The first thing Clarice was aware of was her right hand. It was lying on a concrete floor. The concrete was cold and rough against her palm. Something else cold lay against her wrist. She took in a shuddering gasp and coughed. The stink of chloroform still invaded her nostrils.
She raised her head and glanced around her surroundings owlishly. The chloroform still made her dizzy. Her wrist was lying against a thick steel bar. She raised up her head and saw more bars enclosing her. A cage. She was in a cage. Clarice sat up, blinking and shaking her head to try and clear it.
The cage was in a basement. The floor and walls were concrete. There were lights overhead; simple, unenclosed bulbs. Some were on, some were off. On the other side of the room from her cage was a flight of stairs leading up to a closed door. Not far from her was a table. It was strewn with items that made Clarice wince. A hacksaw, a few knives, a blowtorch, and some rope. The blade of the hacksaw was stained a dark red. Clarice's hands clenched at the sight.
Next to that, oddly, was a desk and chair. A bookcase next to the desk held paperback books and manila folders. She couldn't make out the titles of the books from here. On the wall by the desk were two portraits of Dr. Lecter. They looked like his original mugshot. These prints were blown up to 11x17 size. A floodlight mounted in the rafters of the basement lovingly illuminated them, as if the pictures of the cannibalistic psychiatrist were high art. One of them was marked up carefully. She couldn't tell exactly what the markings were, but from here, it looked like it was deliberate. There was a circle drawn around one eye and some notes written next to it. Likewise, there was a note on his cheekbones and another on his mouth. Other notes up and down the entire picture.
Clarice thought about the young girl she had come to see. Presumably she was her captor. It took a moment or two for her head to clear, but it dawned on her sourly. The girl had been comparing Dr. Lecter's face to her own and looking for points of similarity.
Part of her wanted to scream. Another part of her told her to clamp that off and look around the place and see what she could see. Directly outside her cell were a bottle of spring water and a paper bag. Cautiously, Clarice took the water bottle and sniffed the water. It smelled OK, but she wasn't ready to try it yet. After all, whoever had her had managed to overpower and kidnap her. For all she knew, the bottle could contain poison or something.
The bag contained a sandwich. White bread, a piece of lettuce, some roast beef, and a smear of Dijon mustard. The paper bag rustled as Clarice continued inventorying its contents. There was an apple and a Twinkie in the bag. Still in its wrapping, Clarice noticed. But a hypodermic needle could easily put God only knew what into it. She put the paper bag down. Her mouth was dry and she could still smell chloroform in the back of her throat.
"Hey," she called out. Her voice was rusty and weak and it frightened her. "Hey! Can someone hear me! I'm down here in the basement!"
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Clarice prudently shut her yap, figuring that it was her captor. Sure enough, the figure standing in front of her was the pale girl. She stared at Clarice, a small grin playing about the corner of her lips.
"Well," she said. "Hello, Clarice." Her head tilted like that of a parrot as she observed Clarice squatting in the cage.
"What are you doing to me?" Clarice asked. "Why am I here?"
The girl grinned as if this was all terribly amusing. She produced a plastic bottle and tossed it underhand to Clarice. It proved to be a bottle of Nivea skin cream. Clarice glanced down at it and back up the girl cautiously.
"It rubs the lotion into its skin, or it gets the hose," the girl informed her. "It does this whenever it's told." As if to verify the threat, the girl went behind the stairs and turned with a green hose in her hand. She aimed it at Clarice.
Clarice stared blankly at her captor. Was she serious? Memories of Catherine Martin's tearful story went through her head. The girl threw back her head and laughed. Her laughter sounded disturbingly normal, as if she'd just played a hilarious trick on her captive.
"Oh, Clarice," she said. "You're so gullible." She grinned coldly at Clarice.
"Why are you keeping me here?" Clarice asked. "Who are you? You're not Amanda Taylor."
"Oh, no, I'm not," the girl agreed. "She is a bona fide victim of Eddie Morgan, though. My name is Alice. That's all you need to know for now. I want some information from you, Clarice. Give me what I want and I'll be happy."
Clarice found herself trembling and tried to force herself to stop. Her throat was dry. Alice pulled up a chair by Clarice's cage and sat down companionably near it.
"Go ahead, eat your lunch," she said invitingly. "There's no poison in it. I'm not planning to kill you. And even if I were, I wouldn't use poison. That's so boring, don't you think?"
Clarice made no move to eat. Alice sighed.
"Do you want me to drink some so you know for sure it isn't poisoned?" she said. She sounded annoyed. Clarice noticed some blood on the floor of her cage and her stomach lurched. This was where James Winfield had been held captive and his hand chopped off. It was a powerful reminder that her kidnapper was pretty dangerous.
But if she was willing to try it herself and she wanted something from Clarice, then the food was probably OK. Carefully, Clarice drank some of the water and swished it around in her mouth. It tasted fine. She eyed Alice carefully.
"Now then," Alice said cheerfully. "You're probably wondering what it is I brought you here for."
Clarice shifted and sat down. The sandwich was quite good, actually. The apple was tart and the Twinkie powerfully sweet. But she was still wary.
"Yes," Clarice said. "What is it you want from me?"
Alice grinned. "I'm sure you've noticed my office over there," she said, and pointed at the pictures. "Catch the resemblance? I have. I went back and looked, too." She wiggled the fingers of her left hand at Clarice. "I first noticed it when I was little. Here I was, the only one in kindergarten who could count to eleven on her fingers."
Clarice felt the cold iron of the bars pressing in on her and tried to keep from trembling. She was cold. This made no sense at all. Hannibal Lecter had never had children. Nothing in his file ever indicated that he had. This was…it just couldn't be. But here it was. It was nonsensical as a cat floating in midair, but there it was.
"You're..you're his daughter?" she asked.
Alice chuckled. "Wow," she said, "very good. I'm impressed. How'd you figure that out? Was it the fingers? The eyes?" She bent down closer to Clarice's cage. Her eyes reflected back redly at Clarice. She let out another chuckle. Clarice shrank back. This might be Hannibal Lecter's daughter, but she had a screw or too loose that the good doctor did not. She stared at Clarice with a little grin on her face and God only knew what going through her mind.
"Yes, indeedy," Alice said. "My daddy is none other than Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I never knew him, though. That's where you come in, Reesey." The grin widened. "Can I call you Reesey? It sounds friendlier than 'Clarice'. Like we were old pals. We're gonna be, so you might as well get used to it."
Clarice swallowed. This wasn't promising.
"I don't….I can't see how I could help you with that," she said.
Alice let out a sigh. "OK, Reesey, we'll do it your way," she said. "Dr. Lecter disappeared once he escaped. He popped up three years ago and killed ol' Mason Verger. A victory for good taste, I say. But anyways. After that, he sawed open Paul Krendler's head and had a light supper of his brains." She stuck out her arms stiffly in front of her and adopted a blank, savage look.
"Braaaaaains," she said. "Moooooore braaaaaaaains."
Clarice Starling decided she was in extremely deep shit.
"Anyhow, Reesey old kid old sock, Dr. Lecter ran away from the house and disappeared. Kaboom. They found you there, doped to the gills. The last person who ever saw Hannibal Lecter is you."
Clarice scooted forward and gripped the bars of her cage. She tried to make and keep eye contact. Was Alice actually insane, or was she just having fun? It was hard to tell.
"Alice," she began, her voice catching, "I…I admit I was there, but--,"
"I know you were there," Alice said indignantly. "I've read your 302's." She drew herself up proudly and saluted something unseen. "God bless the Freedom of Information act! All that stuff is all over the Internet now."
"I haven't seen him since," Clarice said. "Alice, now listen to me, please. I…I think you're slightly off base here. I can't give you Hannibal Lecter. I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him for a couple of years now."
Alice's head tilted and a slightly sarcastic and patronizing look crossed her face. Clarice found herself thinking of Dr. Lecter in his cell. The resemblance was scary. How old had Alice been then? Eight or so, from the looks of it. But when the hell had Dr. Lecter had her? And why the hell wasn't anything like that in the files? If she survived long enough to see Quantico again, she would have to look and find out.
"Ree-sey," Alice said reproachfully, "he wrote you."
"A long time ago," Clarice said breathlessly.
"He wrote you letters," Alice repeated. "Ooey gooey wuv wetters, awwwww." She raised her clasped hands in front of her breasts and adopted a soppy expression worthy of a soap opera actress.
Clarice thought of the mocking letter Dr. Lecter had written her. How it had made fun of her and cut her. I have followed with enthusiasm the course of your disgrace and public shaming. My own never bothered me except for the inconvenience of being incarcerated. Hardly her idea of a love letter.
"Not exactly," Clarice said, and swallowed.
"Well," Alice said archly. "I know you have some way to get in touch with him. He would have left you one."
"No, he didn't," Clarice said, and felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Was that what Alice wanted?
"Oh, yes, he did," Alice said. "I know he did. He would have. There's some way. Some code. Some little way that you know of to make him pop up. And that's what I want from you, Reesey. I want to meet my father. And you can do that for me."
Clarice Starling gripped the bars and felt a great pang of fear in her gut. Dr. Lecter had left the house on the Chesapeake without a word. She had no way of contacting him. She'd told him not in a thousand years, and that had been it. She hadn't ever seen him again.
"Alice," Clarice began. Her voice jigged and jagged up and down the scale. "Alice, I…I have no way to contact Dr. Lecter. I can't put you in touch with him."
"Yes, you can," Alice said promptly. "You just don't want to."
"No, I can't. I don't have any way. He never left me a secret way to get in touch with him. I swear. Now look, Alice. This is gone far enough. Just…just let me go, OK?"
"Why?" Alice said. "Then you'll go back to the FBI and they'll arrest me. I may be missing something here, but I don't see the up side for me in that."
Clarice swallowed. "I…I won't press charges, Alice. We'll just call this even. A…a misunderstanding." She realized that her foot was lying on a patch of dried blood and moved it hurriedly.
A stormy look was beginning to come over Alice's face.
"Reesey, you're telling me fish stories," she said. "Now look. You'd press charges on me in a heartbeat. You're an FBI agent. Tell me what I want to know, not what you think I want to hear."
"Please," Clarice said, and displayed open palms. Her hands shook. "Alice, I can't. If I could, I would. I promise. But I can't."
Alice stood and looked calmly at Clarice for a moment or two. Then she struck. Her hand flashed down and grabbed Clarice's right wrist. She twisted it into a neat wristlock. With her other hand she produced a pair of handcuffs and locked one onto Clarice's right wrist. She let out a sigh and bent Clarice's pinky finger backwards.
"Give me your other hand," she said calmly.
Clarice clamped her teeth together and tried to struggle free of the wristlock.
"Give me your other hand," Alice repeated implacably. She bent Clarice's pinky back further. Clarice let out a pained grunt, keeping the scream locked in her laboring chest. She realized this wasn't going to end well anyway, so she held out her left hand behind her. Maybe once the kid was calm she could talk to her.
Once she was cuffed, Alice grabbed her ankles and chained those, too. In her own way she was as careful as Barney had once been with her father. Dammit, Clarice thought. Then Alice strode around to the other side of the cage. She squatted to unlock the door. For a moment, Clarice thought of trying to charge her. But all she would do would be knock her down. Once she got up, she would be an angry lunatic and Clarice would still be in chains.
So she let Alice drag her out of the cage and stand her up. Her hands flexed into useless fists.
Alice began walking her over to another part of the basement. Clarice tensed. But she wasn't taking her over to the table with the bloodstained hacksaw on it. Instead, she dragged Clarice over to where an old metal tub lay. It was full of water. Expertly, Alice kicked her legs out from under her, forcing her to her knees in front of the tub. Her hand grabbed a handful of Clarice's hair and held her face over the surface of the water.
"We'll start with this, Reesey, and go from there, but you will tell me how to get Dr. Lecter's attention," Alice said. There was no friendliness in her tone at all. "Tell me now, and I'll just put you back in your cage. I'm not doing this for my own pleasure, you know."
"Please," Clarice said. "Alice, I don't know. I can't tell you something I don't know. I'd tell you in a minute if I knew, but--,"
"Have it your way," Alice said curtly, and forced Clarice's head into the water. It was cold, shockingly cold against her scalp. Clarice tried to gasp and got a mouthful of water. She struggled valiantly, but to no avail. The hand holding her head under was relentless. Her head whipped back and forth in the water. Her breath plumed from her mouth in a stream of bubbles. But the hand kept her under for several more seconds. Her lungs ached. She could feel dizziness spinning her head.
Then she was up, air tearing her lungs and making her chest ache. Alice gave her a minute or two to cough and splutter. Clarice tried to see where she was, but couldn't; there was only an inhuman grip on her hair and a voice behind her.
"OK, Reesey," Alice said shortly. "How about now? Ready to tell me now?"
"Please," Clarice whispered, and spat. "Alice, I can't."
Alice let out a sigh. "You know, from what they mentioned on the books, I'd have thought you would be smarter than this," she said. "But I can keep this up all night." She forced Clarice's face back into the water.
Again and again Clarice was forced into the water. Again and again she was pulled up and asked if she would talk now. Again and again she pleaded that she could not give her captor what she wanted. Then the cycle would repeat. Clarice was only tangentially aware of her tormentor; there was too much time spent with her head submerged, her lungs aching, her mind screaming.
Then, after several hours, it stopped. Clarice was suddenly aware that she was back in the cage, still handcuffed. The door slammed behind her and the lock clicked. Then there were steps retreating up the stairs and the slam of a door.
Clarice Starling lay in a cage in Alice Pierpont's basement and shook her head, thinking she would surely die.