Author's note:  Here we are, another chapter. We'll check in on Detective Pierce soon enough, but this chapter came out long enough as it was.  For now, Clarice gets her visit, the GD reads the paper, Erin is insecure, and our jailbirds adjust to their new freedom.

Today was the day.  Clarice was happy.  It was about the only damn thing she had to be happy about.  But today was the day.  Paul was coming today. 

                The prison officials didn't know Paul was an FBI agent.  They thought he was an attorney.  All the better, Clarice thought.  They'd get to speak in confidence.  Right under the noses of the screws, too.  That pleased Clarice.  She was sure it would gall Beck to no end. 

                The guards escorted Clarice into a small room with a table.  Paul was sitting at the table.  His suit was a bit flashier and more expensive than what most FBI agents wore.  He grinned at her with white teeth.  The guards took off her cuffs and told her to sit.  Clarice sat and waited until the guards slammed the door, locking them in. 

                "Thank God you're here," Clarice said. 

                Paul nodded and looked at her calmly.  He tipped his head and studied her carefully.  Clarice felt something twinge in her stomach. 

                "Is something wrong?" 

                Paul shook his head.  "Just looking atcha," he said.  "Trying to compare.  I gotta know you are who you say you are." 

                Clarice's mouth opened and her face worked.  "What…you mean…don't you believe me?" 

                "Turn your head," Paul said.  "Lemme see your profile, will ya?" 

                Clarice turned her head and stared at Paul as if he was her last hope.  Which, to be honest, he was.  Paul closed his eyes for a moment and seemed like nothing so much as a computer processing a big load of data.  Then he smiled and opened them again. 

                "Okay," Paul said.  "I know it's kind of weird.  I was comparing." 

                Clarice reached out and put her hand on his.  The touch of another human being who wasn't putting handcuffs on her was something she valued a great deal these days. 

                "Comparing what?" she whispered. 

                "I got a good memory," he said. "You know, photographic memory.  I remember images and such pretty good."  He chuckled. 

                "You're eidetic?" Clarice asked. 

                Paul waved his hands and grinned.  "Oooooh, them fancy Behavioral Science toims," he quipped.  "I guess so.  I remember you at the restaurant.  You were wearing a blue suit with gold buttons.  And little white circles around 'em.  Like ivory, I guess.  You've lost some weight since you got here.  But it's you." 

                "Good," Clarice said.  "Now how about getting me out of here?" 

                "I'm working on that," he said.  "I need your fingerprints."  He extracted a small ink pad from his inside jacket pocket and a fingerprint card.   Clarice stopped and worked her throat. 

                "Wait," she said breathlessly.  "You mean you're not getting me out of here?" 

                Paul stopped and exhaled.  "Not today," he said.  He put a hand on her arm. 

                "Look, I know," he explained.  "I really hoped you didn't get your heart set on getting out of here today.  But c'mon, how many times have you walked into a state prison and walked out with a prisoner?" 

                Clarice exhaled.  She should have known this, she told herself.  But part of her had hoped and prayed that she would get out of here today.  She slumped with visible disappointment. 

                "When, then?" she asked. 

                "Well," Paul said, "I gotta see what I can find out here.  If your fingerprints pop up, no sweat, I'll take you out of here in a couple days.  Just need a judge to sign off on it, it was a screwup.  I guess this DeGould chickie is gonna be hurting once they realize what she tried to pull." 

                Clarice leaned forward and grabbed his arm.  Outside, the guards watching leaned forward, as if Clarice meant to attack him. 

                "Wait," she said.  "What if they don't?" 

                Paul put his hands up.  "You think she swapped out your prints wit' this Brittany chickadee?" 

                Clarice nodded, her face open with fear. 

                "Clarice," Paul said, and smiled.  "Look.  I know it sucks big time here.  I know you're you.  And I'm workin' on it.  I promise.  But…but you gotta give me some time to do my work here. I'll get you out of here.  I just can't waltz out of here with you.  We gotta do this the right way.  I did a little bit of checking.  As far as the system thinks, Clarice Starling got pulled out of here three days ago, just like Mapp.  We gotta set the system straight, and to do that I gotta get my ducks in a row here." 

                "Paul, please," Clarice said nervously.  "You don't understand.  Rebecca DeGould did this to me.  She's not just doing this as a prank.  If she did this, she means to get me off the map once and for all."  Her own words reminded her of Paul's.  "And wait a minute…what do you mean, 'just like Mapp?'" 

                Paul sighed.  "I checked it out, Clarice, and look…I don't want you to get all upset, but…,"

                Clarice's eyes burned at the New York agent.  "But what, Paul?" she demanded.

                "I really…my job is getting you out of here."

                "But what, Paul?" Clarice stressed. 

                Paul DaSilva sighed.  He rubbed his eyes and made a brave face. 

                "I checked with the boys down in Miami," he said.  "According to the bad boys over at Broward CI, Anna Milsford – Agent Mapp's cover identity-- got into a fight with an inmate by the name of Kiera Washington the day before she was extracted.  An FBI agent from Washington flew down to get her.  The afternoon of the same day that you…her…whoever…was extracted.  Agent who pulled her out was Rebecca DeGould."  He sighed.  "They said when they pulled her out, that some other inmate in solitary was banging and kicking up a ruckus screaming that she was Ardelia Mapp." 

                Clarice Starling felt a wave of horror race through her stomach.  Tears rose to her eyes.  Rebecca DeGould had gotten her but good.  That, Clarice could deal with.   But she knew that Ardelia Mapp was suffering just as she was, and that was a thousand times worse.  DeGould didn't know Ardelia.  The only reason why she would target 'Delia in the first place was because of Clarice. 

                Her best friend was suffering a thousand miles away from her, and it was because of her.  She hung her head and began to sob brokenly. 

                Paul's arm was friendly on her shoulder. 

                "Hey, c'mon," he said.  "Buck up.  It'll all be OK." 

                Clarice's head snapped up.  She stared at Paul with agony in her eyes. 

                "OK?" she asked.  "OK?  I'm in prison and so is my best friend!  Some goddam vengeful bitch came after me and switched my identity with some kid doing twenty-five to life!  Now she's out living it up as me, and I'm stuck here.  It is not OK!" 

                Paul held up his hands.  "Clarice, kiddo, you gotta work with me here," he said.  "I believe you.  I do.  But I'm just one guy, you know?  I gotta do a couple things.  If nothing else pans out, I can take you into federal custody.  I just gotta do some groundwork.  Okay?  Trust me." 

                Clarice bit her lip as hard as she could to make herself stop crying.  He was right, the federal-agent part of herself told her.  DeGould hadn't just sprung this on her; she'd done her homework.  She had to let Paul do his.  And she couldn't fall into despair herself.  She had to fight. 

                "Paul, don't let them get me," she begged.  "I…I can't stand this, I really can't." 

                "I won't," he said.  "You just gotta give me some time, that's all." 

                She wiped her tears away and forced herself to be strong.  She had to be. 

                "Okay," she said. 

                "We'll win, Clarice.  I promise you that.  One way or another, we'll win." 

                Clarice nodded and sniffled. 

                "Did you find out anything about Brittany Tollman?" she asked. 

                "Oh, yeah," he said. 

                "Like what?"

                He shrugged.  "Her boyfriend and her went on some crime spree," he said.  "She said he kidnapped her.  Beat up on her.  Judge didn't buy it.  They shot some guy in a convenience store.  She testified against him and they gave her twenty-five to life.  What the hell do you care about her for, anyway?  She screwed you over." 

                "Can you get ahold of her?  Quietly?"  Clarice asked. 

                He shrugged.  "Well, I can try," he hedged.  "Don't you think your pal DeGould there is watching her?  And anyways, she's not gonna help you.  She's out.  That's all she'll want." 

                Clarice sighed.  "Maybe," she said.  "Maybe if we get ahold of her, we can do something." 

                "Clarice, c'mon," Paul said.  "I'll look into it for you, sure.  But if we catch her she's back here for twenty years.  She doesn't have any incentive to cooperate.  Besides, she's a criminal.  You think you can trust her?" 

                Clarice sighed.  "She looked kind of guilty, when they took her out," she said.  "Maybe she's got a conscience.  And maybe if she helps us, we can help her."    

                 Paul looked dubious, but didn't say anything. 

                "Okay," he said.  "I'm gonna have me a little chat with the lieutenant, see if I can get you out of lockdown at the least.  I'll be back, Clarice.  Keep your chin up.  This isn't gonna be forever.  I promise." 

                He rose then, and the guards entered to take her back to her cell.  Clarice went to her cell quietly. 

                I will not let them beat me, Clarice vowed.  I will win yet.

                The door of her cell slammed shut as if mocking that thought. 

                Dr. Hannibal Lecter sat at his desk, calmly reading the Tattler.  It was one of his favorite papers, even though it was so dreadful.  Reading the paper brought back memories.  Today's copy of the Tattler had an article that interested him.  PRISON SEX AND VIOLENCE SCANDAL, the headline screamed.  FEDERAL PROBE REVEALS HORROR AND VIOLENCE BEHIND BARS. 

                Dr. Lecter turned to the page the article was on and began to scan it.  His attention was attracted by the picture.  Two women in suits, walking calmly down the stairs of the Capitol building.  The caption read Agent Clarice Starling, returned from a deep-cover federal probe, testifies privately to Senator Allstyne about the sexual abuses taking place in the nation's prisons.   

                The woman on the right seemed vaguely familiar to Dr. Lecter.  He closed his eyes and consulted his memory palace.  One moment…ah, there it was.  Agent Rebecca DeGould.  Clarice's antagonist from the unpleasantries a few years ago, when Clarice had captured Erin.  But the woman on the left he had never seen before.  She looked like Clarice, he would freely admit that.  Anyone who did not know Clarice personally might be fooled.  Her hair was in the same style, and the curves of her face were close enough.  But Dr. Lecter had lived with Clarice Starling's face in his mind for years.  That was not Clarice. 

                Clarice Starling had turned him down, true, but then once she had captured Erin she had set her free.  Set both of them free.  She'd promised to leave them to their peace so long as Dr. Lecter killed no one else.  What was this, then?  Had Clarice been replaced in the Bureau, the Tattler would have stated the other agent's name.  That wasn't Clarice, but she was identified as such in the picture. 

                How odd.  Would Clarice need his help, perhaps? 

                His reverie was interrupted by the sound of small running feet.  Michael came running down the hall and appeared in the doorway of his den.  He was naked and wet, having just escaped from his bath.  Small wet footprints marked his progress from the bathroom.  He glanced down the hall and entered the den, standing proudly in front of his father.

                "G'day, Daddy," he said and beamed with accomplishment. 

                Dr. Lecter smiled at his son with some amusement.  The boy's wet hair was slicked back and gleamed like a pelt.  His eyes were the same maroon shade as his father's. 

                "Good day, Michael.  The proper term is 'Good day'." 

                Michael did not appear to understand.  Dr. Lecter feared he would never learn proper grammar.   All those insipid children's programs, Dr. Lecter thought. 

                "Michael, did you finish your bath?  It seems to me you escaped midway through." 

                The little boy giggled guiltily and attempted to crawl behind his father's desk.  Dr. Lecter grasped his son and waited.  A moment later, Erin came in from the hallway, her own hair wet and a towel in her grasp. 

                "Oh, there he is," she said.   "He got away from me when I was toweling him off." 

                "No!  No towel!  No bedtime!" Michael said, and seized his father's tie. 

                "Yes, dry," Dr. Lecter told his son.  "I'm afraid bedtime is here.  Now be a good boy and go along with your mother."  When Erin had the slippery child in the towel, Dr. Lecter set about freeing his tie from his son's grasp. 

                "Come on," Erin said.  "Time for PJ's and bedtime." 

                "Nooooo!" Michael protested, and his face squinched into a look of displeasure.  He held out his arms piteously towards Dr. Lecter as if hoping for a paternal pardon.

                "Don't look at me," Dr. Lecter said.  "It is bedtime, Michael."  He turned his attention to his wife.  "Your son seems to be quite the escape artist," he said. 

                Erin raised an eyebrow at him.  "My son?" 

                "Yes," Dr. Lecter assured her, "when he's naked and getting footprints on the floor, he's your son." 

                She chuckled.  As she shifted the struggling toddler, her eyes dropped to his paper.  When they came back up, they were not amused. 

                "Erin," Dr. Lecter said, knowing what she was thinking. 

                Her tone was brisk and businesslike.  "I'll just get him in his pajamas and then we'll talk about this later, Hannibal." 

                Dr. Lecter could hear his son's protests even through the bedtime rituals of pajamas, the bedtime story, and the final bidding goodnight to every object in the room.  For a moment he sighed.  Michael could be such a capricious little tyrant at times.  Three-year-olds had a great deal in common with the late Dr. Chilton, he decided.  Yet finally he was pacified.  He heard footsteps approaching his den and sighed. 

                Erin appeared in the doorway and crossed her arms at him.  Her face was a picture of hard displeasure.  She eyed him in a manner that reminded him of the judge who had found him insane all those years ago.  Dr. Lecter put his hands behind his head and waited for his sentence to be passed. 

                "So," she said briskly.  "Back to looking her up in the Tattler." 

                "Erin," Dr. Lecter said tolerantly, "I assure you, it's not what you think." 

                "Oh, really?" she said.  "You know, I had old boyfriends in college.  I don't keep a collage of them in my desk drawer."  She waited a moment before delivering a rebuke that needled Dr. Lecter rather more than he ever thought it would.  "It's tacky, Hannibal." 

                "Would you have a look at the article, please?" Dr. Lecter asked.  He tilted the paper so that she could read it.  She made no move to. 

                "Why? It's gonna be one of three things.  She killed a criminal, she caught a criminal, or it's a rerun article about her and us.  'FBI's KILLING MACHINE STILL TRACKING DOWN FIENDISH CANNIBAL COUPLE.'"  Her tone was mocking.  "And I don't even practice cannibalism."   

                "Not this one," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  But Erin was having none of it. 

                "I don't know why you still look up these articles about her," she said.  "Maybe I should remind you.  Clarice didn't go with you.  I did.  Clarice told you no.  'Not in a thousand years', as a matter of fact.  It wasn't Clarice who gave up her career and her name and everything she'd ever worked for so that she could be with you.  That was me." 

                "Erin, please," Dr. Lecter tried to interject.  Erin continued, ticking off her points on her fingers. 

                "I gave up my name for you.  I am listed on the FBI's web site because of you.  I have gone with you from country to country, switching names and identities and building our entire life from scratch so that I could be with you.  I was arrested, shipped across the Atlantic Ocean, and held prisoner at Quantico because I chose to be with you.  I bore you a son.  Clarice did none of that for you.  Clarice let you go, I know you're going to say that." 

                "That is no small thing," Dr. Lecter pointed out.  "And she let us go."

                "Neither was saving her life.  And you obsess over her and you cut out her picture and you hope she'll be in the next issue."  Tears glittered in her eyes.   "Every day, I wonder Is it enough now?  Has he been with me long enough that he's not going to obsess over her anymore?  Now have I given him enough?  And every time I see you flipping through…that trash tabloid…I have to wonder some more.  I have to ask myself if today's going to be the day you've decided you want her instead of me." 

                "Erin, you are my wife.  I have no plans to rekindle with Clarice.  It's you I want to be with." 

                "Is it?" 

                "Of course," Dr. Lecter assured her. 

                "Then I want something," she said. 

                Dr. Lecter supposed he knew what it was, but he decided to try anyway.  "What is it you want, my dear?" 

                "No more Clarice," she said.  "No more getting all moony over her in the Tattler.  It's been years since you last saw her.  There is a Sydney police detective who is pursuing us around.  Us, Hannibal.  You and your wife and your son.  So I want you to make a choice.  Either you get over Clarice…now…or you get on a plane and go back to the United States.  They'll probably throw you in an asylum for the rest of your life, or maybe prison.  You'd probably never see Michael or me again.  But you'd have your oh-so-precious Clarice, if she'll come and visit you, that is.  If you stay here with Michael and me, then fine, that's what I want, but I don't want to see you mooning over the Tattler again.  Ever.  I'm tired of living in her shadow.  No more." 

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "Erin, you're really overly insecure about this," he said.   

                "Make your choice, Hannibal," Erin repeated firmly. 

                Dr. Hannibal Lecter sighed and rolled back in his chair.  He closed the Tattler and then reached down for a lower desk drawer.  From it, he extracted a manila folder.  In it were several clipped-out articles and pictures.  Below that, copies of the letters he had sent to Clarice before. 

                Somberly, as if burying an old friend, Dr. Lecter put the copy of the Tattler in the manila folder.  Then he stood and walked from the room, beckoning for his wife to follow him.  The living room on the first floor of the house possessed a massive fireplace.  As the house was on the water, it could get cold at night even during the warm months.  A carefully built fire licked along the split wood. 

                Dr. Lecter stood for a moment and closed his eyes.  He should have realized this time was coming long ago.  Before Erin's capture, she had usually been tense about Clarice; since then, it had only gotten worse.  Perhaps someday Erin would accept that Clarice was not a threat to her in his eyes.  That it was possible to deeply care for someone while acknowledging that it was not meant to be.  But in the meantime, he would do this thing for his wife. 

                His arm came forward, and the manila folder sailed through the air.  For just a moment, a collection years in the making grazed his fingers.  Dr. Lecter stood calm and determined, not reaching to save it.  Then the folder landed in the flames. 

                Tongues of fire began to lick greedily at the cheap newsprint as soon as the folder landed.  Images of Clarice Starling he had collected over a decade began to blacken and curl. A copy of the picture of Clarice atop the lion's body leaped into the air as if trying to escape, but it, too, was devoured by the flames. 

                The honey in the lion, Dr. Lecter thought.  And yet the flames consume it all.

Then, in the course of a few seconds later, they were gone.  Black flecks and orange sparks were all that remained.  The manila folder lasted perhaps thirty seconds more.  He turned back to his wife, watching him mutely.

                "There you are, Erin," he said.  "Is that sufficient proof of my devotion?" 

                Erin let out a shuddering sigh and nodded. 

                "I'm sorry," she said brokenly.  "I just…you always get so moony over her, you stare at her pictures and get this look on your face, and I love you, and she doesn't, and I--,"

                "It's all right, Erin," Dr. Lecter said, and embraced his wife.  He supposed he could not exactly blame her; she had given up much more for him than Clarice ever had.  But he could not help but ponder  over the idea, even as he held his wife against him.  They had their own problems, to be sure.  He would take care of the nosy detective one way or the other.  But still.

                Why was Clarice misidentified in the paper?  Was she in trouble?  Something had to be awry; the Tattler had never misidentified Clarice before.  What if she was?  Could Erin be convinced to set aside her insecurities?  Would he be forced to choose between them?

                This whole thing was weird, Brittany Tollman thought. 

                Her leave form as Clarice Starling had been approved.  Miss DeGould was running Behavioral Sciences, and so she didn't have to be anywhere.  She and Kiera were at home, in the duplex.  They'd been having a regular old good time. 

                She was sitting on Clarice's recliner.  Kiera was sprawled out on the couch.  She found that she got along with Kiera very well.  Over the first day, they had sort of circled each other uncomfortably.  Like cellies, when you came down to it.  Except now they had a much larger space to share than either of them had ever thought. 

                They were quite similar, Brittany had found.  Both had been sentenced to unduly long prison sentences.  Kiera had gone down for murder too.  She'd said her boyfriend did it, but it hadn't done her any good.  Brittany believed her.  That was exactly what had happened to her.  She suspected that Kiera's boyfriend had hit her too, even though the black woman hadn't said so.  

                The judges who had sentenced Brittany Tollman and Kiera Washington to lengthy prison terms had both commented that they were dangerous, heartless creatures.  How surprised those esteemed men in black robes would have been to see them as they saw the duplex belonging to the two women they had switched with!  When DeGould had dropped off Brittany at the duplex, Kiera had been waiting there.  She'd ordered a pizza and gone out and gotten some beer to go with it, so that Brittany would have something to eat when she got in.  There was plenty of money in the house for pizza.  Kiera had been bubbling with excitement over the duplex and its wonders. 

                To a free-world observer, there was something both pathetic and wonderful about the excitement of the girls.  They squealed over Clarice's Mustang and Ardelia's red Mitsubishi in the driveway.  Cars!  They had cars!  In the duplex, they squealed equally excitedly over the showers. 

                "Look!" Kiera had said.  "There's a curtain!  You don't have to shower with a whole bunch of other people watching!" 

                "And you don't have to wear socks in the shower!" Brittany giggled.  "It's clean!" 

                The first night, they'd ventured out in the Mustang and gone out to DC.  Miss DeGould had left them some money for minor expenses.  Soon they'd have to get into the respective bank accounts of Clarice and Ardelia.  But for now they had some cash and they wanted some fun.  At the time, they'd been too excited by their newfound freedoms to think it odd that they were going through another woman's closet for something to wear.  They'd picked something short and tight, gone out to a club in the city, chatted up some guys, and considered themselves the queens of all creation. 

                The day after that, they'd both been forcibly reminded of the aftereffects of late-night partying.   They'd spent the day taking it easy.  In the afternoon, they'd bought some new clothes on Ardelia's credit card.  They'd also bought cell phones from a place in the mall.  They'd called out for pizza again at night, when the thought of food became less nauseating than it had in the morning.  Today, they'd gone out to Six Flags.  Two convicted felons giggling and squealing like schoolgirls as they rode the rides, stuffed themselves with greasy food, and played games on the midway.  One would have thought they were lifelong friends from how they acted around each other.  Rebecca DeGould had chosen her players well. 

                Now, though, they were tired.  All that walking around had exhausted them.   After showering and changing into clean clothes, they were parked in Clarice's living room.  The novelty of not having fungus and mold in the shower had worn off after three days of freedom.  Both girls were tired, but they were clean, happy, and free.  They sat in the living room, large glasses of soda pop nearby.  Flickering images from the TV painted their faces and made them look like ghosts. 

                "Hey, Britt?" Kiera asked from where she reclined on the couch.   Rebecca DeGould had forbidden them to use their own names in public.  But both girls were convicts, and petty disobediences had been their only ability to assert themselves for so long the habit was immured.  They'd do as Miss DeGould said when she was around, but when it was just them, they'd do as they pleased. 

                "Yeah?"  

                "You ever think about the people we switched with?" 

                Brittany Tollman considered.  "Sometimes," she said.  "I know Miss DeGould has it in for 'em.  Or just Clarice, I think." 

                "She must have a pretty big hate on for 'em, if she's gonna stick 'em in the hole," Kiera observed. 

                Brittany shrugged.  "I feel bad for 'em," she said.  "But Miss DeGould told me that Starling was a rogue agent.  That she did horrible things.  And they protected her because she was an FBI agent.  You know how it is.  Cops protect their own." 

                Kiera rolled over.  "Like what did she do?" she asked curiously. 

                Brittany's lips quirked.  "She said Starling worked her over with a crowbar," she said.  "You know that scar she's got on her head?  Starling did that.  And she said Agent Mapp was a lawyer and protected her.  And helped her out, too.  She also said Starling likes to beat up on prisoners once she's arrested them.  She kilt some woman in DC a couple years ago.  DeGould showed me in the paper.  The woman wasn't doing anything wrong, just holding her baby.  Starling shot her right in the head."  She shivered. 

                "You think she's telling the truth, though?" 

                Brittany shrugged again.  "She showed me pictures of that." 

                "Yeah, that's about what she told me," Kiera said softly. 

                "I mean, don't get me wrong, I feel bad for 'em, and it seems like they're getting screwed," Brittany said softly.  "But you know, they're not the first people who got screwed.  I mean, look at me.  Danny kidnapped me.  I didn't want to go with him.  He kidnapped me out of my apartment and did most of the robberies all by himself.  I thought he was gonna kill me.  Finally, he says do some of the robberies with me or I'll kill you.  So…I did.  Then he starts shooting the clerks.  They finally caught us just over the New York border from Pennsylvania.  Four cops close on this little gas station about two miles into New York.  They shot Danny.  I had a gun, I could've taken one of em out.  But I didn't.  I just put my gun down and my hands on my head and said, hey, don't shoot, I surrender." 

                Kiera watched her quietly and nodded. 

                "They cuff us both and drag us off.  I tell the cops my story, I said listen, he beat me up something fierce.  In Maryland.  I said, look, I didn't kill anybody, I'm a victim here too, you know.  I'll testify.  And I did.  My big reward for cooperating and helping put away Danny?  Twenty-five years to life.  That's the best they would do." She chuckled and snorted bitterly.  "I guess I put them bruises on myself and dislocated my own shoulder." 

                Kiera nodded.  "That's sort of like how it was for me," she said.  "Malik was my boyfriend.  He wanted to break into this ol' lady's house.  He thought she had money.  I wasn't even there.  I was outside in the car.  I had no idea she was gonna wake up.  I had no idea he was gonna kill her neither.   I offered to testify.  They got big-hearted and said they'd give me the opportunity to parole some day." 

                Brittany shrugged in a 'what can you do' gesture. 

                "See," she said.  "I feel bad for 'em, but it's not like they're the only ones in the world to get screwed over by the system.  And there's nothing we can do.  This is a second chance from goddam heaven as far as I'm concerned."  

                A knock at the door attracted both women's attention.  Brittany padded to the door in her new sandals and glanced outside.  Rebecca DeGould stood at the doorstep.  Compliantly, Brittany opened the door and let her in. 

                "Hello, Miss DeGould," she said quietly. 

                Rebecca DeGould grinned at her.  "Hello, Brittany," she said stridently.  "Kiera's here, isn't she?" 

                "Yes, ma'am," Brittany said.  "Right this way."   

                "Good." 

                Brittany led her benefactor into the living room.  When Kiera saw her, she stood up suddenly at attention.  Brittany knew the deal; it was hard to break prison habits. 

                "Ladies," Rebecca DeGould said.  "We have a bit of an issue.  It seems Clarice Starling got a visit from a lawyer today." 

                Brittany found herself trembling.  She didn't want to go back to prison.  This was her second chance. 

                "Um…um…I didn't do it," she whispered. 

                DeGould sighed and gave her a look.  "Of course you didn't, Brittany, you're not dumb enough to sacrifice yourself for Clarice Starling.  Now listen up, you two.  You are not to take phone calls here."  She noticed the two cell-phone boxes on the table and grinned.  "You got cell phones.  Good, that's a smart decision.  I want those numbers.  Do not take phone calls, do not answer the door unless it's me or Sneed.  Either stay back here or go out for the day."  She chuckled coldly. 

                "This isn't the end of the world, girls.  Don't get all nervous.  Clarice can get a lawyer; it won't help her.  Her fingerprints say she's you and so does the prison's DNA sample. That's all we need.  Things are going along just fine.  You just have to be careful, that's all." 

                Both girls nodded.  "Yes, Miss DeGould," they both chorused like schoolgirls. 

                "Also, Brittany, Lieutenant Beck says hi," DeGould continued.  She noticed the younger woman flinching when she spoke that name.  "He gave me a list of inmates that we can rely on to play along in order to give little Clarice a record for fighting.  I want you to check it out for me and tell me what you think."

                She handed over a list.  Brittany scanned it. 

                "Um, she's up for a transfer to Albion soon," Brittany stuttered.  "She'd probably play along…this one's a snitch, I'd be worried about her…this one ought to be OK, she wants visits with her kids and she'll do whatever she has to do to get it." 

                DeGould took it back and checked off the name Brittany had expressed doubt on. 

                "How about Ardelia?" Kiera asked. 

                "Tucked away in solitary, just as she was supposed to be," DeGould said.  She chuckled mercilessly.  "You're quite fortunate, Kiera.  It's a hundred and five degrees down there today.  And you know there's no fans in solitary." 

                Kiera shivered a bit, knowing perfectly well that Ardelia Mapp was locked up in a tiny concrete oven.  DeGould smiled coldly.  Better that her girls were afraid; they'd listen to her better. 

                "Girls, this is a minor thing, and we were planning to let Starling and Mapp out of solitary anyway, so they can get into fights.  Nothing has changed.  I just need you to be careful."  Her eyes scanned her two jailbirds calmly.  Perhaps the softer side would keep them on their toes. 

                "I think you ought to know just how dangerous Clarice Starling is," DeGould said.  "A few years ago, she arrested some people.  They got off on the charges, because Clarice didn't have a warrant.  When they walked, Clarice did…this to them."  

                From her purse, DeGould extracted a few case files.  These were from Hannibal Lecter's crime scenes.  She handed the pictures of mutilated bodies over to Brittany, who eyed them nervously and stared at them. She handed them to Kiera with trembling hands. 

                "Girls, just keep your heads about you and everything will be just fine," she said.  "Starling and Mapp are bottled up tight, and they're not getting out.  If you do what I tell you, they'll stay that way…forever."