Author's note: Yes, this chapter was a bit longer in the coming – the holiday times, 'Hannibal' on DVD (talk about distraction), a two-year-old with the sniffles who scored massive amounts of Little People and Blue's Clues toys which he promptly scattered all over my living room. But here we are.
For several days after that, Charlene continued her quiet, warm, pleasant existence in her bubble. There was no pain. As Dr. Lecter slowly began to introduce her to the concept that there was more to people than the simple white-hat/black-hat she had assigned them previously, he began to discover things he had not expected.
Charlene Starling had idolized her aunt for eight years of her life. She believed – rather reasonably – that Clarice had sacrificed her own life for hers, falling into the clutches of Dr. Lecter so that Charlene might live. Charlene had dedicated her life to bringing her aunt's murderer to justice. Clarice had become an icon to the younger woman, occupying the unreachable heights of the saint. He might have thought that feelings of resentment towards Clarice might have only been recent in origin.
But he was mistaken. Under the influence of hypnotic drugs and in deep hypnosis, she surprised him one day.
"Cain't hardly believe how stuck-up she is," Charlene said of her aunt. "She moved away and got herself all in with that hoity-toity Easterner crowd. Momma used to invite her home for the holidays. Every blessed year. She never came, not once. Too good for her own kin, I guess."
Interesting. It made sense, though. For most of Charlene's early life, her aunt had been an icon of rejection. Then, the McCracken incident, in which Clarice had gone a hundred and eighty degrees. Instead of being the woman who wanted nothing to do with her kin, she had sacrificed herself for Charlene. The snooty aunt had been replaced with the saintly aunt. Dr. Lecter had little doubt that it had been very confusing. Suddenly, the anger and resentment towards her aunt had to be violently suppressed. One cannot get angry with a saint.
So where had it gone? Not to McCracken; McCracken was a sad, pathetic shadow of his former self. Charlene had learned of his mutilation. He could not hurt her any more. No, it seemed it had gone to Dr. Lecter himself. Since Charlene could not be angry with the woman who had sacrificed herself, she had to direct that anger at the man who had killed her. No wonder she had caught him where others had failed. More interestingly, now that Charlene knew her aunt was alive, that resentment was coming back, but automatically blocked by the guards that had been in place for so long.
Would an apology suffice? After extensive probing of her mind, Dr. Lecter determined that it might. But she would need to be reminded that if it was Clarice's place to apologize, it was Charlene's to accept that apology and forgive. He suggested that to her a few times.
Yet it would take time. It was a process, after all. He could start it, but he did not have enough time to see it through. Perhaps, though, Charlene would be able to carry out the rest herself. The goal of Dr. Lecter's therapy was to diffuse her anger enough that he would not have her pursuing him.
Yes, Dr. Lecter thought, that would be useful. Definitely worth trying.
After a few more days of therapy, Dr. Lecter decided that this would be the best thing to do while he arranged for a few other things. Charlene's shoulder had healed nicely. He was able to discontinue use of the sling.
It was a fine summer day, and light streamed in the window. Dr. Lecter made a few brief arrangements with Clarice while Charlene napped a sedated nap upstairs. She had to understand her role. Normally, people were able to hide anger and resentment under the veneer of politeness and civility. Charlene would be unable to. It would be necessary. She would be no more able to dissimulate than she would be able to grow wings and fly out the window.
Clarice understood her role well enough. She had her own training in psychology, and she understood that she would have to be supportive and understanding. Vaguely she remembered pouring her heart out to Dr. Lecter, telling him things she had never told anyone. He'd been interested and encouraged her to continue.
Dr. Lecter's car drove away from the country house. He had his own work to do. Slowly, with some trepidation, Clarice Starling mounted the stairs and entered her niece's bedroom. Charlene was sitting up in bed, blinking owlishly. She looked at her aunt curiously as she entered. Next to her on the nightstand were several hypodermic needles lined up with military precision. A sheet of paper under them bore instructions on their use.
Clarice swallowed. "Hi, Charlene," she said, and summoned a nervous smile.
"Aunt Clarice," Charlene said, still seeming drowsy. The tranquilizer Dr. Lecter had given her had not entirely worn off yet. "How're yew?"
"All right," Clarice said. "Dr. Lec—your uncle," catching herself, "wanted me to give you these shots. He said we ought to talk."
"I need shots in order to talk?" Charlene asked, puzzled.
Yes, Clarice thought, you do. Dr. Lecter explained it to me. You have to be able to talk about things you won't talk about normally, especially in front of me. She smiled pleasantly. "It's what your uncle said, honey. He's a doctor. He knows best."
But Charlene allowed her aunt to give her the injections without complaint. Dr. Lecter's notes indicated they would require ten minutes or so to take effect, and that Clarice should try and keep her niece calm while they did.
"How's your shoulder doing?" Clarice asked.
"It's all right," Charlene said. "A little sore." Her eyes became slightly watery as they focused on Clarice. "Aunt Clarice, how come you shot me?"
Clarice let out a sigh. "I had to," she said. "I had no other choice. Charlene, you were hysterical. Don't you remember? You were going to kill a man who was on his knees, no harm to anyone. I couldn't let you do that. It wasn't right."
Charlene thought about that fuzzily for a moment. The drugs seemed to be taking effect. She seemed more befuddled than she had been.
"And what Uncle did to McQuerry was?" she asked.
Clarice shrugged. "Sort of."
Charlene shook her head slowly. "No, it wasn't," she said. "It wasn't justice, even though you and him both said it was."
Clarice swallowed. Here she had to be careful. "Well, then, that's okay that you think that," she said delicately. "What do you think it was, then?"
Charlene stared glassily at the wall. "Revenge," she pronounced. "It was revenge."
Clarice didn't know what to say. There wasn't much that she could say.
After a few minutes, Charlene's body relaxed under the influence of the drugs. It was odd to watch. She lay slack and relaxed in her bed, staring blankly at the wall. Clarice cleared her throat and reached for a silver kettle on the dresser. She put it on the nightstand where Charlene could see it and asked her to look at it. Clarice knew a bit about hypnosis from her own college years, and it proved not to be terribly difficult to put Charlene under. After all, she had been more or less under hypnosis for the past several days.
Once she was satisfied, Clarice cleared her throat and began.
"Charlene," she said warmly, "I want to talk to you now. I want you to tell me about why you're so angry." She licked her lips. "Whatever you want to say, it's OK. Even if it's about me. You can be totally honest. It's all right."
Charlene twitched. She appeared to be thinking, at least as far as the drugs would let her.
Perhaps she needed to be more direct. "Charlene, are you angry at Dr. Lecter?"
"Yes," Charlene said in a childlike tone.
"Why are you angry with him? Can you tell me why?"
"He took Aunt Clarice," Charlene said. "He took her and he brainwashed her. I thought he killed her."
Clarice took a deep breath. She felt like a woman walking through a minefield. "How about me?" she asked. "Are you angry with me?"
Charlene did not answer for a few moments, clearly struggling with the answer.
"Yes," she said crossly.
Clarice sighed. This was to be expected, Dr. Lecter had told her. She had to hold back her urge to defend herself or argue. You must be the mature one, now, Clarice, he'd said. If you don't, you might easily do worse damage. If that's what you want, we can do that. It would be quite easy to damage her to the point that she wouldn't be able to function outside of an institution. I didn't think that was what you wanted.
And he'd been right in his assumption. She didn't want Charlene to suffer any more or damage her worse. He had given her Charlene's life as a gift. She didn't want that to be wasted.
"Why are you angry with me?" she asked. A beat or two of silence followed. Charlene sighed.
"Cause," she said. "You always thought you were better than us. Better than momma and me. Ran off East and never looked back. An' always acted like we were the hillbilly kin. Momma invited you home for the holidays ever year. You never showed. You hardly ever called. Like you were embarrassed of us."
"I…I was sorta thoughtless," Clarice hedged.
"Couldn't stand your low-rent relatives," Charlene grumbled.
Easy, Clarice. She couldn't hold this back even if she wanted to.
"Charlene," Clarice began, "Now that's not totally true. There's some of it. And I admit that, and I'm sorry. I was in the FBI. It's a lot of work. Hell, you ought to know that. And well…you also gotta remember. I sort of resented your mom. I was the oldest. She was the baby. When our dad died, I had to go and live in Montana. Then…well, that didn't work out so well, so I was sent off to the orphanage."
Even drugged, Charlene seemed to be interested. Clarice suspected she hadn't heard the story before. Patty had been very young when Clarice had been shipped off to Montana.
"It wasn't easy…there I was in an orphanage, all by myself, and your mom was at home, with Mama taking care of her. She didn't want for a thing. I was the one on my own. So I resented her…for that. What a chance she had. And then she went…went and got pregnant with you, so young." Now she had to tread carefully. "When your mom was your age, Charlene, you were eight and in third grade. I never had anything against you, hon, but I…I mean, c'mon, you haven't been pregnant at fifteen, so I think you can understand what I'm saying."
Clarice wondered for a moment if her words were going to reach Charlene. Was this going to work? She hoped it would. Dr. Lecter had told her it probably would.
"Charlene, I've never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry if I did. Now I can be sorry about that until the cows come home. It's up to you to forgive me or not. I can't make you, but I hope you do – for both me and for you. I never wanted you to follow me into the FBI. It's just…I was miserable in the FBI. I don't think you'll be happy there either. I don't think you are happy there, either. I'm going to go with…your uncle because that's what I have to do to be happy. I'll talk to you when I can, but I can't always do that. It's part of the territory."
"You think you're better'n me," Charlene said bitterly.
Clarice shook her head. Here, she was surer-footed. Any belief that she might be better or smarter than Charlene had been erased once Charlene's efforts had resulted in the capture of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. "I never thought that, Charlene. Not for a minute. Look, both of us tried to catch Dr. Lecter. You got him. I didn't. That's that – plenty of people tried to catch Dr. Lecter. Only ones who ever pulled it off are Will Graham and you."
She leaned forward and put her hand on her drugged niece's shoulder.
"Charlene, you've done things nobody else did. When I was your age I got Dr. Lecter to talk to me about Buffalo Bill and I called it good. You can do anything you want. What I don't want is for you to pick up a life that I didn't want for myself. Or for you. I know you thought Dr. Lecter killed me. But he didn't. And I'm going to go and live my own life, and I want you to live yours. I don't want you to go through the same things I did. Hitting the glass ceiling, having to deal with people who work you to death and give you nothing in return. That life sucks. I left it. If that's what you want, then fine, but I don't think it is. I think you did it because you wanted to catch Dr. Lecter, and you've done that. Nothing since then reflects on you. You're still young. Take some time, Charlene. Decide what you want to do." She paused.
"I want you to be free, Charlene."
Charlene pondered on that for several moments. Her face seemed thoughtful.
"So what do I do?" she asked.
Clarice shrugged. "What do you want to do, Charlene?"
A knock at the door interrupted her. She looked over to see Dr. Lecter standing in the doorway.
"Pardon me," he said calmly. "I've taken care of the things I needed to."
Clarice smiled guiltily. "Okay," she said, not sure what he meant.
"I'll allow you two some more time. Dinner will be at eight. That should give you a few hours to work things out."
Charlene Starling shifted on her bed and eyed her uncle calmly. "What's for dinner?" she asked.
Dr. Lecter smiled. "You never ask, Charlene," he told her calmly. "It spoils the surprise."