Ten-thirty at Greenwood Psychiatric Hospital was quiet. The lone maximum-security inmate had been obliged to go to bed at nine PM. The better behaved were allowed to stay up until ten. But now all was quiet, the patients locked in their rooms for the night. The orderlies were supposed to make rounds every fifteen minutes. In actuality, they usually let the patients sleep, only checking on them every hour or so. That was just how Clarice liked it.
After dinner, she had crept into the bathroom and found the bundle Charlene had left for her in the bathroom. She had hidden it under the loose shirt of her institutional pajamas and smuggled it into her room. Thankfully, medium security allowed her to go to her room, the bathroom, and the TV room as she liked. There was one good thing to all this.
'Therapy' had been hard, as it always was, but Clarice had faced it with newfound strength. It was the last time. That made it possible for her to get through it. She'd woken up in her room, as usual, with a headache and a vague, free-floating terror. Then she'd gone in and gotten the bundle from the bathroom.
Black SWAT BDU pants. A long-sleeved black T-shirt. A pair of boots. A digital watch. That was useful; like all the unfortunates caught in the web of Greenwood, Clarice was obligated to give her watch to the orderlies at night, lest she try to break the watch crystal and commit suicide with the shards. Most importantly, a pair of locking pliers – Vise Grip brand, Clarice noticed, not the cheap tools. A flashlight, a nail file, a can of WD-40, and a wire cutter finished the ensemble for today's fashionable nuthatch escapee.
Everything was now hidden in her bed under her sheets. The wire cutter and flashlight were under her pillow. She stood by her window with the locking pliers in hand. They were heavy and well-made. If she needed a weapon they'd do pretty good.
But for now her victim was the first of four bolts holding her screen on. It was tough going. The bolt and screen had been painted. Plus, she allowed, the bolt had been in there for probably fifty years or so. She was thankful that the bolt was big enough for the pliers to get a good grip, and they didn't slip once they were locked down.
Still, it was far from a cakewalk. She'd been worried foremost about what her incarceration would do to her mind. The image of being here for the next twenty years, broken in spirit and damaged in brain, was absolutely terrifying. How much damage had McQuerry and his torture done to her? She didn't know. She had trouble remembering things. The idea that she might already be brain-damaged was very, very frightening. Clarice Starling had lived by her wits and her mind for almost her entire life. The thought of having that deliberately damaged frightened her very, very deeply.
But now, she had something to concentrate on. C'mon, she thought. Let's get Mr. Bolt out of Mr. Wall here and get Miss Clarice the hell out of this torture chamber.
She forced all her weight against the bolt. Her muscles trembled. Sweat arose on her brow. Had it moved? No, damn thing was frozen. She had to scratch the paint off the damn thing and try the WD-40.
Using the nail file like a tiny saw got her through the paint. She spritzed it down with WD-40. She tried again. Was someone coming? She'd have to jump in bed real quick and pretend to be asleep. Finally, the bolt began to move. Clarice hurried as fast as she could and managed to get the first bolt out of the wall. Long sucker, too. She stuffed it under her bed.
The sound of approaching footsteps warned her to hop into bed. She shoved the pliers under the pillow, lay on the bed and closed her eyes. Precious minutes were stealing by. She checked her watch tensely. Was it eleven already? Still, she only had to be out by two-thirty. That gave her plenty of time to defeat the other bolts.
Once the footsteps were gone, she figured she had another hour before they checked again. She attacked the second bolt with newfound strength. Getting out of here. Had to get out. Got to get out.
It took time. The second and third bolts were harder to free. She had to jump in bed every hour and lost about ten minutes to that. She could feel herself growing weaker as she went on. Her arms screamed at her. The bolts started out impossible to turn. For several minutes she would yank, pull, and curse. A few times she thought it was impossible; that she would end up trapped here. And in the morning she'd go back down to maximum security.
The thought of that was enough to give her enough strength. Finally, it was done. The fourth bolt was out. Carefully, Clarice leaned the screen so that it would stay there. She jumped into bed for the final time. This time, she wriggled out of the pajamas and into the uniform Charlene had left her. Once the footsteps of the orderly had receded, she felt a bolt of pure joy race through her. She was going to be free.
The screen made a little bit of racket as she lifted it away and tossed it on the grass. It took her a moment to wriggle out of the window and drop to the ground outside. She arranged the screen as best she could. Then she turned. The hard part hadn't been breaking out of the building. The hard part was that there was at least ten miles of country between here and civilization. Escapees would either starve to death in the woods or wander around until they were found.
The women's building was placed far back on the property. As Clarice's eyes adjusted to the darkness outside, she could see the two fences that stood between her and freedom. She sidled around the building to the back, ducking low and hugging the side of the building. There was the fence. Suddenly, a tiny red dot illuminated part of the near fence. Clarice ran for it. As she got closer, she could see that the fence had been cut at the bottom. She pulled it up and worked her way under it. As she approached the second fence, she could make out the shape of a Mustang hunkering over its wheels. Standing by it was a lone figure.
The red dot flashed again. Clarice ran for the dot. Same deal. She pulled herself to her feet and ran for the car. As she approached, the figure jogged over to the car. Clarice opened the passenger-side door and got in.
Charlene Starling threw the laser pointer she'd used to direct her aunt onto the dashboard. She hit the ignition and slammed the car into gear.
"Nice Mustang," Clarice said, grinning.
"Yeah," Charlene said in a clipped tone. She drove down the access road without the lights on. Only once she had reached the main road did she turn them on.
For a few minutes neither woman spoke, not until the Mustang blew some miles out its tailpipe, leaving Clarice's house of horrors far behind. Charlene appeared to be focusing on her driving. Clarice cleared her throat.
"Thank you, honey," she said, and her voice thickened.
Charlene nodded curtly. "It's OK," she said. For a moment, her military manner dropped and her hand tightened on the wheel.
"How'd you know?" Clarice asked quietly.
Charlene shrugged and turned right. The highway was not far away. "I did some pokin' around," she said. "I don't want to talk about it."
Clarice Starling was not as skilled in psychology as Hannibal Lecter, but she didn't have to be to note that something was very wrong. She knew what Charlene was doing. She'd done it herself on countless raids. Concentrate on the job, be Miss FBI, and avoid thinking about something that dances in the back of your mind inviting you to destroy yourself thinking of it.
"There's a bag in the footwell," Charlene said. "It's got five hundred bucks cash and a fake birth certificate in it and a fake driver's license. It's not perfect, but it's as good as my scanner at home can provide. Should be good enough to get you started. You can hit the passport agency in DC and have a passport in a day. That'll be enough to get you a driver's license. Or whatever ID you need."
"Where are we going now?" Clarice asked calmly.
"I got you a hotel room," Charlene replied. Her eyes stared at the road glassily.
"You got it yourself?" she asked.
Charlene shook her head. "I did, but they won't be able to ID me, I don't think," she said. "I…," she began to laugh. "I wore a big blonde wig and sunglasses when I rented it. Along with a crop top and hot pants. Not my usual clothes." She began to snicker crazily, as if insanity was a near possibility. "Don't rightly think that hotel clerk was looking at my face, Aunt Clarice. It ain't much, but it's a clean bed and they won't find you right off unless you do something stupid."
The hotel was not that far away, but far enough that she could never have reached it on foot. A simple, anonymous little hotel by the side of the highway. As Charlene had said, it wasn't much. But it was clean and there was a bed and a shower. And they weren't going to try and fry her brain in the morning. Clarice went for the shower, washing the feeling of prison-taint off her body. The hot, steamy water felt wonderful, cascading over her in sheets. She felt drunk, alive, powerful. She was free.
She grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it. Charlene was waiting in a chair, staring desultorily at the TV. Her black fatigues were slightly oversized. It made her look like a child playing soldier. Clarice noticed the look on her face, a look of bewilderment and shock, and frowned. She dressed quietly and then put her hand on her niece's shoulder.
"Charlene, are you OK?"
Charlene chuckled bitterly and shook her head. "No," she said. "Good Lord. I just found out my boss has been playin' me for a fool, and that he planned to fry you cause he was mad at you."
Clarice sighed. "I know. It's tough to learn things like that."
Charlene shook her head. She seemed to be withdrawing into herself. "No," she said. "I spent so long trying to capture Dr. Lecter," she said. "I thought he killed you. Now I know that ain't true. I thought Jack Crawford was a good guy. Now I know that ain't true either. Everything I've worked for, everything I've done…it's all been a lie."
"No," Clarice said. "You just got…some bad information, that's all. Crawford's good. He gets you to do things for him."
"I caught Dr. Lecter," Charlene observed suddenly. "Only one other person ever did that. Will Graham. Fat lot of good it did him, too. He's a drunk down in Florida fixin' boat motors." Her face was frighteningly slack, like a doll's. "Crawford flew him up here. For a publicity photo. They took a picture of him an' me, both of us holding Dr. Lecter's wanted poster with a big ol' CAPTURED written crost it. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Got a copy of it on my wall. And I thought Wow, Will Graham, one of the famous profilers. Y'know what he told me?"
Clarice shook her head.
"He told me two things. First he said, 'Congratulations, now you know what they'll say about you in the Bureau long after you're gone'. Then, he told me something else, real quiet, once Crawford and the photographers had gone. He said…he said…'Here's something they won't tell you in the Bureau. You'll never be able to stop thinking about Dr. Lecter. Every day you'll think about what he's doing. Every night you'll wonder if he's coming for you.' Know what? He was right."
Clarice bent down low and put her hand on her niece's. Charlene didn't look at her. Her face was pale and waxy.
"Charlene, Dr. Lecter's not like that," she said. "Not anymore."
Charlene considered that mutely for a moment. Then she swallowed.
"Oh yes he is," Charlene emphasized. "I saw him in the prison in Argentina." She shivered. "He's the same. He'd do me like he did Will Graham in a heartbeat."
Clarice shook her head. "No," she insisted. "No, listen. You're only thinking about what's in that file. That's only…that's a part of Dr. Lecter. A part of him he left behind."
Charlene shook her head. She seemed distant and lost. Without the focus of the mission to save Clarice to keep her concentration, she was adrift.
"I know you're gonna ask me when and where he's coming back to the US," Charlene said. "You haven't asked yet, but you're thinkin' it."
Clarice hesitated. That had indeed been on her mind, but she could not bring herself to press her niece. She was worried. She could save Charlene from McCracken; she couldn't save her from herself.
"Okay then," she said. "Are you…are you going to tell me?"
Charlene shook her head silently.
"Charlene, I'm not gonna make you," Clarice whispered. She drew closer to the younger woman and put her arms on her shoulders. She tried to make eye contact with Charlene. Charlene's eyes were glassy. "But you gotta ask yourself…does Dr. Lecter really deserve to be thrown in some supermax jail? They'll kill him there. You know that."
Charlene shrugged. "No," she said. "No, no, no. I cain't."
"Charlene, honey, now listen to me," Clarice began.
Clarice shook her head again. "No," she said softly. "Look. Everbody's been wanting me to do things for them. Crawford says get Lecter for me. You say bust me out of the loony bin. I got you out, Aunt Clarice. I did that for you and I don't regret it. But I can't give you Dr. Lecter. I won't give you Dr. Lecter." She still seemed waxy and disconnected. "I know you want him. But you can't have him. You gotta understand. He's due for some murder charges. And if he was ever free I'd go crazy."
"Charlene," Clarice said, feeling a long, low drop of disappointment in her stomach.
"No," Charlene said, before Clarice could continue. "No, no, no. I cain't. Maybe I did wrong by letting them take you and believing them. Maybe I'll get in trouble for getting you out. Maybe not. I want you to be free, Aunt Clarice. But I can't have Dr. Lecter free. I can't live every night wondering if this is the night he busts in on me with a linoleum knife."
"Charlene, listen to me," Clarice said. She squatted in front of the other woman and put her hands on both sides of Charlene's face. For years now, Dr. Lecter seemed to have become Charlene's personal boogeyman. She could not let him go so easily. But she had to come around. "Charlene, look. I know…what you think of Dr. Lecter. But he won't hurt you. I promise. All he wants is to live out what years he has left in peace. Far away from the United States. You don't have to help. You just have to tell me when and where. I'll take care of the rest. And I can promise you Dr. Lecter won't do anything to you. You know I would never let anyone hurt you, don't you?" She searched her niece's face for some sign of recognition.
Charlene's eyes twitched across Clarice's face and met her own eyes. When she spoke, it chilled Clarice to the bone. For she knew that Charlene meant what she said. This was not hysteria or upset. This was what she actually thought.
"I gave you your freedom, Aunt Clarice. That'll have to do. Dr. Lecter is coming back…and he's going to prison."