the hood of her car by some sort of knife-wielding monster and found herself cringing. Thank you, Mr. Tactful. But no. Crawford was an ally.
"Starling, it's Dave McCracken. You remember him?"
Tears sprang to Clarice's eyes. Yes, this was a personal score.
"Yes, sir, I do," she whispered. "The Winston-Salem strangler."
"Yep. I just got off the phone with the state boys in Raleigh. Seems that McCracken escaped two days ago."
"So what now?" she asked.
"Starling, we're doing everything we can." His voice seemed slow and logy. Crazily, Starling found herself thinking he sounded like Ben Stein. Selling Visine, maybe. Dry, itchy eyes… He needed to get off his ass and find Charlene.
Dave McCracken. The self-employed electrician and part-time strangler. He had been one of Clarice's mid-career cases; a rare bone thrown to her in the midst of a drowning career. But she'd gotten him. And now, five years later, he had her niece as revenge.
"We gotta find him," Clarice said. She felt tears beginning to start and forced them away. She'd be damned if she cried on the phone with Crawford.
"We're working on it. We'll find him, Starling."
"I know," Clarice whispered.
"Minute I hear anything I'll let you know."
"Thank you, sir," she said.
The phone clicked off and Clarice hung up. She sat with her head in her hands for several minutes. Then it rang again. She picked it up.
"Starling," she said.
"Clarice? It's Patty." The voice on the other end of the line was choked with tears. "What happened? What happened to Charlene?"
The tears Clarice had fought back with Crawford on the line came back and she couldn't fight them.
"Some guy I put away escaped from prison," Clarice began. "And he…he…he must've dropped by my house and seen her there."
"My baby," Patty began to sob openly. "You mean some crazyman's got my baby?"
"Patty," Clarice began, trying to be strong, "we're doing everything we can." No. That was what Crawford had said and it was wrong. Patty Starling Stenson might be white trash, but she deserved better.
"Clarice, you gotta do something," Patty wept. "She's only fifteen. She's never hurt another living soul. She ain't done nothing to deserve this." Her sister's sobs echoed openly up the line, a woman hit by one of the greatest and cruelest shocks that life can deliver.
"I know," Clarice said. Her throat closed down to a tiny, bare opening. She clamped her eyes shut. Be the strong one. You always have been. She needs you to be. Both of them need you to be.
"Patty," she said, sounding a bit more like herself, "now listen to me. Your big sister's gonna fix thangs. I promise you….I swear to you…I will not rest and I will not tire until she is found and safe."
"Y'say that," Patty said, "but what if she's already dead?"
"She ain't," Clarice vowed, hoping like hell she'd believe it herself. "He ain't gonna kill her. I won't let him. I'll hunt him down."
"Clarice, please, you gotta do something," Patty cried back. "David 'n me, we're getting on a plane and comin' out there. The plant said Ah could have the time off if'n I needed it."
"OK," Clarice said. "You do that, Patty. I'll see you when you get here."
She got off the phone with her sister and then simply crumbled. She pillowed her head on her forearms, bent over the desk, and simply began to bawl. She wasn't really sure how long it was that she was there like that, hidden away behind her blackout curtains, crying like a toddler. She cried out her rage and her pain. Get it out so you can function, some tiny corner of her mind that wasn't reeling with shock advised her. She tried to call up Dave McCracken's file off VICAP, but the monitor simply blurred into a prismatic image through her tears. So she lowered her head again and cried.
And the phone was ringing again.
Clarice Starling stared with teary eyes at the blurry image of the receiver. She took a Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes. Feeling empty and ill-equipped, she picked up the receiver a third time.
"Starling," she said in a hoarse whisper.
There was just a moment of silence, and she heard the other person on the end of the line take in a deep breath. The voice was male, metallic, and quite cultured and calm. A far cry from the weeping lump of protoplasm called Clarice Starling.
"Is this Clarice? Well, hello, Clarice."
Clarice's pounding heart dropped into her stomach. Him? Was this a joke? Or was this National Let's Traumatize Clarce Starling Day?
"Dr. Lecter?" she asked powerlessly.
"The same," he said calmly. "Clarice, I understand from CNN.com's website that you've experienced a trauma of sorts. It made the front page, as it were."
"Dr. Lecter, I don't have the time for this," Clarice said powerlessly.
"I know, it's got to be very traumatic for you. I assure you though, I didn't call to add to your pain."
Clarice took in a long, shaky breath and wondered what the hell she was supposed to say or do now.
Dr. Lecter continued for her. "By the way, don't bother with the trace. You may trace it if you want, but I'll save you some time. In a few hours I'll be hundreds of miles away."
"I do not need you making things harder for me," she whispered.
"Harder? Not at all, Clarice. I have tickets on two flights which will leave shortly. Which one I take depends on you."
She said nothing. He continued.
"You told me not in a thousand years, Clarice, that you'd never go with me. That was your decision. However, perhaps we could come to some sort of…an agreement. Now I don't share your moral disapproval of Mr. McCracken's hobbies, but I do agree with you that Charlene was innocent. If he had a complaint with you he should've taken it up with you directly."
"Why are you calling, then?" she asked. "Dr. Lecter…please. If you have any sense of compassion, you wouldn't torture me like this."
"Clarice, Clarice. Hear me out, will you? Mr. McCracken was a relatively smart boy. Hard to catch. He killed three of his victims while you were hunting him. Poor little Charlene, you want her alive, don't you? Tick-tock, tick-tock."
Clarice felt tears starting and suddenly felt a lot more sympathy with Senator Ruth Martin than she'd ever felt before.
"I'm calling with an offer, Clarice. I've helped you catch killers before; I can help you again. In return, I'll ask that you cease your pursuit of me. You can keep it up for appearances' sake, but if you won't be with me, at least let me keep my freedom. In return for that, I'll help you find Mr. McCracken. And your little niece Charlene."
Her duty versus her need. To catch one killer, let another go free. It strove against every bone in Clarice's body to think of letting Dr. Lecter go. For Clarice, it had always been vital to her to make the team, be chosen, not sent away. The thought of deliberately spinning her wheels on the Lecter investigation made her rebel. That wasn't competition. That was a violation of the rules of the game.
But oh God, what if Dr. Lecter was telling the truth? Could she really take the chance? Every mind on the case might help. The thought of Charlene's horribly mutilated body arose in her mind and she had to force it away. The man on the other end of the line was a monster, but he was a damn smart monster, and what if his help made the difference between Charlene living or dying?
Then she thought about what would happen if it was ever found out. She'd managed to get reinstated after Verger and Krendler had died. If they found out she'd conspired with Dr. Lecter, they'd fire her for that alone. She would be expelled. She hadn't worked so hard for it to end like this.
But then the price of her pride might be Charlene's life. What an impossible choice.
"Clarice, they'll be boarding the two flights in a few moments. One will take me far, far away and you'll never see me again. The other will bring me to you. Never mind where or how; that's my concern. I'll need a copy of Mr. McCracken's VICAP file and a copy of whatever crime-scene reports Jacky-boy has been conjuring up. It's all on computer these days, and no one will think anything of you printing off a copy. I'll call you once I've arrived with instructions on how to deliver it."
"Dr. Lecter," she whispered, "can you really help?"
"I can't promise results written in stone, Clarice, any more than you can promise results written in stone to your sister. What I can promise you is that I will try and that I will be completely honest and forthright with you regarding my conclusions. No games, Clarice, all straight dealing. I'll give you my thoughts, you give me my continued freedom."
Of all the times Clarice Starling could have had to deal with something like this, now had to be the worst. She felt empty, emotionally drained, completely at the end of her rope. The fact that she distantly knew this, and knew Dr. Lecter would too, only made it worse. It was either let Dr. Lecter walk or risk Charlene's death.
And what if it wasn't necessary? What if they found McCracken or he let Charlene go? Once Clarice Starling gave her word, it was paramount to keep it. She would sooner die than lie. If she gave her word to the killer that he could remain free, she would be honor-bound to keep that, and the devil take the consequences. Even if a squad of FBI agents liberated Charlene with no help at all from Hannibal Lecter.
"What do you say, Clarice? For old time's sake, hmmm?"
"I can't just let you go," she whispered, and wondered just what she meant by that.
"Oh, Clarice, feel free to go through the motions. I understand, Jacky-boy will expect to see it. Just don't actually follow through on it. Noodle around a bit, you know. Spin your wheels. You'll learn."
Clarice let out a sigh and stared at the battleship-gray wall, as if it might offer some advice.
"Decision time, Clarice. Do you want my help or not? Little Charlene is waiting for your answer."
Charlene. Her sister. Her career. Her duty. They all floated around her, all demanding her attention, as if she was being eaten by a thousand small piranhas all taking just one bite. Whatever choice she made, something would be coming back with small, painful teeth for seconds.
But she had to give an answer. Either she'd be risking her niece's life or she'd be risking her own integrity and honor. No easy decision either way. She wanted her niece back, of course, but she also wanted her good name. It had been a long and difficult fight to get it back. All the choices were painful. But she had to pick one.
Clarice Starling clamped her eyes shut against another freshet of tears, sucked in a deep breath, and whispered one word into the telephone receiver.
"Very well," Dr. Hannibal Lecter said in response, and hung up the phone. The dial tone moaned at Clarice for a few seconds before she hung up herself.