Author's note: Here we are with another chapter. I'd planned to release this as a double-feature with the next chapter of Ghosts, but figured it might be better to release it now. The Ghosts chapter will be released shortly.
The room was completely dark. Clarice felt swallowed up. Her throat felt lined with slate. Utter darkness, a psycho outside, and no one coming to help her.
"Aunt Clarice, what're we gonna do now?" Charlene whispered behind her.
She couldn't even see her niece standing a few feet away. She could feel Charlene's hand on her arm, desperately seeking some kind of connection.
"Charlene, it's okay," Clarice said, forcing herself to sound strong and capable. "Just calm down for me."
She could hear fear in Charlene's voice. Small wonder. "But Aunt Clarice, he's gonna leave us in here to starve to death!"
"He ain't gonna leave us in here to starve to death," Clarice said soothingly, although it occurred to her that he could. What if he did? The door was metal; she couldn't risk shooting at it. It might ricochet. The image of Charlene falling to her bullet rose up in her mind and she forced it away.
She couldn't see anything. It was freaky. It reminded her far too much of Jame Gumb's basement. Was McCracken in there with her, running around with night-vision goggles? No, she was letting her emotions run away with her.
Wait. Wait a minute. Try and deal with McCracken. Let him think he won.
He did win, a voice told her. If you'd just listened to Dr. Lecter—
She cut that voice off. She still had a few cards to play. And she should've listened to Dr. Lecter, but she hadn't, and crying over spilt milk wasn't gonna help.
"McCracken!" she said, trying to approach the door. It was confusing to try and walk forward. She had no idea where the door was or where the walls were. Everything around her was black. Her pistol was effectively useless in this situation. She put it back in her holster so that she didn't shoot herself or Charlene. She could feel Charlene's hand on her arm and knew Charlene was following her. Better to let it go. If she made Charlene stay where she was she might never find her again. Plus, she didn't want Charlene to freak out.
There was no reply from outside. She could hear him walking up and down, though. Was he grinning? Planning his next move? She wasn't sure.
"McCracken!" she repeated. "I want to talk to you."
A cold snicker came from outside the door.
"C'mon, McCracken. I know you ain't gonna leave us in here to starve. You said you'd trade. How about it?"
"Trade what, Starling?" he said. "I got you right where I want you."
"You can't open this door without me shooting you," Clarice pointed out.
McCracken chuckled. "Maybe I don't want to," he said. "Maybe you can stay in there for all I care, Starling. It'd be fit for you."
A wallop of fear hit Clarice Starling's stomach. Was he really going to leave them in there to starve? He was a killer, no doubt, but that merciless?
"Listen," she said. "McCracken…it's me you want. Let Charlene go, and…," she swallowed nervously. "Let Charlene go, and I'll take her place. She's just a kid. She's been through enough."
"Aunt Clarice, no!" Charlene stage-whispered behind her. "He's a bad 'un. You cain't do that."
"It's okay," Clarice told her niece.
McCracken took a while to reply. Clarice found herself trying to keep from freaking out. No matter where she turned, she couldn't see a thing. An open-air blindfold of darkness enveloped her.
"She's had enough when I say she's had enough, Starling," he said venomously. Clarice blinked. He sounded angry. A lot more angry than a man in his position ought to be.
He doesn't know how to handle the situation. He's got me here but no idea of how to get out of this. That's why he's toying with leaving us here, because it's the only thing he can do.
"Listen," Clarice said tersely. She wished she'd paid more attention in the hostage-negotiation class she'd taken at the Academy. "Look, McCracken, I know it was hard for you. Now this has gone far enough. I'll tell you what. I'll put down my gun. You can come take it if you want. You can take me, whatever you want. You're in charge. But just show me that you've got some good faith. You're not all bad, are you?"
"Bad as you want, bitch," he said angrily. Sounded like he was right on the other side of the door. Would a .45 penetrate it? Better not to try. If it bounced off and hit Charlene… OK, appealing to his better nature was a no-go. Made sense; the man had tortured a fifteen-year-old with a cattle prod. She had to figure him out. He wasn't Dr. Lecter, after all. He had his weak points.
"McCracken, listen," she said again, trying to make her voice calm. Was she trying to sympathize with him? Good Christ, she was. Try and figure him out, as she had once before.
"McCracken," she continued, figuring he would prefer the last name, "now hear me out. It was me you wanted revenge on, right? Me you wanted to hurt?"
McCracken grunted and said nothing. It occurred to her that he probably hadn't thought about his motives terribly much. Criminals usually didn't.
"I think that was it," she whispered into the velvety darkness. "You wanted to show me I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. Or as safe as I thought I was. That you…that you had power I hadn't reckoned with." Her throat clogged a bit as she continued. "That's what you want. Well hell, listen. You did that. I know I'm not as smart as I thought I was."
A soft sob escaped from behind her. She supposed Charlene didn't like hearing this. Well, Charlene would have to deal. Otherwise McCracken might give into what was really just his cowardice and run away, leaving them locked in here.
But he wasn't answering her. Charlene probably thought that was bad. Clarice knew better. It was when they shut up and started listening that you had a chance. Somehow, she just knew, he was on the other side of the door, looking intently at it.
"McCracken, now you know what it's like in lockdown," she continued. "You know what convicts think of short-eyes." The jailhouse term for pedophiles slipped easily off her tongue.
A hard slam against the door. That made it what, five feet away? She swallowed and began to relax her fingers on the butt of her gun.
"I ain't no fucking short-eyes!" he bellowed. He kicked the door again in frustration.
"I know you're not. But you know, McCracken, it's all over the media. And some of those papers are going back to Raleigh. I'm not saying you are. I know you're not. But McCracken, all they know now is that you broke out of prison and that you went and kidnapped a fifteen-year-old. Now look. I ain't saying you're gonna go back."
"I ain't going back," he said.
"Maybe you ain't," she said. "But that's the news of you they have. You don't want them to say 'Wow, McCracken had a thing for kids, huh?' Course you don't. So listen. I'm giving you a pass, here. You can tell 'em loud and clear that Dave McCracken isn't into kids. That you only grabbed Charlene to teach me a lesson."
Silence from the other side of the door.
"Look, McCracken. I'll give you my gun." She sidled a step closer to the door. "You let Charlene go. It's twenty miles to town, you know you can be out of here by the time she gets anywhere. Take me as your hostage. Then they'll talk about you proud. They'll say 'Hey, that McCracken, he wasn't no kiddie-porker. He got the girl but he let her go, then he killed the FBI agent who put him away.'"
A hand fastened down on her shoulder. She knew immediately that Charlene's eyes were bugging in the darkness, even though she couldn't see her.
"Aunt Clarice, are you crazy?" Charlene said. "You…you…cain't! He's a sahco killer!"
Clarice Starling sighed in the ebony surrounding her. "I know he's a psycho killer," she said. "But Charlene, it's all right. Trust me."
"I don't want him to kill you," Charlene said, and burst into tears.
"Charlene, I'm a…," she thought. "I'm an FBI agent. I'm trained for this. Now listen. You've had to put up with more than anyone your age ought to. Now I'm gonna get you out of here. Don't worry about me. I'm trained. I can handle it."
She turned back to McCracken. "Look," she called out again. "I know I'll die either way. If you're gonna kill me, at least think about your own reputation. Charlene served her purpose, she got me here. Now let her go. Show you're not a short-eye."
She heard the wet sound of him opening and closing his mouth. He was thinking. Good. If she gave him a way to save face, he might let Charlene go after all. Then it was simply a matter of waiting. He'd tie her up, she expected that. Then all she needed to do was get to the handcuff key or the razor blade sewed inside her pants, and boom.
"Give me your gun," he demanded. "Slide it under the goddam door."
Clarice had expected this. She booted the clip and flicked the brass cartridges out of the magazine with her thumb. Carefully, she put them in her pocket, so that they wouldn't rattle. Then she cleared the round from the chamber. Brigham would've been proud, she thought. I did it in total darkness. Then she slipped the empty clip back into the handle of the gun and released the slide. He might have the gun, but without bullets it wasn't much good.
But she slid it under the door as he asked. It barely fit. Then Clarice Starling's old .45, veteran of so many battles with her, disappeared. She felt him grab it and pull it away.
"Good," he said.
"Now open the door," she said. "I'm unarmed. You got control."
"Not yet, Starling," he said, and cleared his throat. "Send your shirt and your bra through there, too."
Clarice's breath caught in her throat. Was he serious? Was he a rapist? She couldn't remember if he'd raped any of his victims. Had he done anything to Charlene? Her mind quailed at that thought.
Her hands trembled, empty of the .45.
"Time's a-wasting, Starling," McCracken sneered.
"All right," Clarice whispered.
"Aunt Clarice, don't, please, you don't want to do this," Charlene moaned in the stillness.
Clarice Starling gritted her teeth and felt tears well behind her eyes. She didn't. She didn't want to be stripped naked by a strangler and have God knows what done to her. She wasn't naïve. He'd want her pants off quick if he wanted her top off now. Once Charlene was out of here, the odds were very very good that she would either have to go for her backup piece or her knife very very quickly. And she had no assurances of getting out in one piece. Bizarrely, she thought, it would be smart tactics to let him…to let him have his way. Might give her another couple of seconds to shuck the cuffs. Or hell, she could free herself and then slash him with the razor blade. That'd work.
She didn't want to and would have fought such a fate with every ounce of her being. But would she submit herself to it? For her niece's life, she would take the chance. She had to. Charlene had already suffered far too much, and there was no lamb like your own kin.
I will have a fighting chance. That alone is enough.
"Okay," she said, and unsnapped the buttons of her denim shirt. She shoved that under the door and let McCracken grab it. Then her sports bra. Hope you weren't expecting something black and lacy, pal. Suddenly cold in the factory, she shivered. Charlene ain't had pants on in days. Don't complain, Starling, she told herself. Besides, it would distract him. Distracted most guys.
A metal scraping sound came from the door, and Clarice could see and feel a pair of handcuffs being shoved under the door slot. Yup, predictable. But that was just hunky-dory with Clarice. She'd put on the handcuffs, let him think she was helpless, and once Charlene was out of sight, she'd get to work. Clarice had always known that it might be possible for her own handcuffs to be used on her, and she'd trained for the possibility. She could have the cuffs open as quick as Houdini if she needed to.
So she took the handcuffs and fastened them around her own wrists. They were icy cold and she shivered. She could hear Charlene crying as the cuffs ratcheted down. But Clarice couldn't tell her now that it was OK. McCracken might hear.
"Aunt Clarice, you cain't, you cain't, you cain't give up to him like this," Charlene sobbed.
Clarice cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was calm and determined.
"Charlene," she said authoritatively. "Now you listen up. Don't tell me what I can and what I cain't do. It's all right."
"He'll killya," Charlene said, a faint powerless whisper in the darkness.
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't." Actually, Charlene, soon as you're out of here I'm gonna unlock these cuffs and go for my gun. Odds are Davey's gonna cop a feel and then I'm gonna let daylight through him.
"Charlene, you listen up to me now," Clarice continued. "I want you to get out of here. He's gonna trade, just like he said. You for me. Now g'wan."
"I'll go to college," Charlene said suddenly. It occurred to Clarice that her niece was utterly, completely convinced that her aunt meant to sacrifice herself for her. What she was getting now was the mindless gibbering of a girl unable to cope with what her senses told her. She couldn't really believe this was happening. It cut into Clarice that she couldn't tell her the truth. But that would be later. Once Charlene was safe in a hospital somewhere. "I'll go to college just like you did, Aunt Clarice, I'll find a way, I'll find a way to save you."
Clarice sighed. "Charlene…don't worry about saving me. Save yourself. That's what I want you to do." Then she turned back to the door. "Okay, McCracken. You got me. Just how you wanted. Now your turn. Let her go."
The door grunted and rumbled in its frame as McCracken fumbled with the bar holding the door shut. Then it opened, fiercely, piercingly bright against her darkness-accustomed eyes. Clarice squinted. McCracken stood there, her gun in his hand. Did he know it was unloaded? She wasn't sure.
"Over here," McCracken grunted. Clarice sighed. She would have preferred to stay away from him, where she'd be able to work more quietly. She snaked her right hand into the waistband of her pants and pulled the handcuff key free from where she'd sewn it to her inside waistband. Once done, she concealed the key between her fingers and approached him. He pulled her in front of him as a hostage. The greasy feel of his hands on her skin made a wave of nausea pass through her. He hadn't bathed in a while. The muzzle of her own .45 pressed against her lower jaw. Had he loaded it? She couldn't see it; her chin was in the way. Both Clarice and McCracken's attention then focused on the trembling girl in the dark room.
"Git over here, girlie," he demanded. Bright though it was, Clarice could see her niece's back bow as if a whip had been cracked. She wanted out, but she didn't want to approach Dave McCracken.
"Okay, Starling," he addressed his hostage. "Fair enough." He turned his attention to Charlene. "Get outta here," he barked.
Charlene Stenson stepped out of the doorway hesitantly. Tears streamed down her face. Freedom was within her grasp, but from the look on her face she knew all too well what price had been paid for it. She observed her aunt with a look of horror and shame that would scar Clarice Starling's soul for the rest of her life.
Then she was gone, legs flashing as she ran, her sobs falling back to Clarice as she stood hostage.
Clarice let out a sigh of relief. She had a fighting chance. Charlene was free. The lamb was safe. Even if she didn't get out of this in one piece, that made everything worth it. The slam of the door marked Charlene's freedom, and she could rely on her own skills. The lamb was safe. Charlene was safe.
"So what now?" she asked her captor.
She felt him shift against her and bunched her hands into fists, meaning to keep him away from the key. Would he try to open her pants? The thought made her want to puke. Not that. Let him hit her, kick her, that was fine, she was used to fighting. She could take a few blows.
Then suddenly she heard a click. The gun at her chin fell to the floor and a hand grabbed her arm.
She tensed, but it was already too late. McCracken's knife slashed across her belly. The pain was a white line of fire, cutting deeply into her. Clarice Starling let out an agonized scream. Her knees unhinged. McCracken let her fall to the dirty concrete floor. Above her, he chuckled coldly.
The key. The key. But it was almost impossible to concentrate. She opened her eyes and saw blood seeping onto the floor. Her blood.
I'm sorry, Charlene, but it was worth it…you make your mama proud, you do that for me, she thought. Images flashed before her: her girlhood in West Virginia and Montana, her college years, her successes and failures in the FBI. Dr. Lecter, calm in his cell. She'd never get the chance to apologize to him.
"I know she's gonna get the cops," McCracken said coldly. "You didn't think you was gonna leave here alive, did you?"
Clarice Starling lay in a widening pool of her own blood and tried to fit the key into her cuffs before she lost consciousness.
…
Charlene Stenson thought not at all as she ran. Her bare feet thudded against the concrete of the factory floor. Above her, dead machines stretched high to the ceiling. Shadows played on the walls. She registered none of it, simply fleeing the scene of her torture as quickly as her legs would take her.
She ran down the flight of stairs and to the factory door. A short flight of steps and she was to the street. Her lungs tore in great gasps of air in the summer night. Her feet hurt as she ran, but still she ran, seeking to put distance between this place of evil and herself. She did not think of her aunt – could not think of her aunt. Rational thought would return to the mind of Charlene Stenson, but now all that ruled her was the terror of a prey animal.
Then suddenly she was on the ground, lying on her back. She'd collided with something. Something smelling of cologne and fine wool. She stared up at the figure looming over her with simple terror written across her face. Her jaw moved slowly.
Above her, the figure tilted its head. The dark fedora lent it an air of mystery. Calmly, it observed her for a beat or two before extending a hand clad in a fine black leather glove.
"You must be Charlene," the figure said mildly. "Well…hello, Charlene."