Will Graham sat in his hotel room. He was trying to think. He had to figure out a way in which to catch the psycho who had his son and Clarice. He had all the files from Clarice's disappearance. It was hard. He kept flashing back to Josh's childhood. Josh at two, giggling madly as he ran into the kitchen. Josh at five, visiting him in the hospital when Dr. Lecter had tried to carve him up. Josh at eleven, with Francis Dolarhyde's shard of glass pressing into his cheek.
He had to think. Josh needed him. Will Graham knew all too well what monsters lurked in the world. Images of Josh captured somewhere, lying in a cage while a psycho killer approached him flashed across his brain. It made it impossible to try and focus.
Clarice, then. He would focus on Clarice. It would be vastly easier to concentrate on Clarice. He didn't know her. A lot of the notes from Clarice's disappearance were his son's work. Will bit his lip and forced himself to pay attention to them as if any other FBI agent had written them.
Clarice had gotten a phone call. The phone call itself had been placed from a pay phone. No leads there. Josh had told him about that. They hadn't gotten any notes from her desk. That made sense. Will Graham closed his eyes and envisioned Clarice Starling.
She's sitting at her desk. Quitting time is coming near. A call comes in and she takes it. It's something that gets to her. Something that she agrees to see the person for, and the person gets her. She scribbles down something on a piece of paper and puts it in her pocket. It gets taken along with her to her rendezvous with someone who grabs her.
Now wait. Clarice is an FBI agent; she's had Hannibal Lecter on her case before. She's not dumb. She's not naïve. She doesn't tell anyone where she's going. She doesn't tell Josh. That means…that means it's not part of the case. If it was she'd have told Josh; she doesn't keep secrets or play that political bullshit. Why would she do that? What happened?
Will's eyes were blank. Someone seeing him might have thought him the village idiot, or the drunk he had admittedly been for years until he finally quit the booze once and for all. The opposite was true. In his brain, ideas and thoughts were shuttling across the mosaic of the mystery and falling neatly into place. Click, click, click.
She doesn't tell anyone because she doesn't view the caller as a threat. Now who do FBI agents talk to who aren't threats? Witnesses, for one. Well…that depends on the witness. Clarice isn't working any other cases that we know of; she's working the Six Fingered Killer case exclusively. Maybe it's a witness she worked with before. Or maybe…she thinks it's a victim.
Now there is something. Clarice goes and gets herself grabbed. Not because she's a doofus, but because she's sensitive to victims. The Six Fingered Killer made Clarice think of her as a victim. That works. Clarice shows up ready to deal with someone wounded, someone hurt, and instead gets a loony who stuffs her in the trunk. Now the question. Do we have anything at all we can use? I think we can.
Clarice Starling sitting at her desk, scribbling down a note and shoving it in her pocket. She takes the note, but she doesn't take everything. Does she have a desk blotter? Did she leave the pad she used? Either one of those will have impressions, and from impressions we may be able to get something.
He grabbed his phone and punched a number. Crawford answered.
"Jack, it's Will."
"What's up, Will?" Crawford's voice was measured as it always was.
"Has anyone checked over Clarice's desk since her disappearance?"
Crawford waited a beat before answering. "Josh did," he said. "Nothing in his notes that I see."
"Go down there now and seal it off. I think we can find some impressions there. Either a desk blotter, or a pad of paper…or maybe the folder itself. We might have something." He got up and began to pace the room. "I think the Six Fingered Killer contacted Clarice and passed herself off as a victim of some kind. Something that would've pressed Clarice's sympathy buttons. That's why the UNSUB got her so easily."
Crawford sounded pleased. "Good work, Will," he said. "I'll go down there now and have the contents of her desk sent to the labs."
"Just paper," Will insisted. "Her desk blotter, if she's got one. Pads of paper. Maybe a manila folder, particularly one that has to do with the Six Fingered Killer. I don't know if it'll be good, but I think it is."
"We'll get on it," Crawford said. "Good idea, Will. Keep your chin up. We'll find them."
Will hung up and waited. It was a good idea. He lit a cigarette and puffed on it, illogically convinced that the phone would ring.
Of course it won't ring right away, he told himself. It takes time. They have to scan it, find impressions, and do their thing.
But a few minutes later the phone did ring. Will grabbed the receiver immediately.
"Graham," he said instantly.
For a beat or two there was silence. Then a metallic voice came on the line.
"Is this Will? Hello, Will. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
A chill tickled Will Graham's gut. His hand clamped down hard on the receiver.
"Dr. Lecter?" he asked. His voice was low and shuddering and weak.
"Yes." Dr. Lecter sounded amused. "Will, I assure you I have no intent on harming you. You sound nervous."
"What do you want with me?" Will whispered. "What have you done with my son, you sick son of a bitch?"
Now there was a bit of confusion in Dr. Lecter's voice, counterpointing the amusement.
"Your son? I haven't met the lad, I'm afraid. No, Will, perhaps we could help each other."
An incredulous, bitter laugh came from Will's throat. "Me? Help you? And for that matter, why would you help me?"
Dr. Lecter let out a sigh as if Will was being rude. "I realize that you're probably helping the FBI. After all, your boy is working for them now. Nonetheless, Will, all I want is to find Clarice. I suspect, as I believe you do, that the same kidnapper has both your Joshua and Clarice. Most probably someone who shares my particular…difference from the rest of humanity."
"You mean it's a monster like you," Will hissed, feeling anger rise deep in his gut.
"I suppose you could say that," Dr. Lecter agreed. "I was referring to the Six Fingered Killer threatening Washington and Baltimore, actually. This pilgrim feels a connection with me, Will. I can help you catch him. Just like…old times."
"Her," Will said grittily, and grinned. Dr. Lecter didn't know everything.
"You believe the killer to be female?" Dr. Lecter sounded interested.
"That's a theory."
"Then let us cooperate, Will. You want your boy; I want Clarice safe. You needn't tell Jacky-boy. He'll give you everything you need. I assure you I'll keep my distance."
Will Graham thought. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a monster. Of that Will had no doubt. He knew firsthand what the doctor was capable of. If he needed any further proof he just had to take off his shirt.
But with Josh's life on the line, could he take the chance? Perhaps the doctor was serious. Will knew a little bit of the psychiatrist's connection to Clarice. Maybe, just as he had once before, he could use the help.
"Well, Will? What do you say?" Dr. Lecter chuckled. "For old time's sake?"
…
While Will Graham waited on the cusp of his decision, Josh Graham was coming to grips with his own decision of the previous night.
He sat on Alice Pierpont's basement floor. Against his back was a thick round pole. His hands were looped around the pole and handcuffed there. About ten feet away was Clarice's cage. They could see each other and they could talk, but they could not reach each other.
Clarice sat in the cage, wearing the jumpsuit she had originally been given to wear in Alice's private prison. She gave him a sympathetic look. Around her were the supplies Alice had given her. She'd been munching on Pringles when Alice brought him down here. At the time, Alice had been calm and cool. She didn't seem manic or depressed. Then she had gone back upstairs to do whatever she did when she wasn't tormenting either FBI agent.
"Clarice," Josh said. "You're alive. Thank God."
Clarice nodded. "I'm alive," she confirmed. "I've been here for several days. Maybe a week." She gestured around herself. "Here, in this cage."
Josh shuddered. She looked like a prisoner to him, all right. The bars made shadows on her face. She seemed somehow defeated, as if her captivity had sapped her of a vital strength. Her face looked gaunter than it had been. Was Alice feeding her? He thought of the dinner he'd had before Alice seduced him and felt ashamed.
"What…what does she want with us?" he asked.
Clarice's face tightened. "For me," she said, "she wants to use me as…I don't know, bait. To draw Dr. Lecter."
Josh seemed surprised to hear that. "She said he was her father," he said.
Clarice nodded. "She looks like him," she pointed out.
Josh thought on that for a few moments. "But Dr. Lecter never had any children," he said. "It wasn't in his file."
Clarice let out a bitter chuckle. "Then the file was obviously wrong," she said. "Look at her. Six fingers like him. Maroon eyes like him." She gestured at Alice's marked-up mugshot of the good doctor. "A violent killer like him. But she's not totally like him. She's mentally ill."
Josh shuddered. "If she did the corpse in the park, then yeah," he said. "So she wants you to get to Lecter. Is that going to work?"
Clarice nodded. She glanced away. "I don't know," she said softly.
Josh shifted his position and tried to get some comfort for his arms where they were cuffed to the pole. He swallowed.
"What about me?" he asked. "Does she say what she wants to do with me?"
Clarice sighed and tried to reach out to him through the bars. He was too far away for her to even touch. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Well," she said. "She…she saw you. At first I think it was just a joke. Then she decided that you were…hers, somehow. That you and her were supposed to be together."
Josh blanched. His shoulders tensed. Behind his back, his hands shook.
"So…so I've got some serial killer obsessed with me," he said.
Clarice nodded.
Josh laid the back of his head against the pole. "Oh, man," he said. "Now what do I do? I mean…she can't really think we're going to be together. That's just crazy. She's just crazy. I just…this can't…there's no way."
"She does," Clarice assured him. "She's got a lot of information about you. She thinks that you're supposed to be together. That it's fate, or something like that."
Josh shuddered again. "Lucky me," he said acidly. "A dangerous serial killer is obsessed with me."
Clarice's mouth quirked. "Oh, you get used to it eventually," she said drily.
"Is Dr. Lecter going to come, do you think?" Josh asked again. He didn't particularly want to think of the woman upstairs as being obsessed with him. He could've written off last night to being heavily drugged. To think that Alice would pursue him for the rest of his life was frightening. He'd already seen his own father haunted by the specter of Dr. Lecter. He would rather that not follow generational lines.
Clarice shrugged. "I'm not sure," she said. "I'd like to hope he would. But I'm not sure he will. Crawford told me once, and he was right. Never forget what he is."
Josh had heard this himself, from the time he was very young. His father had not told him about Hannibal Lecter by name until he was much older, but he had heard his father mention it in whispered conversations and hushed asides.
"He's a monster," he said reflectively. "So is she."
Clarice shrugged. "It's not totally her fault," Clarice said. "She is what she is, and she probably needs to be locked up. But Dr. Lecter isn't mentally ill. She's bipolar. I don't know if she's legally insane or not, but…it's not all her fault."
Josh shuddered. He hadn't been with Behavioral Science too long, but he had studied serial killers in college and in the Academy. He'd seen what they had done. Whether or not they were troubled made little difference to him.
"Crazy or not, she's a monster," he said.
A sudden slam of the door above made both of them jump. Josh felt a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. Footsteps came down the stairs. His hands clenched.
Alice Pierpont came down and observed the two of them bloodlessly. Very calmly, she strode to a point between the two of them. She reached overhead and grabbed something, stretching high to grab it. She tossed it in Josh's lap. He tensed. A microphone. She'd wired the place for sound. It was the oldest trick in the book – put two prisoners who trust each other in a room together, get the hell out, and listen to what they have to say.
"Well, Josh, Clarice," she said. "I guess things aren't quite how I thought they were. I'm…hurt."
Clarice reached out through the bars, displaying open palms. Josh tensed. Was this cowardice or manipulation?
"Alice, please," Clarice said. "It's not what you think."
Alice nodded curtly. "Of course it isn't," she said. "Nooo, you don't think I ought to be locked up. You just…were joking, right?" Her voice was frosty. Her throat worked. Josh was amazed to see tears glitter in her eyes.
She eyed him coldly. His mind spun. A linoleum knife couldn't be far off in his future.
"Look," Josh said, trying frantically to buy time. "You gotta see how this looks for us here."
"No, I don't," she said. "I think it's better that…I be away from both of you for a bit. It'll give me some time. Time to think."
Clarice seemed to realize what was going to happen before Josh did.
"Alice, wait," she implored. "Can we talk about this? I think you're going to go do something to someone, and you're not mad at them. You're mad at us. Don't…don't make an innocent person pay the price for what we did."
Alice stopped and tilted her head, resembling her father eerily.
"Why, Clarice, you didn't learn from Christine," she said. "I never choose truly innocent victims. I choose people who do deserve it in some way. And trust me…it's safer for both of you if I leave for a bit." Her mouth worked.
"Alice, please," Clarice said. "Please, let's talk about this."
"I'm crazy, and a monster," Alice said. "I don't think that would be appropriate. I do need you, Clarice, and Josh….well, Josh, as mad as I am at you, I still don't want to hurt you. And I'm afraid if I stick around here and chitchat I'll do something I regret. Besides, I know just who needs it the most."
"Alice," Clarice said a third time, but it was too late. Her only answer was the thump of heels on stairs. The door overhead slammed shut, locking them in. A second later, the lights cut out, leaving both Clarice and Josh in the darkness. Very faintly, a car engine roared to life.
"So, wait a minute," Josh began. "Is she going to…,"
Clarice's face was not visible in the darkness anymore. But her voice trembled in fear as she spoke, and Josh somehow knew she was dead pale.
"Yes," Clarice said. "We just killed somebody."