Author's note: Here we are, the end of the story. This has been a lot of fun, and we'll be seeing Alice again, I'm sure. I doubt I'll keep up the two-stories-at-once thing; it's a lot. But for now, we must see two couples say goodbye….
Josh Graham sat at his desk and let out a heavy sigh. Why did he feel so bad about this? Surely it wasn't as bad as he thought. The way the system worked, that was all.
Alice Pierpont had apparently undergone a substantial break from reality after her incarceration. She'd stopped talking the moment she was treated at a local hospital and brought to the jail. In addition to remaining mute, she had started drawing eyes all over her cell and didn't shower that often. She would huddle at the back of her cell and sit there for hours. Occasionally she might comply with orders; other times they had to go in her cell and drag her out in order to make her shower or go for her rec time.
At the request of the judge handling her case, two psychiatrists had examined her and pronounced her to be floridly schizophrenic and not competent to understand the charges against her or to assist her attorneys in her defense. They'd tried medicating her and found that she did not respond to it. At her competency hearing yesterday, the judge had made his decision.
Lecter daughter not competent to stand trial, blared the headline of the Baltimore Sun. Josh put the paper down on the desk and put his head in his hands. He scanned the article briefly. Essentially, it stated the same as the headline. Alice Pierpont was not competent to stand trial and would be confined in an asylum for the criminally insane until she was restored to competency. A sidebar article indicated that her brother, Edgar Morgan III, was on trial for murder. His trial would be held as scheduled.
That was how the system worked. Josh had his suspicions.
Alice was mentally ill. Of that he had no doubt. But she hadn't shown any symptoms of being schizophrenic or psychotic when she had held him captive. No, there was something going on here.
Josh got up from his desk and walked out of the office. Clarice saw him as she ducked out of Crawford's office. He had been concerned about her captivity, but she'd been adjusting fine. She saw the thoughtful, distant look on his face and did not question him as he went. He walked down to the elevator and stepped inside. He could see his distorted reflection in the steel doors. The elevator hummed as it lifted him to the surface.
Still calm and thoughtful, Josh strolled through the halls out to the front doors and then the parking lot. His Civic waited for him in its space. His keys jangled as he took them out and unlocked the door.
It was bright but cold outside, the light reflecting off the snow and making him squint. The Civic's steering wheel was cold and stiff in his hands. He piloted it out of the parking lot, past the gate guard and onto the highway. His expression did not change.
What the hell am I doing?
The exit he wanted wasn't far down the highway. He pulled off and drove down the side streets for a little bit. Wasn't too far, really. The squat, high walls of the jail loomed over the street. He parked at a parking lot nearby and got out. His shoes crunched against the snow as he entered the jail and displayed his ID. His request was somewhat odd.
The desk sergeant assumed he wanted to interrogate her and offered to bring her down to an interrogation room. Josh shook his head and explained that he wanted to see her in her cell. Normally, this was not permitted, but the jail personnel were impressed by the wizards and warlocks of the FBI's Behavioral Sciences Unit and so he was allowed to do so.
Josh expected to be brought over to the women's cellblock of the jail. The sergeant surprised him by bringing him down to the basement.
"She's in the protective custody wing," the sergeant explained. "We moved her down there after the judge declared her incompetent. They'll come for her in a couple of hours. We like to keep the mental cases away from the others. She hasn't been violent so far. Actually she seems kind of scared. But better not to take chances, you know? And she seems to do better there. Ever since we put her down there, she's only got a couple things to do and she can deal with it better."
Josh's brow furrowed. "She's not violent?" he asked.
The sergeant shook his head. "Nah," he said dully, as if he had no idea that the woman he was holding had sawn someone's hand off and made another drink Drano. "She drew eyes all over her cell, so we took away her markers. After that she sort of huddled in her cell in the corner and cried. She's not all there, you know?"
She's more there than you think, Josh thought.
As he strode through the clashing iron gates, he found himself wondering. Alice had seemed to become more human and caring when she had Clarice and him both in her custody. Was that working the other way, now? Perhaps it was.
Then they rounded a corner in the basement. Between two barred gates were a single row of six cells. Each confined its prisoner behind a thick metal door. The wall was Plexiglass, so that the officers on duty could see their charges inside. Each cell contained a plastic mattress, a steel sink and toilet combination, and a prisoner. Nothing moved in the cell except the water.
Josh walked past the cells, stealing a glance at the occupants in each. Some had been put here on suicide watch and were constantly monitored. He saw a few people sitting on their mattresses and staring up at him. One was here for punishment and threw himself against the Plexiglass as Josh approached. His face mashed into a lunatic mess, drool marking the clear window. He screamed at Josh to let him out of here now. Josh ignored him.
Alice Pierpont was in the last cell. She was sitting cross-legged on her mattress. In one hand was a piece of typing paper; in the other was a marker. The sergeant indicated the cell with a wave.
"There she is, Agent Graham," the sergeant said. "She's gonna be transferred to the mental hospital in two hours. Until then, she's all yours." He turned to the officer on duty and grinned. His tone turned from respectful to jocular. "So John, you gave her back the markers?"
"Yep," the officer at the desk said. "Got tired of her crying. Told her if she started drawing on the walls we'd come in and take them away again. She's just been drawing on the paper and I don't have to put up with the racket."
Josh ignored them and stood in front of the cell, staring in at the woman inside. Alice Pierpont looked up from her mattress and tilted her head at him. For the first time, she seemed to take some interest in something other than the paper she was drawing on.
She did not look particularly well. Her hair was dirty and unkempt. Her face seemed wan and pinched. Her eyes seemed catlike and lit with a strange look. She looked completely insane. She slid off the mattress and crab-walked to the door. Josh frowned.
"Hi," he said, not sure where to begin.
"Josh," she said. Her voice seemed choked and cracked.
"How're you doing?" he asked, and swallowed nervously. The Plexiglass was thick and he didn't think she could get through it. But one never knew. Having Alice Pierpont, who had held him captive and forced him to play her boyfriend, so close to him was nerve-racking.
"Hello, Josh," she repeated. "Hello from the cracks of the bowels of the world and the souls that live in these cracks and the ghosts and the demons that torment the souls who have come to live in these cracks."
Josh stared at her soberly. If this was an act, it was good. She was crazier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
"Are you doing all right?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"They said you're not competent to stand trial," he said gently. "Do you know what that means?"
"Do you hate me, Josh?" she asked, ignoring his question.
"Do I--,"
"Do you hate me?" her voice was surprisingly clear, if a bit rusty from disuse.
Josh swallowed and stared into her mad eyes.
"No," he said.
Alice turned and scurried back to her mattress and retrieved the sheet of paper she had been drawing on. She returned to the door and put it in the food slot of her cell. Then she went back to the mattress and sat on it, looking at him expectantly. She pulled her knees up to her chin as she waited.
Nonplussed, Josh simply sat for a moment before he realized what she wanted. The food slot door was latched from the outside, so that the prisoners inside could not reach out and grab the unwary. The latch was sticky from disuse. Eventually he managed to open it and pull out the paper. He looked at it for a moment and closed his eyes.
"Is this for me?" he asked.
Alice nodded and approached the door again. Josh sighed. There was something pathetic in it. Even despite everything, she still didn't quite understand why she couldn't have what she wanted. But he would accept this final token – all she had.
"Thank you," he said, and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.
"I know you don't love me," she said, and her tone sounded remarkably calm and sane. "I'm sorry. For everything. If it means anything."
Then she went back to her mattress and lay down on it, watching him through the window. He sat there for a moment and wondered. He hadn't really known what he was coming here for. But now he knew what he had gotten.
"Goodbye, Alice," he said, not knowing what else to say. The sergeant saw him out to the front desk and he found himself pensive and thoughtful again. There was a bench outside the jail, and he sat down on it and pondered. Humanity poured in and out of the jail. Occasionally it was a river of struggling deputies dragging in a fighting arrestee. More often it was little driplets and droplets of people: a mother scolding her child after bailing him out, lawyers, cops, and the like.
The Six Fingered Killer was in custody. The end of his first major case. He doubted there would be any other like it for a while. If there was, he would join his dad in the boat-motor shop. All the same, he would still try to brave these waters a little more.
Josh sat and thought, and it hardly seemed like two hours when the TV crews arrived. He didn't realize what it was for until the doors opened and Alice Pierpont walked out of the jail, her hands cuffed to a chain in front of her. She blinked in the light. Two officers flanked her, leading her down the steps over to a white van. Cameras clicked and flashed in the light. Reporters shouted questions at her. Josh found himself thinking that exposing a woman of questionable sanity who had already killed people to confusing flashing lights and loud noises wasn't the brightest thing in the world to do, especially when the woman in question had already shown her opinion of the press by barbecuing a Tattler reporter. Still, the officers kept the reporters away from her and got her in the van all right. The sliding door slammed shut and the officers got into the front seats.
She turned and looked at him, ghostly behind the window. Josh gave her a small mile and raised his hand in a wave. That gesture seemed to comfort her. She smiled back and relaxed in her seat. The van's lights turned on overhead and it pulled out into traffic, bearing Alice Pierpont to whatever fate awaited her.
Josh watched the throng start to disperse. After maybe ten minutes, he got up himself and returned to his car. The trip back to Quantico took no longer than the trip out had been.
Back in Behavioral Sciences, Clarice Starling was in the hallway near his office. She'd thrived and rallied from her own captivity. She looked at him and her brow furrowed in concern.
"Hey, Josh," she said. "What were you up to?"
Josh let out a sigh. "I went to see her," he admitted.
Clarice paused and then nodded slowly. "How was it?"
Josh shrugged. "She's…not doing well," he said. "Psychotic but not violent. She's only got the most tenuous grasp on reality. If it's phony, it's quite an act. Fooled two psychiatrists. And they're sending her somewhere safe, and that's what matters."
Clarice nodded.
"She gave me this," he said, and smiled. "I didn't really know what I was expecting from her. But she said she was sorry and she gave me this." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the paper she had given him.
Clarice took the paper and examined it carefully. It was a surprisingly good copy of the picture that Alice had made him take at Disney World. Both of them in old-time clothes, standing next to each other. It was identical to the photograph and quite detailed, except Josh's smile was more real and less strained. The way Alice would have preferred it to be. Clarice closed her eyes and found herself thinking of Dr. Lecter. Was he dead after all? No one had heard from him.
"It's weird," Josh said. "I don't think she'd hurt me even if she got out. She tried to avoid hurting me as much as she could when she had me. Heck, she even started treating you better when she got me. But still…she's going to be somewhere. Thinking of me. That's…that's spooky."
Clarice nodded. "Oh, I know," she said. Something passed between them, a silent indication of the burden that Clarice had carried and that Josh was just lifting.
"Any word on Dr. Lecter?" he asked.
She shook her head. "The man seems to have evaporated into thin air," she said, and seemed distressed. "We have no idea if he is alive or dead."
"How've you been?" he asked. "You doing all right?"
Clarice smiled sadly and nodded. "Oh, it's all right," she allowed. "'Delia's been making me eat double meals. I'm actually heading out of here now. There's not much to do now that Alice is in custody. Take a couple days yourself, Josh. This is…not the sort of thing you see every day."
Josh shrugged. "Maybe."
"I mean it," Clarice said. "Crawford will let you go now. Go see your dad. Go take some time. It'll be time to hunt soon enough. Take this time while you can get it."
Josh sat down at his desk. "OK," he said. "I just have a few things I gotta do."
At first, it had been Josh leaving Quantico early. Now it was Clarice's turn. The heels of her low work pumps were muted on the carpet and louder in the elevator. The air outside was brisk and the early afternoon was bright. The Mustang was cold as she revved the engine and headed out.
The duplex was quiet when she arrived. Ardelia was still at work. She'd be home in a few more hours. Clarice opened her side of the duplex and strode purposefully to her living room. She planned to veg out in front of the TV and just kick back. Soon enough, Delia would be ready to stuff her full of spicy chicken.
She kicked off her shoes and sat down in front of her dark TV. Tossing her head, she plopped herself down on the couch and groped for the remote. Something under her crackled.
What the hell, Clarice Starling thought, and got up. Under her butt was a fine envelope. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the machinelike copperplate spelling out her first name across the middle of the envelope. Perfectly centered. There was no doubt whose writing it was.
Clarice opened the envelope with trembling fingers. A letter. Just like before.
Dear Clarice,
By now, you've been free from captivity for almost a week, as your captor begins her captivity. You may be wondering about her, and how it is that I had a daughter. The answer is simple: I did not know that she had been born. By now, you've doubtlessly put together the pieces and realized that her origins began just after my own incarceration.
Once I realized that you had been taken captive, Clarice, I came to help. I had hoped we might have the opportunity to discuss your future. However, it was not to be, unfortunately, and that young scion of Will Graham made it necessary for me to depart without saying the proper goodbyes.
On behalf of my troubled daughter, I do apologize for what you have suffered. Perhaps at some time in the future I may be able to do so in person, but not so long as you man your post over the lambs. I shall ask you one favor, Clarice, odd though it may seem.
Though nothing would give me more pleasure than to have you join me, I recognize that you are perhaps not yet ready to make that choice. Therefore, Clarice, while you guard the lambs from harm, I will ask that you consider adding one more to your flock. My daughter kidnapped you and held you captive, this is true. But perhaps you might be willing to watch over her while I cannot. Free, she preys on the lambs. Incarcerated, she is one herself. Might you be willing to check in on her from time to time? I ask this not for myself, but for her sake. Her mother is a common sociopath more despicable than any that you may have rounded up. She is troubled, yes, but she is alone and imprisoned. A kind hand or word would mean a great deal, both to her and to me. Can you forgive that far, Clarice? How far can you forgive? The answer to that question intrigues me more than you would know.
Should you ever wish to provide me with the information you still owe me, your means of contacting me has not changed. I think of you often, Clarice.
Sincerely,
Hannibal Lecter, MD
Clarice frowned and reached over the side of the chair. Her fingers encountered white cardboard. Her eyes bulged. Hannibal Lecter had been here? In her home? She picked up the box with her left hand and her .45 with her right. She stood up and stumbled, leaving the box on the chair.
A quick, wide-eyed check of the duplex revealed no cannibalistic psychiatrist. The only sound in the home was her own breathing. She returned to the couch and examined the box.
Soaps, perfumes, lotions, and salves. Just as before. Clarice sighed and put her gun back in its holster. She picked up the letter and scanned it again. How odd that he expressed concern for the daughter he had never known he had.
Clarice's lips pressed against each other. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Seeing him again had been so wonderful. There were things she had wanted to tell him. Things she had needed to tell him. Doubts that she'd secretly harbored and told no one. Thoughts that perhaps she would be happier outside of the FBI. Had Josh Graham not intervened with his father's pistol, things might have been….so very different.
But she had to walk the path she was on now. She considered his request for a few moments. If she could not follow her heart, she could give him this.
"I will, Dr. Lecter," she whispered. "I'm glad you're safe."
FIN