Counterpoint
Yes, I know it rambles a little at times, but, its her story, not mine. A little something from Clarice's POV. Based in the beginning of 'Hannibal', within the days after the Drumgo incident. Its from novel canon, both SotL and Hannibal. As always, the characters are not mine, but belong to Thomas Harris.
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life and bid thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, wooly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek and He is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee.
Little Lamb, God bless thee.
'The Lamb' by William Blake
There are times at night when I still awake to hear the lambs screaming. Times when I find myself back in that bedroom with the rag rug on the floor. Nights when I awake, almost fearing to open my eyes to find the white light rimming the edges of the old barn door. On those nights, I can smell the exhaust of the refrigerator truck, the dew on the grass, the fear that hangs on the air as I approached the barn on silent feet. I can hear the wind brushing through the wire fences and through the trees, the idling of the engine, Hannah's anxious whicker. I can still hear the screams.
If I had stayed that night, I often wonder what would happen to me. Would I still have followed the long and tumultuous path that led me to the hallowed halls of Quantico? Or would I have become nothing more than my mother, a chambermaid in those dirty roadside motels, fending off my cart from bleach speckled crows. It is useless to question fate, since we cannot go back and take the path that wasn't traveled. I do know one thing for certain, if I could go back in time and take that path.
If I had ignored the screams of the lambs, if I had curled back into my bed, pulling the pillow and covers over my head to dampen their desperate cries, it would be different. For certain, I would not have been pushed to save them as I had been that night. I would have come to accept it, knowing it was a part of life on the ranch. Same as with the horses, as long as they didn't take Hannah from me. Life and death. It comes to all things, some sooner than others. It was no more than the hamburgers we cooked when we had the get-togethers. But I'm still not sure if I can bring myself to look, and I mean really look, at another living thing as food. I'll continue my feigned ignorance for now.
If I could see another living creature as just something meant to be killed and eaten, what would that make me? A monster? I've known my share of monsters, and I have seen the face of men who think nothing of killing another. Surely, skinning women to make one's self a 'vest with tits' is not the same as eating that woman, but it is close. Although, it stands to say, I've met a man who thinks nothing of eating the flesh of another human, or his liver, or sweetbreads. Or gleefully serving them to others.
By now most of the world knows about my acquaintance with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, MD. Well, they think they know. All they really know is what was thrown out there by the media. Especially the tantalizing pieces created by the Tattler. There are times when I wonder if Will Graham had this much trouble. Probably not, since only Krendler really seems to think that Lecter is gay. All that artsy-fartsy stuff. Krendler, if anyone knew what you were into, they'd think you not a Deputy Assistant Attorney General, but a redneck hick. You yourself sir are a corn-pone country hick.
But, Krendler's thoughts not withstanding, what kind of man would use his former patient as dinner? Making do with whatever was at hand? What? You didn't have some steaks or some chicken in your freezer, doctor? That brings me back to what I was saying about the different paths. Surely, if I had stayed behind on that night, I would have never met Lecter. I would have never set foot in the dungeon of the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I would have never encountered the likes of the late Dr. Fredrick Chilton. You realize that they still haven't found him? Obviously protective custody was not protective enough for Freddy. Nor would I have encountered a man who thought nothing of convincing another to swallow his tongue for offending me.
That's something that frightens me. What kind of man who has just met a woman, would literally kill for her. That's another thought that occupies many a night that would have been better spent sleeping. What did he see me as? Sex object, government pawn, dinner? I admit, I still feel like I was a mouse for him to bat at. Something the cat plays with, enjoying watching its prey before it settles down to dine on it. Wonderful thoughts.
But, the man killed for me. But he also killed for himself within the course of that case. He cut the face off an officer in Memphis, and put it on his own face. He held no remorse as he did so, none as he killed the ambulance attendants, and none when he took out the poor tourist. Five people in one evening. And for what? His freedom. He was given the chance of a lifetime and he took it. One night, and he was gone from my life.
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