Clarice found herself wandering the streets for only a few minutes before she realized she was being followed. She slowed and the steps behind her slowed. A professional, surely. She was convinced that it wasn't just a random pickpocket. At the end of the block, she ducked around a corner and started running, making random turns. After a few blocks, she was not exhausted but was sure if it was either of the people she suspected were following her, then they were, too. She paused to calm her breath and then headed towards the apartments they had visited yesterday, Dr. Lecter's old rooms.

The outside of the building looked much more intimidating in the moonlight than it had during the day. She pulled out the key the landlord had given her two days ago and entered the building without incident. She stood framed in the doorway, her shadow stretching long from the light in the hallway. She reached in and found the light switch. Her shadow flew from in front of her to behind her as the lighting changed. Her eyes readjusted and she stepped cautiously into the room. Everything was as she had left it the day before. She closed the door and had none of the strange feelings she had experienced yesterday in her room when she had known he had been there. She sighed audibly. "Wrong guess, Starling." She decided to make a complete tour of the rooms to make sure nothing had changed.

She walked through the library, studying the books on the shelves. She saw the doctor had not changed his reading habits. The Wound Man, the very same book that had triggered Will Graham to his identity at his first capture, was within ready reach of the desk. She also saw that he had been keeping up with Vogue and his medical journals, which he had declined to write stories for since his "early parole" had occurred. She also saw some fiction and poetry books including William Blake, Freud, Voltaire, and Kipling. She wondered at how much more comfortable she felt looking around without Will Graham here.

Wandering into the drawing room, she stopped to study the painting of herself under the harsh fluorescent lights. Once again she reached out to touch the face of the painting, but again retracted her hand and touched her own face. Her steps were light as she passed through the door into the next room. It was the bedroom. She entered slowly as if for a moment feeling she was a stranger here, then the feeling passed and Clarice moved towards the huge four-poster bed. She smiled, thinking it was the kind of bed you see in movies about Kings and Queens. She ran he hand along the bedspread before seating herself on it. Clarice sat up by the pillow and found herself looking like a wide-eyed farm girl seeing her first city. She looked at the nightstand next to the bed and pulled out the drawer. A puff of cologne came out and she found herself dazed with a memory.

"Would you ever say 'stop, if you loved me, you'd stop'?"

"Not in a thousand years."

"That's my girl."

She blinked the memory of the last time she had smelled that cologne away. She flung herself back on the bed, her arms stretched out behind her, her hair spreading out like a fan. She closed her eyes and smelled the slight fragrance of the cologne still imbedded deep in the fabric below the smell of detergent and fabric softener. She pushed herself farther onto the bed with her arms and lay sprawled in the middle of the bed, immersed in her sense of smell and touch.

What is it that you're thinking about, Clarice?

Clarice's smile didn't fade as she inhaled deeply.

Do you like the idea of being warm and smelling his scent?

Clarice's smile twitched towards a frown.

Does it make you happy because you remember what happened directly after that little conversation? Did you like what happened, Clarice? Do you want to feel his lips on you again…

Clarice shook her head. "No," she said unsteadily. Then she tried again with more confidence. "No."

You want to smell him near you…

"No!" she was shouting by this time.

To hear that voice…

"Clarice, what's wrong? What's going on?"

Clarice's eyes flew open and she sat up as though she had been struck. "Will!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. In fact, I think I already did."

"Something occurred to me and I had to check it out," she managed.

He looked at her skeptically. And what did you have to check out that involved being sprawled out all over Lecter's bed like some lovesick puppy? The voice in her head taunted. That's what he's thinking, you know. You had better think up an answer to his next question and quick.

"What were you looking for?"

"I thought maybe there were some more sketches or paintings hidden in a drawer or something. You know, something that the Italian police wouldn't have recognized as Dr. Lecter's work."

He didn't look convinced, but it was a perfectly logical explanation and she knew he couldn't question it without accusing her of lying. "Did you find anything?"

"No, nothing."

Graham sighed and checking the bedside clock, "C'mon, it's almost 9:00, let's get back to the hotel and get some sleep, okay?"