Author's note: Well, looks like we get a double feature after all. For this, you may thank our impatient Aussie Lecterphiles, who have been nudging me rather consistently on this fic. Patience does not seem to be a virtue terribly common down under. (Well admittedly, our sample consists of two Aussies, which isn't exactly representative, but there you go.)
Yes, the ending isn't exactly what I usually do, but hey…
Clarice Starling groaned. Her belly was a mass of agony. White lights danced before her eyes. She lay with her face on the dirty floor, still trying desperately to fit the key in her handcuffs. Thankfully, McCracken hadn't seemed to notice. But she was all too aware that she might not make it.
No. I will not die in handcuffs here on this fucking floor.
She let out a sob. If only she'd trusted Dr. Lecter. He'd been honest after all. But Charlene was free. Charlene was free. Even if she did die here, that would make it worthwhile.
Dave McCracken stood over the dying woman and grinned. Yeah, things had worked out for the best. He could always go catch the little one before she got too far. This hideout was a good couple of miles from anything. He thought he might have some fun with Starling's little niece after all. Maybe let Starling watch as she died.
He prodded Starling's bare stomach with his boot. His lips split back from his yellowing teeth. Yeah, now she knew the score. She knew who was boss. He threw his arms in the air with excitement and buried the toe of his dirty engineer boot in Starling's stomach. It came back bloody. She let out a gasp of pain and fumbled with something.
"Yeah, that'll teach ya," he said. "Bet you wish you hadn't caught me now. You feel like such hot shit now, darlin' Starling?"
McCracken kicked her again. She groaned. This was fun. He placed the sole of his boot on her face. That would teach her right good. He rather liked the look of her, looking at him with despair in her face. His boot sole covered one eye. Her lips were pressed against the heel of the boot.
There was a scrape behind him. McCracken quit kicking the bitch and turned. Behind him stood a man. Kinda short dude, wearing a shirt and tie. No suit jacket. Dave McCracken did not know that Dr. Lecter had given his suit jacket to Charlene Stenson and did not care. Not a cop – a cop would've been aiming a weapon at him right off. The old party was real skinny. He tilted his head like he was a freakin' parrot or something.
"Mr. McCracken," Dr. Hannibal Lecter said colorlessly.
"How the hell do you know what my name is, pops?" McCracken challenged.
Dr. Lecter sighed. "Never mind that. Mr. McCracken, I'd like to speak with you, if I might. Perhaps if you'd be willing to stop kicking her."
McCracken produced and brandished his knife. "Listen, pops, I got no quarrel with you. This is between me and her. Now blow."
Dr. Lecter sighed. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."
Dave McCracken didn't realize what had happened, at first. One moment he was glaring antagonistically at the old dudemar. The next thing he knew, something incredibly strong and vicious grabbed his arm. There was the sudden jerk of his wrist being hyperextended. Then a crack and a flash of pain. Then a line of fire across his chest. Then he was on the floor, gasping for breath. His good hand clutched the stab wound.
"Mr. McCracken," Dr. Lecter repeated calmly. He wasn't even out of breath. He circled the younger man and squatted. In one hand was the curved blade of his Harpy.
"In a way I'm sorry it had to come to this," Dr. Lecter continued. "In other circumstances, I should have had sympathy for you. After all, we're both men who have escaped the confines of incarceration. I could have even overlooked your means of getting Agent Starling here. Kidnapping her niece was rude, and it appears you punished Charlene for things she was not responsible for. Still, I could have forgiven that as a tactical necessity. After all, I had nothing against Pembry and Boyle, but I did have to kill them in order to be free. I wouldn't have done it in your position, but vive le difference."
Dave McCracken kicked out spasmodically.
"But this…oh no, I'm afraid this is a little beyond the pale. You see, I consider Agent Starling…mine. And no one takes from me what is mine, Mr. McCracken."
Dr. Lecter's hand tightened down on Dave McCracken's broken wrist. He bent it slowly, grinding the bones together. McCracken let out a choked-off scream from between his teeth.
"Fuck you, then," McCracken said, his teeth bared. "Kill me."
"I'm not going to kill you, Mr. McCracken," Dr. Lecter said. "I'm going to do worse." He straddled the taller man, pinning his arms down with his knees. He planted his left hand on McCracken's forehead to pin it down and give him purchase.
The Harpy blade was curved, and it wasn't made for the work Dr. Lecter wanted it to do. But he was able to dig the knife blade into McCracken's eye sockets fairly well. He wasn't able to excise the eyeballs completely, but he was able to get enough that Dave McCracken would never see again. He threw the eyeballs one by one into the corner, where they rolled in the sawdust. The pupils glared at him sightlessly. A bit of the optic nerve trailed in the dirt. Dr. Lecter thought they looked rather like poached eggs. Under him, McCracken screamed and squalled.
Now that that was done, Dr. Lecter turned his attention to the second part of McCracken's punishment. He pinned down McCracken's left wrist first, as the broken right wrist would make the job easier. Here, again, a heavier knife would have been better. But he was strong enough to compensate. He kept the Harpy wickedly sharp, and that helped too. The knife blade sank into the flesh where McCracken's pinky finger met his hand easily enough. The hard part was cutting through the bone. Dr. Lecter didn't want to chop it off, so he simply sawed back and forth, forcing the knife into the bone, until he managed to get the entire finger off. He tossed it nonchalantly next to the eyeballs. After all, part of keeping tidy was keeping all the trash in one place.
To take the rest of the fingers was simple but drudgery. But Dr. Lecter was strong and determined and eventually all of McCracken's fingers were off. Now it was time for the final phase. Dr. Lecter reached into McCracken's mouth and pried out his tongue. It was slippery and holding it made Dr. Lecter feel distasteful. But his powerful fingers trapped the piece of pink meat and it took only a second to cut it off, there being no bone to get in the way as there had been with chopping off McCracken's fingers.
Dr. Lecter rose and dusted himself off. The crease of his pants had become mussed and he took a moment to tweeze it out with a finger to razor sharpness. He clipped his Harpy back to his belt and took a deep breath.
"I shan't kill you, Mr. McCracken. Instead, I'll be phoning the police shortly." He bent over the bloody ruin of McCracken's screaming face.
"You're going back to prison."
Dr. Lecter walked over to where Clarice Starling lay semiconscious. She'd managed to free herself from the handcuffs and then passed out. He squatted and examined the wound. Serious, but within his ability to repair.
A few months ago, Dr. Lecter had offered to bring Clarice Starling with him. She'd refused him, telling him 'Not in a thousand years'. Her duty had meant more to her than he did. Now look what had happened.
This time, I shall make the choice for her.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter arose with Clarice Starling in his arms, limp and bloody as a newborn. He turned to the gurgling lump of meat named Dave McCracken.
"As I'm sure you know, prison is a cruel and vicious place," he said. "All the more cruel and vicious for you now. You won't be able to see anyone coming. You won't be able to fight back. And you won't be able to call for help. I ask you to think about that, Mr. McCracken. Think about that as you continue to live in that environment."
Then he strode calmly from the factory, Clarice Starling boneless in his arms. Once he made the parking lot, he noticed Charlene Stenson, sitting curled up at the edge of the factory with her back against the wall. His sport jacket was pulled around her like a blanket. Her eyes met his and expanded in grief.
"Is she dead?" she whispered.
"No," Dr. Lecter said. "I shall take her, and treat her."
"You're that guy who et people in Baltimore," she said. "I seen it on the Internet."
Dr. Lecter sighed. "Your grammar needs work, young lady. It is the mark of an educated person to speak properly."
"Don't take my aunt," she pleaded. "She's a good person. She came here for me."
Dr. Lecter smiled coldly. "I know," he said darkly. "But she is mine now. Simply stay here, Charlene, and the authorities will be here shortly."
"Don't," she said. "Please? She came here for me."
"Little girl," Dr. Lecter said, "do not attempt to meddle with what you cannot possibly understand."
He turned his back then and left, his stride strong. His pickup truck was parked down the road. He'd originally thought that Charlene might require medical attention. But as it turned out, it was Clarice who did. He had to press her body against his for a moment to get her arranged in the seat. Then a pressure bandage over her abdomen, pressed down tight as he could get it. Finally, he started an IV and hung it from the coat hook in the back of the truck. That would get some fluids into her to replace the blood volume. He had a hotel room that would work for the rest of the repairs. It would be painful and lengthy, but she would both survive and be completely healed again, one day.
The truck started and Dr. Lecter drove away, into the night. As he drove, he picked up a cellular phone and dialed.
"911 emergency," a voice said.
"Yes, good evening," Dr. Lecter said calmly. "I believe you're searching for a criminal by the name of David McCracken. I know where you may find him." He gave the address of the factory. "You'll need police to bring him into custody, but you'll also need two ambulances. His victim is there too, but she's all right. He, on the other hand…he's not doing so well, I'm afraid."
"Sir? May I have your name, please?"
Dr. Lecter pressed END on the phone and carefully wiped it with the tail of his shirt, just in case. He threw the phone out the window. It shattered into fragments when it hit the asphalt. The old truck farted white smoke and drove away. He'd done what was decent. Now what remained was to first heal, and then confront, Clarice. The truck navigated a bend in the road and was gone.
Back at the factory, Charlene Stenson trembled where she sat against the factory. Tears openly tracked down her face. She made no attempt to wipe them away. She pulled Dr. Lecter's jacket tighter around her.
She did not know Hannibal Lecter anywhere near as close as her aunt had, but she did know he was a killer. He would kill and eat her aunt now, she supposed. And she couldn't do anything to save her. Aunt Clarice had risked her life to save hers, and Charlene had not been able to do anything to save her. She hadn't even tried. What was she supposed to have done? The guy ate people, wasn't nothing she could've done to stop him. But she hadn't tried to do a thing. Some niece she made. Feeling despicable and weak, Charlene Stenson pressed her back against the wall. Her ears pricked. What was that yelling coming from inside the factory? It had been going on off and on since Dr. Lecter had emerged from the factory.
"I'll fix it, Aunt Clarice," she vowed in the silence. "I'll go to college, I'll get into the FBI, and I'll make it right. I promise."
Sobs shook her as she wondered what that cannibal psychiatrist was doing to her aunt now. Would he kill her first or eat her first? The thought was mind-bogglingly horrible, and then she just cried.
Sirens in the distance made her raise her head. A whole flotilla of lights: ambulances, a couple of local police cruisers, and some FBI dark blue patrol cars. They pulled into the abandoned factory's parking lot, painting the dingy building with flashes of crimson light.
Then there were people over her, jabbering at her. Two of them lifted her calmly and carried her over to an ambulance. She could barely make out anything they were saying. The words were ones she knew, but somehow her brain refused to translate them into anything meaningful. Honey, what's your name, honey, are you OK. That's Clarice Starling's niece…where's Starling? No, Agent Mapp, you can't question her now, she's in shock…c'mon, honey, we're going to take care of you.
The ambulance doors slammed shut, and Charlene lay back on the gurney they put her on. She still clutched the sports jacket around her. The sting of an IV in her arm made her flinch. Something flowed into her system and made her feel sleepy.
"I'll fix it, Aunt Clarice," she whispered again, before unconsciousness took her.
Then she, too, was driven into the night.