Dr. Lecter's cell was as drab and miserable as it had been before. His attorneys had been in to see him earlier that morning and advised him that the extradition hearing would probably not be that hopeful. Now that he had been positively identified as Hannibal Lecter, he was considered an illegal immigrant and it was more than likely that the Argentine authorities would return him to his country of origin.
He hadn't expected much more, really. The FBI's offer was about as good as it would get. His attorneys thought that he should strongly consider it. But Dr. Lecter knew what awaited him in the United States.
He heard footsteps coming down the hall. The same sound of Skechers heading down the hallway. Was he the lucky recipient of another visit from Charlene? He looked over at the grille. Yes, he was.
She stared at him with wide eyes. There seemed to be something broken about her. Dr. Lecter was reminded of those patients he had treated who had just suffered some dramatic, unexpected loss. There was something more here. Something he liked very much.
After a moment, he had it. One of his very favorite things. The destruction of faith. This might be interesting. What had happened? Had Jacky-boy tried to hit on her? Had they denied her credit for her capture of him? He smiled at her and tilted his head.
"Hello, Charlene," he said.
Charlene blinked at him and her eyes focused in. "Good morning, Dr. Lecter," she said tightly.
"Is this another business call or just a social visit?"
"A little of both," she said.
"Ah, good. I was so amused by your last visit. Hearing you throw around terms like IMF loans and prisoners' rights, all in a desperate attempt to show me that you, too, are educated. Not the frightened, weepy West Virginia girl you once were. You've done well at hiding the accent, you know. And your grammar's improved. Did you finally begin paying attention in English class after the McCracken incident? Or did it wait until college, when you wanted to be accepted and not considered poor white trash?"
Her eyes narrowed at him and she said nothing.
"And what else was it? An entire mindset change, you warned me. And you know, dear, you were right on that. My attorneys have told me the same thing. But it looks like you've had a bit of a mindset change yourself, Charlene. You look somewhat shocked. Has something happened?"
"Yes," Charlene said sharply.
"What was it? Do tell me. Did Jacky-boy Crawford try to harass you? Did he get drunk and run his hands along your thighs? Or did he grab your breasts?"
She chuckled and shook her head. "Of course not," she said. "Mr. Crawford's a decent man, Dr. Lecter."
"Do you think he wants you?"
"No, I don't," Charlene said. Then she crossed her arms at him and flicked her head to the side. Clarice did the same thing when she grew angry. "Go ahead and make fun of me, Dr. Lecter. It's fine. Have your fun. I'm going back to the United States in a few hours. You're staying in here with the rats and the toilet. So go right ahead. Make fun of my accent or my background if it makes you feel better. Get in your little digs now, Dr. Lecter. Once you're in supermax, you'll have to curb that tongue of yours. The guards won't put up with it."
"Is that a threat, Agent Starling?" he asked, speaking drolly to her as if she was a child.
"No," Charlene said. "You know as well as I do if you run your mouth like that in prison they'll be selling your teeth on Ebay. So you might as well get it out of your system now."
"I see. Is that why you came, Charlene? To advise me of the dire threat to my teeth in the American prison system? Thank you. I'll have my attorneys procure me a mouthguard."
She chuckled and shook her head. "No," she said finally. "I came to just let you know that we caught Clara Paloma. I figured you would want to know."
Dr. Lecter was silent for a few moments.
"Really," he said finally.
"Yes," Charlene said tightly.
"From the look on your face, you weren't expecting what you saw."
Charlene sighed and shook her head. "No," she said.
"You don't seem quite happy. Tut-tut-tut." He pursed his lips in mock sympathy. His tone was sarcastic and mocking. "Were you hoping for a big hug and a kiss from your auntie? Did you think she'd tell you she loved you very much and you'd done a good job?" He chuckled. "No, no. She's my wife now. She wants no part of you." Dr. Lecter closed his eyes and tried to remember what Clarice had told him of Charlene. "She never did, actually. She talked about it occasionally. She always considered your mother nothing more than trailer-park white trash. And you were just her illegitimate niece. She was poor, but at least she knew who her real daddy was. She moved up in the world, Charlene. Up and away from you. I told you not to meddle, little girl. You should have listened. It would have spared you pain."
She stared at him hatefully for a moment or two without speaking. He could see her hands shake. But like Clarice, she had the onions to carry on.
"You know," she said in a dusty tone, "when I found out about…," she paused, looking for the right word, "about…her…I actually almost felt sorry for you for a moment. Everything was just perfect for you, wasn't it? Now your life is about to take a pretty nasty turn over a crime you actually haven't committed. Pretty ironic, don't you think? Thank you, Dr. Lecter. Thank you for reminding me just exactly why it is you're in there." Her eyes glittered flatly at him.
"I hope you've had your fun, Dr. Lecter. I really and truly do. From here on out, you won't get the same opportunity. If you talk to the guards like that wherever you end up, then I hope pain is something you enjoy. And maybe what you've said is true. Maybe those are her words. Maybe they're yours. We'll see. But I can tell you this, Dr. Lecter. She was voluntarily repatriated last night."
Charlene leaned in close to the grille on his window, as close as she dared.
"She could've stayed down here," Charlene hissed, "but she didn't. We put her on a plane and brought her back to the US. She left you down here, Dr. Lecter. We offered her help and she took it. Never even so much as asked about you, by the way. She's getting some help. Whatever you did to her, we'll undo."
Dr. Lecter watched her carefully. She wasn't as good at controlling her rage as Clarice had been. He found himself rather glad she had been obliged to leave her gun. Otherwise, she might well have tried to kill him. She looked angry enough.
"You're never going to see her again, Dr. Lecter. Your freedom is gone and so is Clarice. You're going to live and die in a prison cell. Enjoy those bars and that prison uniform. They're your life now."
She slammed the grille shut, leaving him without even the ability to see out of his cell. He could hear her footsteps receding from his cell in a fast run. Dr. Lecter sat back on his grubby mat and sighed.
Clarice was in Jack Crawford's clutches. This was not good. Was Charlene telling the truth? He couldn't tell, and it was doubtful she would talk to him now.
A rat squeaked at Dr. Lecter from where it stood in his corner. Dr. Lecter looked at it and sighed again.
"I'm afraid things aren't going well," he told the rat.
…
Charlene Stenson Starling stopped herself from running once she'd gotten out of the prison. That monster. He had to be lying about Aunt Clarice. She didn't think that way. Why had she risked her life to save Charlene's? No, the monster had messed up her head, forcing her to stay with him. That was how it was. That was how it had to be.
She drove back to the hotel and grabbed her suitcase from her room. A Crown Victoria was idling in front of the hotel door. She carried her own suitcase, disdaining the bellboys. No, this was her damn bag and she could carry it herself, thank you very much.
As she approached the car, the trunk popped open. Charlene stowed her bag in the trunk and got in the back seat. Jack Crawford sat there, eying her with his inevitably calm mien.
"Hi, Starling," he said calmly.
"Hello, sir," she said quietly.
"How did it go?"
"It went…all right," she said. "He made fun of me, but I was expecting that."
Crawford nodded solemnly. The Crown Vic slid into traffic. The driver expertly maneuvered the car to the airport. Silence reigned in the back seat.
"You did some a-plus work on this op," Crawford said after a few minutes. "Everyone here knows that. Including me."
"Thank you, sir," she whispered. Then she steeled herself for a moment.
"Sir?" she asked.
"What, Starling?"
"I was just curious…what she said when we got her…was that true?"
"That I knew?" Crawford's eyes were hooded. She could not read him.
"Yes," she said.
Crawford sighed. "I suspected," he said delicately. "I didn't have proof positive. The recon photos we took looked like her. But I didn't know for sure."
Was he lying? Telling the truth? She studied his face and could not tell.
"If I'd told you, Starling, you never would have been able to carry off your part the way you had," Crawford admonished. "What if I'd told you and been wrong? I had to do it this way."
"I know," she admitted. "But still, sir…I guess I just would've liked to have been in on it, that's all."
Crawford pondered for a moment before answering. His gray gaze seemed to burn through her, as if suggesting she was disloyal for asking. But Charlene could not feel guilty for feeling angry.
"Starling," he said finally, "I did what I had to. Just imagine if it hadn't been her. You'd have been devastated."
Devastated. How different was that from how she felt now? Knowing that Aunt Clarice had been alive. All the time, she'd been down here, living it up with that…that…monster. Never once dropping a letter, never a thing to say Charlene, I'm alive and I'm OK. How could she have ignored Charlene like this? Hadn't she known the long nights Charlene spent unable to sleep, remembering her kidnapping by one monster and her aunt's by another? For years, the image of Clarice Starling being carried away naked and bloody by Hannibal Lecter to a horrible fate had been the driving force in Charlene's life. It was that image that kept her going through college. That image had kept her at the FBI, late at night, tapping away at a keyboard. She'd tracked Dr. Lecter from half a world away.
And now he wasn't guilty. Dr. Lecter had not killed Clarice Starling. For eight years, she had been living a lie.
"What's going to happen to her?" Charlene asked.
"Well," Crawford said, "she's at a VA psychiatric hospital in Virginia."
A look of pain came over Charlene's face. "My aunt's in the loony bin?"
Crawford gave her a stern look. "Don't say that, Starling," he chided. "They're going to help her. God only knows what Dr. Lecter did to her mind. They're going to get her straightened out."
Charlene nodded slowly. "Which hospital?" she asked.
"Greenwood," Crawford said. "And that's not for public consumption."
Charlene blinked. "Greenwood? That's maximum security," she objected.
"She may try to escape for now," Crawford said. "It's just until we get her stabilized. She needs a secure environment right now. I know, she's your aunt and you're concerned about her."
Charlene let out a snort. "Concerned ain't the word, Mr. Crawford," she said softly. "Isn't, I mean. I'm gonna see her once we get in."
Crawford shook his head. "That's not a good idea," he said calmly.
Charlene stared at him thunderstruck. Her jaw dropped. Crawford thought about how she resembled Clarice at the beginning of her career. Those pleasing features, those blue eyes. Couldn't tell much from the shapeless pants that she wore, but he thought she had a good body under that. Then he made himself stop, remembering that he was still her boss. Better not to go there.
"What do you mean, I can't see her?" Charlene said heatedly. "She's my aunt. She needs me now."
"She needs to settle in," Crawford advised. "Give her a couple of weeks or a month to get adjusted. Look, Starling. I know you care. But just listen to the experts on this."
Like hell, Charlene thought, but didn't argue with him.
On the plane, she sat and thought. She didn't speak to Crawford. She accepted a can of Coke and a horrible airline dinner and thought.
Dr. Lecter in his cell, innocent of Clarice's murder but guilty of annihilating her mind and personality. Even if they didn't get him for murdering Aunt Clarice, there were plenty of people he had killed that they could pinch him on proper. Wasn't nothing unfair about that. The man should've left her aunt alone.
Aunt Clarice in the nut hatch. Did she hate her now? No, that was just Dr. Lecter talking. He was just blowing off steam. The man was just peeved because he'd underestimated her and she'd landed him in a cell. The thought of Aunt Clarice in a padded cell, maybe wrapped up in a straitjacket, gave Charlene the heebie-jeebies. She was a good person. She didn't deserve that. Charlene would stand by her, help her build herself back up. And solve whatever damage Dr. Lecter had done to her brain.
But where did that leave her? And why did she suddenly distrust Jack Crawford? He'd helped her career immeasurably. Most of her classmates in the Academy were working either the one-horse towns or the nastiest ghettos. She had a cube at Quantico and was TDY to Behavioral Sciences. But now Crawford didn't seem like the proud father figure he'd once been. For some reason she didn't trust him.
Crawford patted her hand as the plane arrowed north. She smiled at him and it felt false. She would call Greenwood tomorrow, she decided. Then she would see Aunt Clarice.