Author's note: I know a few people had been campaigning for an angsty H/C scene, and we'll get there in the next chapter. (You know who you are.) But for now, Clarice and the GD are together…but elsewhere, things are not working out quite as well…
It was about twenty minutes until they came back to her cell. Clarice saw a few faceless, grinning guards and ignored them. Then there was Dr. Lecter. She grinned calmly and put her arms out of her food slot in order to be cuffed. Dr. Lecter grinned back at her. This had to be just so amusing for him. After all these years, she was the one in the cell.
Calmly, Clarice walked down to the infirmary. She worked her face into an expression of pain for the guards' benefit. Once there, the guards took her cuffs off and left the two of them alone. Dr. Lecter gestured grandly to the table.
Clarice grabbed him around the neck as tight as she could. Pure gratitude bolted through her. She held him tight for a few moments. Then it occurred to her that he was married, and she let him go.
"You came," she whispered, a lump heavy in her throat.
"Yes." Dr. Lecter sought to maintain a professional demeanor.
"How?"
Dr. Lecter chuckled. "Prisons often have difficulty finding doctors who are willing to work there," he explained. "As you've noticed, the quality of care is atrocious. Erin would be scandalized to see what the prisons provide.
Clarice nodded.
"As a result, it is relatively simple to be hired on – all one needs is a pulse and a valid license to practice, and there you are. Now tell me, does your stomach hurt there?" He pressed her abdomen.
Clarice shook her head.
"Are you sure? It's quite painful, isn't it?" He jerked his head at the door. Beyond that lay the guards.
Oh. Duh. "Oh, yes," she said. She let out a pained wail. The guards leaned in the doorway. Dr. Lecter waved them off.
"It's all right," he said.
He puttered around for about ten minutes more, deliberately wasting their time. Then he rose and walked outside to the door, glacially calm and dignified.
"This inmate is in severe abdominal pain," he said. "Possibly an ectopic pregnancy, or perhaps appendicitis. I am ordering you to obtain an ambulance and transport her to the hospital."
The guard nodded. "Sure thing, doc," he said.
Dr. Lecter eyed the guard coolly for a moment, as he was not fond of being called 'doc'. But it was not worth the effort now. Now it was time to get Clarice free. After that…they would see.
It took perhaps fifteen minutes for an ambulance to be dispatched to the prison. Clarice lay back on her cot and loudly wailed and cried out her pain. Dr. Lecter seemed to find this all terribly amusing.
It was so damn easy, Clarice thought. All of Rebecca DeGould's plans laid at naught. All these gates and bars and walls…and all she needed to get out of here was a sympathetic doctor.
They loaded Clarice into the ambulance. Dr. Lecter hopped into the ambulance with her. The guard glanced at him.
"I'll be back shortly," he said. "I just need to ensure this inmate's safety."
The guard blinked in befuddlement, as if caring for an inmate's health was an alien concept.
Dr. Lecter sat back and calmly issued a series of orders to the medical team. He glanced out the porthole and waited until they had cleared the front gate of the prison. Then, he struck.
The two paramedics working on Clarice were easy prey. Dr. Lecter grabbed the first one and smashed his head against the metal table. He fell unconscious without another word. Without missing a beat, Dr. Lecter grabbed the second by the throat. His strong fingers clamped around the paramedic's neck and began to squeeze. A few minutes later he, too, fell limp.
To take out the driver was a simple matter, and Dr. Lecter slipped behind the wheel and assumed control of the ambulance. He drove down a bit to a parking lot, where he pulled the ambulance into a space and slipped out of the car. Clarice unbuckled herself from the stretcher and joined him.
A small, trim Toyota sat waiting nearby. Dr. Lecter gestured to it. From his pocket he withdrew a set of keys. Clarice grinned at him as he opened her door. Once in the car, Dr. Lecter handed her a sweatshirt and a wide-legged pair of jeans.
"Thank you," Clarice said softly.
"You're quite welcome, Clarice. Seeing you again was well worth it." He chuckled. "Although I never did suspect that I would see you in a prison cell."
"It was an undercover mission," Clarice explained. "DeGould backstabbed me. Switched my identity with another inmate. God only knows what she was planning to do to me."
"I suspect it would not have been good," Dr. Lecter quipped. His hands were firm on the wheel. Clarice noticed a gold wedding band on his left hand and inhaled sharply.
"So…," she said, and felt lame. But she had to say it. Things had changed between them. "So how are you? And…and Erin, and your baby?"
"We're doing relatively well," Dr. Lecter said. "Michael is three now. He's into everything. There's a bit of an issue going on at home, but perhaps you'd be willing to help us out there, for old time's sake. We'll get to that, though."
The drive from Bedford Hills to New York City was not terribly long, and the traffic moved nicely. As they drove, Clarice ran down what Rebecca DeGould had set afoot for her. It was far easier to discuss that. There were too many mines laid in other paths to risk going down them now.
"So," Dr. Lecter said, "tell me about this Brittany girl."
Clarice shrugged. "She swapped with me," she said indifferently. "Not much to tell."
"I would suspect therein lies your best chance of defeating your enemies," Dr. Lecter said. "Detective work may not suffice; Agent DeGould is a far more dangerous adversary than Mr. Krendler ever was. He was largely a mid-level bureaucrat with an essentially rudimentary grasp of power politics. She seems far more malicious and capable of planning. If she's covered enough of her bases, you'll need a witness to clear this all up. I would not be surprised to hear that she has. Take her pawns, Clarice. You'll need them. Both, if you can get them." He chuckled.
Clarice sighed. "I'll have a look and see," she said. "Maybe she'll deal. Maybe she won't."
"Do you hate them?"
Clarice paused. "No," she said shortly. "DeGould waved freedom under their noses. She knows how to prey on despair."
"Then you must find them, and force that despair to work in your favor rather than DeGould's."
Clarice nodded, the dash lights reflecting back green in her face. "I figured," she said.
"And do not under any circumstances let them bring her back here," Dr. Lecter advised. "Charles DeGould runs a major brokerage house in Manhattan. This is Rebecca DeGould's base of power. In Virginia, you have allies. Here, she can slide around you with a few telephone calls to the right bureaucrats. Keep away from New York, Clarice, and keep your little doppelganger out of here too. Sending her back here would be no different to sending her to Rebecca DeGould with a ribbon around her neck."
"You sound awfully concerned about her," Clarice quipped.
Dr. Lecter sighed. "Now you sound like Erin," he said. "My sympathies do lie with anyone who escapes incarceration. Nonetheless, Clarice, you must think tactically. Make no mistake; Rebecca DeGould has gone to war with you. Win the war first; then you may assuage your strong sense of right and wrong."
The lights of New York City lay ahead like a fabulous diamond. Dr. Lecter picked up the Major Deegan Expressway and gained access to Manhattan with little difficulty. Clarice found herself not surprised when he pulled up by the Four Seasons hotel in midtown Manhattan. It was quite elegant and remarkable. Dr. Lecter offered her his arm, as if she was dressed in a fine ball gown instead of a sweatshirt and jeans over a prison uniform.
Dr. Lecter's suite was as wonderful as she had thought he would choose. Then again, after the bare little concrete cell she had been held in for the past few weeks, anything would have seemed like paradise. There were windows. Now, for the first time, she truly understood why he had seen fit to mention that in his letter. She ran greedily over to the window and pulled the curtain aside to enjoy the twinkling lights of the city. The glass was cold against her palms and nose. She watched the lights and traffic with the undisguised glee of a child.
"It is lovely, is it not?" Dr. Lecter smiled. "Perhaps you might enjoy a shower, Clarice. I'll call room service for some dinner."
The bathroom was tiled with white marble, and the floor wasn't covered with mold and fungus. She didn't have to share with twenty other naked women. Clarice found herself singing in the shower despite herself.
When she got out, there was a silk dressing gown hanging from the door hook. She slipped into that and walked out. Dr. Lecter was puttering around the table, which was set for two with a fine meal. Clarice had spent the past month eating food that was barely fit for human consumption, and in stingy proportions. Her stomach growled audibly at the sight of the food. Dr. Lecter grinned.
The meal was every bit as excellent as she had hoped. There was so much of it. She thought about what she'd told Dr. Lecter about Brittany in the car. She couldn't hate the girl; it was DeGould's fault. But for now she didn't want to worry about that.
"Thank you," she said softly, smiling over her glass at Dr. Lecter.
"You're quite welcome, Clarice," he said. "Did you ever think it could be like this?"
For a moment, pain stabbed them both, knowing that it was too late. He could offer her this opulence and gratitude once, but he could not offer it to her permanently. Clarice glanced out over the New York skyline and thought about the choice she had made.
"I know now," she said softly. "We have…a lot to talk about. About you and me."
…
Night in the quiet, blue-collar neighborhood was quiet. Working-class people dwelled here, and they needed their sleep. At two o'clock in the morning, the duplex was peaceful. A silver Audi with New York plates hummed down the street and pulled quietly into the driveway. The lights flared red once, and then the woman inside got out and walked carefully to the door. She rang the doorbell and waited impatiently.
Brittany Tollman awoke when she heard the bell. Five years of prison had accustomed her to being woken up at all hours. Even eight hours of uninterrupted sleep was a luxury. She blinked owlishly as she approached the door, wearing Clarice Starling's robe and Clarice Starling's slippers. When she saw her patron waiting outside, her eyes widened.
"Miss DeGould," Brittany said sleepily. "What're you doing here? It's..," she glanced over at the clock. "It's two in the morning."
"I know," Rebecca DeGould said. "Open the door and let me in. We have a problem. Get Kiera up, too."
Brittany blinked again and proceeded over to Kiera's side of the duplex. A few moments later, the black girl was up as well. They stood and stared at their benefactor mutely.
"Girls," Rebecca DeGould said. "We have a bit of a problem. It seems Clarice Starling has escaped from prison."
Brittany Tollman's eyes widened and her knees gave out. Tears rose to her eyes. She collapsed into a chair, shuddering. Her second chance, so dear and precious to her, all teetering on the brink. Were they going to send her back to prison? She'd rather die.
Besides, Starling would kill her if she ever caught her. She'd seen the pictures. Clarice Starling was goddam dangerous. A serial killer with an FBI badge, Miss DeGould had said. There was a serial killer who was pursuing her now, out and free. Behind her, Kiera put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulders, unconsciously mimicking Ardelia Mapp much better than she ever would have thought.
"Oh, spare me the melodrama," DeGould snapped. "The situation is not hopeless. Honestly, Brittany. Whenever something goes wrong you fix it. No wonder you landed in prison. Go out to my car. There are two white bags in the back seat. Bring them both in. Both of you. Now, move!"
Brittany and Kiera walked out to the car. Stacked in the back seat were two long black plastic bags. A zipper ran up the middle. Brittany grabbed one. It was damn heavy, but she managed to drag it back without too much struggle. There was something way heavy inside, something that felt hard and unyielding. Like a metal bar.
She was tired and afraid. There was a lunatic bent on revenge after her. Oh God, hopefully Miss DeGould would protect her. So it might be forgivable that she did not realize what she was carrying until she got it in the house and dropped it on the floor. Rebecca DeGould grabbed the zipper in the middle and pulled it back to reveal the pasty gray face of a dead woman.
Behind her, Kiera dropped her body bag and screamed piercingly. Miss DeGould scowled and reached in. Her hand flashed up, and a flat crack echoed in the room. The coffee-with-cream color of Kiera's cheek began to darken in the shape of Rebecca DeGould's hand.
"Don't you scream," Rebecca DeGould said angrily. "Do as I tell you, goddammit. Unless you want to end up in the hole in Chowchilla."
Tears began to blink into Kiera's eyes, and this time it was Brittany's turn to comfort. DeGould rolled her eyes. They were so goddam sentimental.
"OK, girls," she said. "Get those bodies in the beds and out of the body bags. Now. We have to return them to the morgue."
Brittany stared at the corpse on the floor. Her lip curled away from her teeth in helpless distaste. DeGould pursed her lips.
"If you think it's so gross," she said, "you might prefer cleaning toilets back in Bedford Hills. Now move!"
The threat of incarceration did the trick. Brittany began to sob, but she grabbed the body bag and began hauling it back to the bedroom. Kiera did the same. DeGould nodded with satisfaction and began to open the duplex's windows. While she worked, she took out her cell phone and called Sneed.
"Hi," she said. "Are you in position?"
The connection was crackly and poor. But he answered yes. Rebecca had bought a house across town. A foreclosure. It had been dirt cheap to buy. Now, he would be setting that house on fire for her. The Fire Department would answer that call first, giving Clarice's duplex an extra ten minutes or so in which to burn. Good. Satisfied that Sneed would carry out his part, she continued on with hers.
Brittany returned to the kitchen, holding the bag in front of her as if it contained distasteful material. Tears tracked her face. DeGould supposed she didn't like handling a dead body. That was just too goddam bad; did she think her second chance had come for free? Absolutely not.
Rebecca DeGould's heels tapped a staccato against the wooden floor and then a more muted version as she went down the basement stairs. She opened the basement windows on Clarice's side of the duplex. Yes, things would start here. There was paint thinner and other chemicals down here that would get the party rolling quite nicely. Just in case, she headed back to her car and retrieved a gas can filled with five gallons of gasoline. She sloshed it around the basement, creating quite a stink.
After that, she double-checked to make sure the twits had put the bodies in the beds as she had commanded. It would have made more sense to shoot the girls themselves and leave their bodies to be found in the blaze, but she liked this better. For one thing, it would mean that Brittany and Kiera would remain under her thumb for the rest of their lives. She liked that sort of power. Besides, you never knew when you'd need them.
"All right, girls," she said. "Pack your stuff. We're moving out."
The girls took far too long to get whatever stuff they'd bought packed up, but eventually they complied. Brittany looked at her with wide eyes.
"What are you gonna do, Miss DeGould?"
DeGould smiled coldly. "We're going to torch this place," she said. "Just to make sure. If there's any place Clarice's DNA can be found, or anything that can identify her, it'll be here. By taking out this place, we'll make sure that she can't use it." Her eyes gleamed maliciously at Brittany. "Trust me, kiddo. If Clarice Starling is free, the first person she is going to target is you."
Brittany blanched.
"And if she gets ahold of you…you know it's not going to be pretty. She'll take needle-nose pliers to your tender parts, little Brittany. She is a dangerous, sadistic woman and she has no mercy. So we're going to do whatever it takes to make sure she gets caught again. Listen to your Auntie Rebecca, Brittany. You'll never go wrong if you do as I say."
Brittany blinked. "But…but what about the cars?" she asked.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," DeGould said irritably. "Screw the cars! You don't need them. We'll arrange for something. You two will stay with me." She saw a manila folder on the table.
There are times when small things take on much greater import than they would have in the normal scheme of events. A driver may go through a yellow light only to kill a pedestrian two blocks down the road, whereas had he waited the pedestrian would have crossed the road unmolested. A police officer stops a car for having no license plate; the driver turns out to be wanted for a major crime. This was one of those times. Rebecca DeGould did not grab the folder. If she had, Clarice Starling's fingerprint card might have fallen out of it. She would have left it to perish in the flames along with everything else Clarice Starling owned.
But she did not. Instead, she pointed at it.
"Get your goddam folder, Brittany. What is the matter with you?"
Brittany picked up the folder and stuffed it into the bag she had packed her things in.
"Go out to the car. Both of you," DeGould directed. The girls complied.
A great cool feeling of calm washed over Rebecca DeGould. Clarice had broken free, but she would not have this place. DeGould had invaded her home as she saw fit. Now…it would all be destroyed. Clarice Starling would be considered Brittany Tollman, a dangerous felon. Her recapture would likely be a matter of course.
DeGould had planned to get everyone she could down to Sydney, since it seemed that Dr. Lecter was down there. Starling's escape had put that on the back burner. Had the doctor helped her, she wondered? She didn't think so. He had his wife. He had abandoned Clarice. Starling had probably turned tricks for a guard or something. The thought of that was immensely pleasurable.
We'll get you, DeGould thought. You started this but I'll finish it. When I'm done with you, you'll be begging for the opportunity to ho for prison guards.
But she had a job to do. Her footsteps rattled on the basement floor. She had a plastic bag under her arm. From it she extracted several rags. The aroma of paint thinner struck her nostrils. She carefully put the rags in a neat pile near an electrical outlet mounted high on the wall. Under the rags was a curling iron, and she plugged that into the wall.
For just a moment, Rebecca DeGould looked around her. She wondered if Starling would try to make it here now that she was out. There was simply no way she could. Rebecca had gotten the call telling her of Starling's escape at midnight. Starling had been taken out around six PM. Even if she had an accomplice, she doubted that Starling would come right here. She'd hole up in New York City and try and get some sleep.
In any case, it hardly mattered. For her own pleasure, she envisioned Clarice Starling standing on the sidewalk outside, dressed in a prison uniform, standing in shock as she stared at the gutted remains of the duplex. She envisioned the look of shock on Clarice's face and the tears slipping down her cheeks. To top it off, Clarice Starling's identity would be finally, completely stolen from her. They would find the two bodies in the house and assume them to be Clarice and Ardelia. Ardelia would be expressed to Chowchilla in the next week or so; once Clarice was recaptured she would suffer the same fate.
Then, she dropped the curling iron into the pile of rags. It would take a few minutes for it to heat up, and a few minutes more for it to heat up. If Sneed did his job, the house across town would draw the fire department. By the time they got here, the house would be ruined.
A few minutes later she was in her Audi and heading down the street. The twits were in the back seat. Better that they stay in Rebecca's home; she could keep an eye on them better. She couldn't believe the little twits wanted their cars. They were mostly quiet.
Behind her, orange flames began to light the basement windows.
