For Charlene, the remainder of her time there in the house was quite calm. She lay somewhere in the borderlands of lucidity. Life in the house was quiet, peaceful, and circumscribed. She was restricted to the house, but she was not a prisoner. It was more akin to parents with a small child. They would not let her leave the house without one of them there, but that was for her own safety and well being, not to confine her.
There was no pain. Her shoulder wound was treated and appropriate painkillers were provided. There were other drugs as well; pills and hypodermics, more than she had ever taken before. She was unable to keep track of them. Fortunately, her psychiatrist could.
Dr. Lecter set about his therapy with due care. The first problem was a rather unique one. It was exceptionally difficult to begin therapy when the patient despised the psychiatrist and believed him to be evil beyond redemption. It would have made for an interesting article. But Dr. Lecter's knowledge of the human mind and how to alter its perceptions properly was unrivaled. He combined the latest psychotropic drugs with a modified version of the insulin-coma therapy used in the nineteen-thirties. When necessary, Dr. Lecter could induce coma, but it was his theory that more could be accomplished when the patient was stuporous but conscious. He did bring her all the way down to a stage three coma once, but found that the extra benefit was negligible when weighed against the time and effort of caring for a completely comatose patient.
He found a novel way around the problem of Charlene's feelings towards him. It took him two days to construct a disconnect in Charlene's perception of him. For Charlene, there were two men now. There was Dr. Lecter, the murdering monster she had dedicated herself to capturing. There was a new man now, as well: her uncle. She knew that he was not her uncle David, the lone brother in the Starling clan, and she knew that he was her Aunt Clarice's husband. That was about all she knew of her uncle.
Normally, it would never have worked. Charlene was too quick for that. Dr. Lecter found that psychotropic drugs and insulin injections did a great deal to lower Charlene's resistance as they had Clarice's. They also allowed him to work much more speedily. That was good; he didn't have the time. And after all, if she was his wife's niece, was he not then her uncle?
Dr. Lecter spent a fair amount of time in therapy with her. Clarice did not begrudge him that time. She was happy to have him back. Now things could get back to the way they used to be. She was also quietly, solidly convinced that Charlene needed him more. She had lived the same miserable, high-pressure life in the FBI. Now she was happy. She wanted the same for Charlene. Of course, Charlene would not have Dr. Lecter, but she could still build a life for herself that was more rewarding. Not under Jack Crawford's yoke.
For Clarice, those days were also a chance to discover her maternal side. That had been so long buried under a veneer of FBI toughness that she was vaguely surprised to find it. But it was obvious that her niece needed some care. Between the bullet wound to her shoulder, which caused Clarice no end of guilt whenever she saw it, and the array of drugs that Dr. Lecter was employing as skeleton keys to get into her mind, Charlene required care. Clarice fell to it with a passion that made her think for the first time about having children of her own. She fed her drugged niece, helped her change, and whatever else needed doing.
Charlene told Dr. Lecter a great deal of things in those four-hour sessions. Some he expected, some he did not. She told him things about herself. She held a great deal of resentment towards those who thought lower of her. She had been born out of wedlock and there were those who thought her inferior for that. She spoke with a drawl and there were plenty of Easterners who thought her dumb. None of those things surprised Dr. Lecter particularly and he privately thought them tedious.
Occasionally she talked about how she had caught him. When she spoke of Dr. Lecter, she spoke of him in the third person. Like Clarice, she had tracked him by his tastes, but she had added a few things of her own. One in particular caught his attention.
"I also went looking for his teeth," she told him once.
Dr. Lecter tilted his head. He was frankly tired of the country-music complaints of her youth. This was more interesting.
"His teeth?" Dr. Lecter spoke of himself in the third person as well, in order to maintain the illusion that her uncle and the man she had caught were two separate people. "How did that work?"
She shifted on the couch she occupied. Her eyes were catlike and half-lidded. She rarely moved off the couch. This did not surprise Dr. Lecter, as the drugs in her system would have sedated a man twice her weight to the point of incapacitation.
"According to his dental records, Dr. Lecter had four capped teeth," she explained. "Chilton liked to take his stuff away for little things, petty little things, just to prove he was boss. So Dr. Lecter didn't have a toothbrush or toothpaste for a while during his time in the asylum. I figured that Dr. Lecter was gonna need to replace those caps sooner than later once he was out. Man like him wouldn't bother to go to a dentist. He's a doctor himself, he's pretty smart. And really it's just fine sculpting. He's done that before. I figured he would either read up and figure out how to make a cap himself, or maybe capture and torture a dentist into telling him."
Dr. Lecter sighed. He had indeed learned to make his own crowns with the use of a few books on dentistry and an old, retired Brazilian dentist who had been willing to show him how it was done. Some people might think it bizarre, but he had also done his own facial surgery, which struck him as more drastic. Yet Charlene assumed that his means of coping with the world was with torture and brutality. Did she think he went to the grocery store and tortured the cashier in lieu of paying? Or slaughtered his barber after getting a haircut? Honestly, he was not anything resembling the innately bloodthirsty monster she believed him to be. But he let her continue with it.
"If he had the right tools and the right materials, he'd be set. And he could afford them all. I figured he made one set in the first year after his escape and then would need to get more in maybe five or ten years. It was coming up. So I tracked dental supplies for stuff you use to make crowns. Most dentists would have multiple orders, every month or couple of months. I found a few going to Argentina that hadn't ever been ordered before. Matched everything else that was pointing to Argentina too."
Hmmm, Dr. Lecter thought, and made a note to actually break down and obtain the services of a dentist. The crowns he had made were top notch, but he didn't want someone else to figure out what Charlene had. If she had figured it out she would have left notes. Charlene had already piggybacked on her aunt's old notes. A third person pursuing him would have the benefit of both women's work.
After a few days, she became a bit more trusting. Dr. Lecter backed off her medication a bit, allowing her closer to the borders of lucidity than before. He had little concern that she would realize where she was or who was with her. She was closer to awareness than she had been, but was far enough away from it to cause any problems.
It occurred to Dr. Lecter that not only had he been denied the presence of Mischa in his life, but he had also been denied meeting any of the children she might have borne.
On the fourth day, Dr. Lecter went out in order to take care of a few things. He wanted to take Charlene's therapy to another level. She was coming along nicely, he thought. Besides, this would be fun. He was away most of the day and did not return until after dinner. Charlene and Clarice had already eaten, and that was fine by him. The formal dinner would not be until later in Charlene's therapy.
Dr. Lecter's intent in her therapy was not to take her with him. He had Clarice and was happy with her. Instead, rather, his intent was to do what psychiatrists were supposed to do: help her through the morass of her problems. She had been obsessed with capturing him. She had put her faith in Jack Crawford who had used her as an effective tool. She had been forced to confront that her black-and-white worldview did not allow for reality.
After eating himself, Dr. Lecter brought Charlene down to the living room of the quiet, rural house he had selected as a hideaway. Compliantly, she sat down in the heavily padded recliner when he asked her to. She wore flannel pajamas, a robe, and shearling-lined slippers. They were a bit too big on her and made her look about twelve. Clarice sat nearby on the couch, ready nurse to his doctor role. Therapy would be here today. Occasionally, Dr. Lecter would bar Clarice from the therapy sessions, since it was absolutely necessary that Charlene be able to discuss anything, including those things that might upset Clarice to hear. Today was different and so there was no need to guard against such niceties.
"Charlene," Dr. Lecter asked kindly, "would you care to tell me about why you fear Dr. Lecter?" Referring to himself in the third person was necessary ever since he had created the disconnect.
Charlene twitched.
"He's…he's evil," Charlene said.
It was direct and to the point, but it wasn't much help. Dr. Lecter sighed.
"What is it that he does that is evil?" Dr. Lecter asked.
"He kills people," Charlene answered.
"Do you think killing is wrong?"
Her eyes slid to half-open and stared owlishly at him. "Of course it is. You can't just kill people."
"Can you torture them?" Dr. Lecter asked reasonably.
"No, you can't," Charlene answered. "That's just…wrong."
Dr. Lecter nodded. "So, then," he said. "If someone tortures another, is it just to punish them?"
"Course it is," Charlene replied.
Dr. Lecter smiled and put an avuncular hand on his niece's shoulder. "Allow me to show you something, then." He strode out of the room and was gone for a few minutes.
When he returned, he was wheeling a long cart covered over with a sheet. Something under the sheet struggled mightily. The white cotton puffed and billowed. Dr. Lecter went back into the hallway and came back with a portable electroshock machine he had purchased on the Internet. He pulled back the sheet with a flamboyant gesture, pleased with himself.
Dr. Raymond McQuerry lay strapped on the gurney. A tongue pad had been forced between his teeth. His eyes were wide with fear. He saw Clarice and clamped his eyes shut. He stared at the drugged woman in the recliner with desperate hope.
"Dr. McQuerry tortured Clarice," Dr. Lecter said. "It is true, in mitigation, that he did not do so of his own accord. He was instructed to do so. Nonetheless, as a psychiatrist, it is his duty, first and foremost, to see to the safety and well-being of his patient. Do you agree with that?"
Charlene nodded and stared blankly at the men before her.
"He did not care for the safety of his patient, Charlene. He tortured her. Should he not be punished for that?"
He could tell that even despite the drugs, she realized on some level what he meant to do. Something in her was fighting it. She paused.
"I guess," she began.
"Very well," Dr. Lecter said. He calmly picked up a cable and plugged one end into the electroshock machine and attached an electrode to the other. With a sponge, he began to apply conductive gel to the unfortunate psychiatrist's temple. He glanced up and noticed a brief, vicious smile on Clarice Starling's face. Fortunately, Charlene was seated so she could not easily see her aunt. Dr. Lecter had seated her this way deliberately. Yes, since Clarice had given in she was much happier.
"No," Charlene said. "Wait. Wait a minute."
Dr. Lecter halted and smiled.
"Was there something else you wanted, Charlene?"
"This…no, wait," she whispered. "This isn't right."
"Whyever not?"
It took her several moments to form a response. "If he's punished, he ought to get a chance to say his piece," she said finally. "And go to jail. Or get his license revoked."
Dr. Lecter sighed. "He has had a chance to say his piece, Charlene. We had a lengthy discussion on the drive down about proper uses of electroshock therapy. Secondly, Dr. McQuerry will almost assuredly not go to jail for what he has done. The deck has been stacked in his favor. A psychiatrist go to jail? When did that last happen? And suspending his license? That's barely a slap on the wrist for what amounts to deliberate torture."
She had no answer, but looked unconvinced and distressed.
"Do you care to hear his confession yourself? I'm sure he'd be willing to plead his case to you."
Charlene bit her lip. This was as Dr. Lecter had hoped. Paradoxically, he thought, this was both affirming and threatening her black-and-white view of the world. Affirming it in that Dr. McQuerry deserved punishment for his actions, as would any other criminal. Threatening it in that Charlene would not agree that it was right for her uncle to administer the punishment himself, here and now. McQuerry was nothing; a gray little man who meant not a thing in the grand scheme of things. But he could be useful in her therapy. This bit of show was for Charlene's benefit, not McQuerry's.
"Okay," Charlene said doubtfully.
"As you wish."
Dr. Lecter unbuckled the strap holding the tongue pad in Dr. McQuerry's mouth. He removed the device and allowed the other psychiatrist to work his jaw then.
"Now then," Dr. Lecter said commandingly. "Dr. McQuerry, pray tell Miss Starling what you told me in the car."
"I…I had to," McQuerry whispered. A drop of sweat dripped down his face. "It wasn't my idea. I swear to God."
Dr. Lecter grinned. "Specify, please, doctor."
"The electroshock treatments on Starling," the bushy-haired psychiatrist stammered. "I-I…I didn't have a choice. Crawford said if she didn't cooperate to use electroshock. Burn her out, he said. It was his idea. Please, you've got to believe me."
Charlene flinched when she heard her boss's name. Dr. Lecter waited patiently.
"So?" he asked.
"So what?" Charlene asked bluntly.
Dr. Lecter began to wedge the tongue pad back into place. "Because," he said calmly, "I shall not carry this out until you agree that it is the proper thing to do."
Charlene started, raising her hand to her face. "But…no, you can't. It isn't right."
"Why not?" Dr. Lecter asked.
She waited for a few seconds while trying to think. "Because…because that's not how it's done," she said. "You don't just kill people. You can't just kill people."
Dr. Lecter's eyes were hooded as he stared at his patient. "What if I don't kill him?" he asked mildly.
"You're not,…you can't. It's not right.," she said miserably. Dr. Lecter nodded. She couldn't quite put her finger on her objections. He could. Like Clarice before her, she believed in order. There was a certain way of doing things. Criminals should be punished, but by the system. Her faith in the system remained, despite the blows it had taken.
How limiting. There was no fun in that.
"Then what would be right, Charlene?" he asked.
She stopped and thought for a few moments. Dr. Lecter could almost hear the snap of drugged synapses trying to form coherent thought.
"Put him in jail," she said finally.
Dr. Lecter shook his head. "You know better," he said relentlessly. "If that would actually happen, it would be an acceptable answer. But it won't, and you know that. He will never go to jail for what he has done. Therefore, it lies to us to do what is right."
Charlene began to tremble. "But…but…frying his brain ain't right," she whispered powerlessly.
Clarice Starling arose and walked over to her niece. She put a calm hand on her uninjured shoulder. Her tone was like Dr. Lecter's: calm, understanding, not without sympathy, but relentless.
"Was it right when he did it to me, Charlene?" she asked. "I was terrified for my life. I thought I was going to end up some zombified, drooling freak. You telling me that just because a judge won't put him in jail he should get off scott-free?"
The extra emotional pressure of her aunt pointing out Dr. McQuerry's crimes against her made her face work. Dr. Lecter wondered if she might cry. After a moment or two, her eyes did begin to tear up.
"No," she said brokenly. But in her tone was some promise. She was being dragged kicking and screaming towards the inescapable conclusion, but moving towards it she was. Of course, Dr. Lecter allowed, the drugs in her system put her at a disadvantage in a debate.
"Well, then," Dr. Lecter said.
"Just do it anyway," Charlene burst out. "It doesn't matter what I say. You'll do what you want anyway."
Dr. Lecter shook his sleek head. "No. If you continue to maintain that Dr. McQuerry should not suffer the same fate he inflicted on Clarice, then I shall not. I fail to see why you feel that way. It's an eye for an eye, the oldest form of justice there is. In the absence of the process you prefer, there must be something."
She stared uncertainly at him. It wasn't any feeling for McQuerry that drove her. It was herself. Her own need for order and the system. Yet it was at cross-purposes: that same need required that the guilty be punished. Dr. Lecter waited to see which aspect would win.
"You…you cain't do it yourself," Charlene said. "Otherwise…otherwise next thing you know your neighbor's dog craps on your yard so you shoot your neighbor."
Which means that the system is illusory, and all the order you seek does not exist, Dr. Lecter thought."Not exactly," Dr. Lecter said, "you simply respond in kind. That is…overreaction. Now, Charlene. Choose."
"It's all right, Charlene," Clarice added. "He did it to me. He's just reaping what he sowed. I deserve justice, too, don't I?"
Between the drugs, confusion, and pressure, it was too much for Charlene Starling to bear. She cowered in her recliner, covering her head with her one free arm. Tears tracked her cheeks. Her hand trembled. And finally she caved.
"Okay!" she shrieked. "Fine! Zap him! Kill him! Do it! Just leave me alone!"
Dr. Lecter decided that was enough for today. He applied the electrode to Dr. McQuerry's temple and pressed the button on the electroshock machine. McQuerry's body arched against the straps as Clarice's had. Dr. Lecter found this very fitting. He held the button down for a few minutes and let it go. Dr. McQuerry went limp. Charlene flinched.
Nonetheless, Dr. Lecter had established what he set out to do. Therefore, some mercy was in order. Not for McQuerry, of course, but for his patient. He could finish the job later, once she was safely sedated and not forced to witness it.
He strode away from the drooling, limp form on the gurney and crossed to where Charlene sat in the chair. She was shaking. Her first baby steps away from the system, from order. They were never easy. But now he could begin the imprinting process.
"You did right, Charlene," Dr. Lecter said comfortingly, and patted her shoulder.
"I don't know what's right anymore," Charlene moaned.