The woman in the doorway looked in at Charlene.  Charlene looked back at her.  Neither one spoke.  Charlene felt a lump in her throat and couldn't push it away.  Clarice eyed her calmly for a few moments.  She looked neither angry nor happy to see her.  Then, after a few moments, she sat down at the table across from Charlene. 

                Clarice sighed and looked resigned.  

                "Hello, Charlene," she said softly. 

                "Aunt Clarice," Charlene said just as softly. 

                Silence reigned in the room for a few minutes. 

                "How are they treating you?" Charlene asked, fighting back tears. 

                Clarice sighed again and shrugged.  "It's prison," she said flatly.  "Charlene, why did you do this to me?" 

                Charlene's shoulders trembled and she lowered her head.  When she raised it, tears glittered in her blue eyes.  It took her a few moments to recover herself enough to be able to speak. 

                "It's a hospital, Aunt Clarice," she said in a strengthless whisper.  "They're gonna help you here.  Help you get better." 

                Clarice observed her tearful niece and reached across the table to pat her hand. 

                "I didn't need to get better, Charlene," she said.  "I was just fine as I was.  And this place isn't going to help me get better." 

                "Yes, it is," Charlene said.  "There are doctors here.  They'll help you." 

                "I didn't need help," Clarice said. 

                "Yes, you do," Charlene said.  "Dr. Lecter…Dr. Lecter screwed up your head."

                An expression of pain crossed Clarice's face.  "No, he didn't," she said softly. 

                Charlene's eyes widened.  "Yes, he did," she scolded.  "Aunt Clarice, you're not thinking right.  God only knows what he did to your head.  You need…you need some time to heal up and get right.  And that's what they're gonna do here." 

                Clarice chuckled bitterly.  "What they're gonna do here, Charlene, is they're gonna brainwash me.  This is punishment."  She gestured around her.  "Do you think you'd do much healing in a place like this?" 

                "That's just for now," Charlene said.  "Please, Aunt Clarice.  You gotta listen to me here.  They mean well.  They're gonna help.  They ain't brainwashers.  That's just…that's just something Dr. Lecter made you think." 

                Clarice eyed her niece across the table and smiled sadly.  How young and idealistic she was.  Clarice remembered those days herself. 

                "You say that, Charlene, and I think you believe it yourself," Clarice said softly.  "But honey, that's not how it is.  This is prison.  It's punishment.  Crawford can do whatever he likes to me here, and nobody's gonna say boo about it." 

                "That ain't true."  Her stress had brought out the nonstandard grammar Dr. Lecter had mocked her for.  "Mr. Crawford wants what's best for you.  Same as me." 

                "What's best for me." Clarice shook her head.  "Gee, Charlene, down there I had a mansion and a husband I loved and a perfect life.  People loved me down there.  I helped people.  Now up here I'm an inmate in a loony bin.  Charlene, my freaking closet was bigger than the cell they've got me in.   If that's what you think is best for me, you'll just have to excuse me if I don't take your opinion too deeply to heart." 

                Charlene lowered her head to her hands and her shoulders quaked for a few minutes.  Dr. Lecter's words echoed in her mind.  She wants no part of you.  She never did.  You were just her illegitimate niece.   Was it true?  It couldn't be.  She hadn't worked so hard for this. 

                Then Clarice's hand was soft and calming on her shoulder. 

                "Charlene, it's OK.  Don't cry.  C'mon, buck up now." 

                Charlene raised her head and stared at her aunt with naked pain on her face.  "No, it ain't okay!" she burst out.  "Do you have any idea what I've been through for all these years?  I thought you were dead.  I saw him…saw him carry you out all bloody and nekkid.  Do you know how that made me feel, thinking you were dead and he ate you? And then to find out for all that time you've been gallivanting around South America with that…that…killer?  That thing?  Why couldn't you tell me you were alive?" She stared at her aunt with agony in her eyes. 

                Clarice sighed.  She had to measure her words carefully. 

                "Charlene," she said, "look, you gotta understand here…I never meant for you to suffer any pain.  I know what that lunatic did to you.  But what I did with Dr. Lecter…I had to leave and not look back.  I'm sorry if you were hurt.  But I had to…I was miserable.  I wanted to be happy." 

                "Happy?  With a serial killer?"   

                Clarice swallowed her anger.  Charlene was just venting, she told herself.  And besides, she'd come all this way to see Clarice.  Plus, she was the only person Clarice knew right now who didn't have some sort of hidden agenda. 

                "There's more to Dr. Lecter than that." 

                "No, there ain't.  He's evil." 

                "Dr. Lecter did some bad things a long time ago.  But he's moved beyond that.  He won't kill anymore.  He promised me he wouldn't."

                Charlene's face became a mixture of disbelief and pain.  "And you believed him?" 

                "Yes, I did," Clarice said calmly.  "Dr. Lecter doesn't lie." 

                "He would if it suited him," Charlene insisted heatedly. 

                Clarice shook her head.  "Charlene," she said, "you're thinking that Dr. Lecter's going to go out and kick puppies just for the sake of being mean.  He's not like that.  He's not Snidely Whiplash.  There are different sides to him, sides you don't see--,"

                "Sides he brainwashed you into seeing," Charlene said flatly.  "Evil.  He's pure evil." 

                Great, Clarice thought.  Just great.  Clarice Starling had majored in psychology, and she knew enough to put the pieces together.  Charlene saw the world in black and white.  Things were either good or evil. She'd assigned Dr. Lecter the evil role.  No amount of convincing or cajoling would convince her otherwise. 

                Isn't this hideously ironic, Clarice thought, watching her niece quiver emotionally across the table from her.  She sees everything as black or white and she works for the original gray man. 

                "No, he isn't," Clarice said softly but firmly. 

                "Oh," Charlene said angrily.  "I suppose he's just a wonderful guy once you get to know him.  Spose he fed the duckies in the park an' helped ol' ladies acrost the street." 

                Clarice Starling lowered her head to her hand.  "Is he any worse than the people who put me here?" 

                "Mr. Crawford ain't evil," Charlene said resolutely.  "He wants you to get better.  And fix what…what that monster did to your mind." 

                Clarice snorted.  "Charlene, you want me to get better," she said firmly.  "I believe you want the best for me, or what you think is the best for me.  And I appreciate that.  But don't make any mistakes about Jack Crawford.  He has his own goals.  Always has.  And he doesn't care who he has to sacrifice to get to them, and if you cross him he'll break you and move on.  He's very convincing.  He's learned to be.  But don't make the mistake of assuming Jack Crawford cares a crap about you unless you're giving him something he wants." 

                Charlene stared disbelievingly at her aunt.  She broke eye contact to stare wonderingly at the table and shook her head, then looked back at her. 

                "I can't believe what I'm hearing," she said.  "You're telling me Dr. Lecter is this wonderful great guy?  Do you know what he told me?  He's a monster, Aunt Clarice.  Nothing more, nothing less.  And Mr. Crawford's the bad guy now?  All Mr. Crawford wants is to keep people safe from…from…," Her chin began to tremble with rage.  Her eyes were aflame. The color had risen in her face.  An independent observer looking into the room, if asked to point out which woman was the mental patient and which was the visitor, might have easily gotten it wrong.  "From…evildoers like Dr. Lecter."  She banged her fist on the table to emphasize that Dr. Lecter's was no ordinary malevolence. 

                Clarice watched this distantly.  She couldn't help but be concerned.  A bitter, cynical voice in the back of her head spoke up.  Scuse me, Clarice old kid old sock, but let me get this straight here:  you're the one locked up here, God only knows what Crawford and that McQuerry tool are planning to do to you, and you're concerned about her? It's because of her that all this happened.  If not for her, I'd still be with Hannibal instead of locked up on separate frigging continents. 

                But she knew the answer despite her very real anger over her situation.  The initial rage at her niece had faded on the long flight up to the United States and the few days of confinement here. Clarice was a capable investigator.  She'd heard Charlene's comment to Dr. Lecter at his arrest.  Charlene had thought Dr. Lecter had killed her.  She knew Crawford.  The pieces of the puzzle weren't hard to put together.  Crawford had seen her niece's pain and arrowed in unerringly on it, knowing it would be of use to him.  She couldn't be mad at Charlene.  Crawford had manipulated her into doing his bidding just as he had once did to Clarice herself and Will Graham.  Confronted with her niece's obvious pain she felt not anger but sympathy. 

                And even now, even locked up here in this loony bin, she could survive.  She was strong.  Eventually she would get out.  Eventually they would be reunited.  It was the way of things.  But Charlene – now there was another matter.  She seemed to have built her life around the concept that Dr. Lecter had killed her aunt.   Now she knew that wasn't true.  Clarice could sense a haunted brokenness in Charlene's eyes.  Her black-and-white worldview was beginning to see the shades of gray and she was freaking out about it.  She doubted Charlene was willing to budge on Dr. Lecter.  She had too much invested in him being evil.  But maybe Clarice could make her see just a little. 

                "Charlene," Clarice said softly, "I'm not saying Jack Crawford is the epitome of evil.  But that doesn't mean he's good, either." 

                "Yes, he is." 

                Clarice sighed.  "I know you think that," she said.  "After all, right now you're his golden girl.  Know what, Charlene?  I was there once.  I brought down Buffalo Bill.  For a while there was nothing I wanted more than Jack Crawford's approval.  I know how it is for you.  I've been there.  You always want to say Daddy knows best.  But he doesn't, Charlene.  He stuck me here for his own purposes." 

                Charlene's eyes hardened.  "Maybe that's what you think of it," she said bitterly.  "I never knew my real daddy.  But you already knew that, didn't you?" 

                Where the hell had that come from?  Clarice reached over and patted her niece's hand again.  "Well…you know what I mean.  You trust him," she groped.  "But Charlene, you gotta listen to me here.  Don't let Crawford piss on your leg and tell you it's raining." 

                "He's been good to me," Charlene said stubbornly.  "TDY'ed me to Behavioral Sciences.  Wants to bring me in permanent soon as he can." 

                Clarice nodded.  "He said that once to me, too," she said.  "Charlene, honey, I know, it's been hard on you, and I'm really sorry for anything I've done to hurt you.  I never meant that.   I'm only human.  I've made my mistakes, and believe me, I'm paying for them."  She indicated the surroundings with a hand.  "Just…just don't believe everything you hear.  Take it with a grain of salt, that's all I'm asking." 

                "So what?" Charlene asked.  "Let Lecter go?  Let him go kill somebody else? Make some more filet of orchestra musician?"     

                Clarice looked blank.  "What?  He hasn't done anything like that in years.  I told you.  He gave that up." 

                Charlene shook her head resolutely.  "Oh yeah?  Tell me about Miguel Peñon, then." 

                Clarice shrugged.  "I…I don't know what you're talking about, Charlene." 

                "Miguel Peñon.  Played fifth-chair violin for the Buenos Aires Philharmonic.   Went missing two years ago."  Charlene folded her arms and stared her aunt down.   "Lousy violin player, accordin' to the reviews I got off the Web.  Went missing and never found."  The accusation was too obvious to need to be stated. 

                Clarice gave her niece an exasperated look.  "Oh, so a musician goes missing and so Dr. Lecter must've done it." 

                "He's done it before," Charlene observed pointedly.  "He's got a taste for it, so to speak." 

                Clarice opened her hands and turned her palms up in a gesture that said Look, this is all I got. "Charlene, he didn't kill the guy." 

                Charlene's head flicked to the side and gave her aunt an irritated look.  "Oh yeah?  You sure?  Who did the cooking in casa Lecter, you or him?  Did you see him cooking every meal?" 

                Clarice knew where this was going.  "We had a chef, actually.  Charlene, listen--,"

                "Uh huh.  He'd still cook.  I studied him too, you know.  He likes cooking too much to give it up.  I got news for you, Aunt Clarice.  You ate the fiddle player," Charlene accused.  High spots of hectic color rose in her cheeks. 

                "Charlene, no.  Dr. Lecter didn't--,"

                "Oh yes he did," Charlene said heatedly. 

                For a moment the sheer ludicrousness of the situation struck Clarice.  Here she was, locked up in a mental hospital.  Crawford had his own plans for her.  And here she was, arguing with her niece over whether or not she had eaten an orchestra musician.  What was more ludicrous was that Charlene firmly believed that Dr. Lecter had done this deed. 

                "I was there.  He didn't.  He saw it in the newspaper and commented on it," Clarice said.   "He thought it was funny.  But he didn't kill him and we didn't eat him." 

                "Did you have any dinner parties round the time he went missing?"  Charlene pressed. 

                "Charlene, honey, please, let's have a nice visit," Clarice said. 

                "Did you?" 

                For a moment Clarice thought of lying, but she supposed if she did, Charlene would catch it. 

                "Yes," she said resignedly. 

                "Mmm mmm good," Charlene said acerbically. 

                Clarice wondered whether she should laugh or cry.  At this point, both sounded good.  "We didn't eat the goddam fiddle player," she snapped.  "We served filet mignon.  Very rare.  I remember it." 

                "I bet it was goddam rare," Charlene shot back.  "Filet Peñon you should say."

                Clarice opened her palms again, pushing out towards her niece.  "You know what?  This isn't working.   I am not a cannibal myself, Charlene.  I don't know what's got you so mad, honey, but this is just getting worse and worse." 

                She could sense Charlene about to speak and kept talking.  It was surprisingly easy to keep her tone calm and keep talking. 

                "I don't know what's gotten you so angry, Charlene, but I don't want to sit here and argue with you.  I'm glad you came, and you come on back anytime if you can keep calm.  But I don't want to sit here and fight with you.  I've got enough misery in my life right now.  Okay?"  She turned her head and banged on the door.  "Raul?" she called.  "We're done here. Thanks." 

                The expression on Charlene's face shifted from anger to sadness as she realized what was happening.  "Aunt Clarice, wait.  Let's just sit down." 

                "Not right now, Charlene.  Some other time.  When you're calmer."

                "I'm calm now," Charlene implored. 

                Kiddo, I don't think you've been calm for years.  Jesus Christ, what kind of emotional roller coaster have you been on?  Have you been like this ever since I left?  Clarice thought. 

                "It's almost time anyway.  Some other time, Charlene.  I'm glad you came.  I just want you to stay calm." 

                Charlene's face hardened.  "So you're leaving," she said bitterly.  "Rather be in lockdown than talk to me." 

                "Just for now.  I don't want you to be like this, Charlene.  You come visit me when you're calm.  We'll have a nice time then." 

                Raul came to the door.  Sensing the tension, he glanced from woman to woman and paused. 

                "I am calm," Charlene said.  "But g'wan, Aunt Clarice.  You don't want to talk to me, so g'wan." 

                "I do, Charlene," Clarice said patiently, "but not when you're so angry.  You come see me.  Some other time.  We'll have a nice time then." 

                "Some other time," Charlene said bitterly.  "Fine.  You g'wan.  It's what you've always done anyway." 

                She turned and strode away on that line, heading for the first gate.  It buzzed open and she stepped through.  After stepping through it and going to the desk to collect her things, she turned and stared at the woman in institutional pajamas standing in the hallway. 

                "Goodbye, Aunt Clarice," she said sadly. 

                "I'm sorry, Charlene," Clarice said. 

                "So am I, Aunt Clarice," Charlene said.  "So am I." 

                Then she went back upstairs, jamming her gun in its holster.  Her keys jangled angrily as she jammed them back in her purse.  She did not look back at Clarice.  Another gate buzzed open and she was gone.  Her footsteps thundered on the stairs. 

                Walking back to her car, she found herself trembling with angry energy.  She maintained enough composure to sign out at the Administration building without losing it.  But once back in the Mustang, she could hold it back no more.  She burst into hysterical tears, pounding her fist on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.  The shock of contact against her fist was painful, but somehow satisfying.  For several minutes she sat there and cried until it subsided.  What was worse was that she wasn't sure what she was crying about. 

                Down in the dungeons, Clarice entered her cell quietly.  The heavy metal door slammed shut.  Raul stood outside her door, watching her.  She sat down on her bunk, facing away from the door, and seemed quite still.  For several moments, no one moved. 

                Finally, Raul walked up to her door and buzzed the intercom.  His voice was tinny and artificial-sounding over the speaker. 

                "Look, Clarice," he said.  "I ain't one to stick my nose into other people's business, but looks like that didn't go so well.  If you want to talk, you know, come talk."

                Clarice sighed.  Raul was a nice guy – one of the few nice guys here in McQuerryland.  But she wasn't ready to go that far yet.  She chuckled sourly. 

                "You know, you sound like the evil alien emperor Zeegon over that loudspeaker," she said. 

                Raul nodded on the other side of the door.  "It's hard, with family, sometimes," he said.  "They don't always understand how it is for you." 

                Clarice turned around and looked at Raul through the porthole of her cell door. 

                "Oh, it's not me I'm worried about, Raul," she said.  "It's her." 

                She got off her bunk and walked up to the door. 

                "I can get out of here someday," she explained.  "Nobody can let Charlene out of her cell…except herself."