The characters all belong to Thomas Harris, I have nothing and make no profit from these stories.

This story is a little different that others I wrote, in that it is more surreal in form. Once I came across the idea, I was compelled to go on with it. There will be another, final chapter, to it.

Any religious implications are solely for the for the purpose of the story. I meant no religious implications whatsoever and the contents here are certainly not meant to insult any beliefs.

Finishing the Arch

While she laid dying in the bathtub, Clarice watched her entire life flash in front of her eyes like a pathetic B movie. Through it all, the predominant image was that of Dr. Lecter, he remained the leading element in her life all the way until the end.

Watching the scenes played back in her head, she thought she might have been too judgment of him, worse yet too arrogant in her judgment.

The next thing she saw was bright light at the end of a long dark tunnel, and she floated inside the tunnel towards the light.

When she reached the other side, he was there waiting, all dressed in white as he had been at in Memphis. Only this time instead of his pajamas he wore a white suit, a white tie, and white shoes. His dark hair was combed back as it was his fashion, and his dark maroon eyes bore into hers when he stretched his hand to help her out of the tunnel and into a bright sunny park full of light, green foliage, and endless blue skies as far as her eyes could see… a place of great beauty.

"Hello, Clarice," he greeted, smiling gently.

"Where are we, Dr. Lecter?"

"We are in the gardens that lead to the gates of Judgment, Clarice." He enunciated her name as he had from the start, when they first met at the dungeon, the tone now devoid of sarcasm.

His face looked as young and intense as it did back then, but it had a nice healthy color to it. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming; and he looked dashing in his white suit.

She felt drab by comparison, but when she looked down at herself, she was dressed in a white tunic of a light material, with an overlay floating around her like a bridal gown.

"If this is death," she though, "we might have been better off dead a long time ago, both of us."

But instead, she asked in a whisper, "are you my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Doctor?"

"That is for you to determine, Clarice, I know you are mine." he answered frankly. "What I wanted most in life."

"You mean, one gets the chose?" she asked, surprised.

"Once you redeem yourself, you get to chose, Clarice; you get to keep for eternity the one thing you wanted most in life."

"But what if one doesn't make it, what happens to the ones left behind?" It was academic, she knew, because this was going to be the moment of judgment, but still, she had to know the rules, she needed to understand. "What if one doesn't find redemption in time?

She had plenty of reason to be concerned because she had just killed herself, and it didn't take a genius to figure that her chances to enter Paradise were rather impaired.

"That is what we have been doing, Clarice." explained Hannibal Lecter. "One gets to go back and start all over again from square one, figure out the mistakes and try to fix them. Is commonly called recycling"

Clarice wanted to know more, but was afraid of what she'd hear and remained silent for a few moments while he patiently waited for her next question, which he anticipated.

" How do you know all this?" she asked

"We've been recycled before, Clarice. We were already dead when we met. Dead, and in the course of our first recycle" He wanted to let it sink in, before he continued

"We met in hell, you and I, Clarice. The dungeon was my hell and the FBI was yours."

She was quiet for a while, and they sat on a bench.

"Why?" It was all she could ask.

"I can only tell about my situation. Yours will all be explained to you, but not by me." His tone was soft and almost tender. His voice had lost the metallic undertones and was very peaceful. "There will be a hearing. You will not have a chance to plead your case, but there will be no interference with your freedom of choice." Then he added reflectively, "or mine for that matter."

Somehow, even before he said it, she knew he was already redeemed.

"Why are you here, then?" She needed to get a clear picture, but it was all bizarre and a bit surrealistic. " Please, tell me as much as you can."

"Originally, because in life I chose to take justice in my own hands. I knew that some of my patients were evil and couldn't divulge their secrets, so I eliminated them myself" he chuckled, "my own version of damage control, if you will. My approach didn't meet with approval and certainly didn't secure my direct access to heaven."

"You got recycled to correct your mistakes?

"Not exactly correct them, but to make points to earn my redemption, Clarice"

"How did you die, Dr. Lecter?"

"Will Graham killed me and I killed him back at the townhouse when he caught me, neither of us survived."

"Were is Will  now?"

"I suppose in Marathon, Florida, his version of Purgatory"

"The dungeon was your version of Hell, then?

"Yes, being in the dungeon, under Dr. Chilton's supervision, plus the fact that I couldn't communicate, was misunderstood and considered a monster; and later on, after we met, confronted with the very real possibility of never having you by my side …hell indeed, specially the first time"

"Specially the first time…" she echoed, then asked "was everyone there recycled; were we all dead, Dr Lecter?"

"Yes, everyone was being recycled"

"So, those people you killed to escape and to keep your freedom, and the ones I killed; the ones at the Fish Market and at the Verger Estate, they were already dead?" Then, in utter amazement "even Jame Gumb and Evelda Drumgo… Johnny Brigham?" she paused just a second to put the pieces together. "Krendler…they were all being recycled?"

A hint of admiration crept in his eyes, awed by her ability to process information "Yes" he answered simply.

A chilling suspicion assaulted her and she closed her eyes to protect herself from the impact of the answer she anticipated "Why did you get recycled a second time, Doctor.?" An invisible cold hand was gripping her guts and she felt sick

He was momentarily silent and she repeated, a little more emphatic this time, "how many recycles ago did you find redemption Dr. Lecter?"

"Just one, Clarice this was my second time around, and I chose to come back" he looked away as a child caught doing mischief.

In her head, his voice said "Would you 'ever' say to me stop, if you love me, stop" the pathos of his question hit like a bolt of lightning and she was devastated by the force of the implications.

"You volunteered to go back to hell?" Clarice sounded dismayed

"The first time I was recycled for my redemption, Clarice. But you became part of the equation and you got stuck. I had a choice to go into heaven alone and forsake you for eternity, or go back for you. I chose to go back."

Clarice looked straight into his eyes "How many times have we been recycled, Hannibal?" She used his name for the first time. His eyes told her he had taken it in. "How many times did you chose to return to hell for me?

"It doesn't matter," he answered evasively. "Who is counting?"

"I am," she responded, "I have to know."

"After the Chesapeake, I got out clean, but you got stuck; things went very wrong for you," he rubbed one hand over his face as if to chase away the memories, "you had to be recycled again, Clarice"

She gave him a blank, confused look "I imagine we don't get to take with us full memories of the previous recycles?" she elaborated.

"Generally that is true, we don't. It depends on the individual case, however."

In some cases of multiple recycles you just get what you need to go forward. For instance, I've always been aware that I was dead and recycled, but I couldn't communicate it to others." His eyes were full of light when he added, "my feelings for you, I found anew every time, you represent the constant element of my existence; but one doesn't keep the full memories of each previous recycle, that would be cheating, and pointless."

He paused and before he could go on she asked, "Did we have this conversation before?"

He nodded, "yes, Clarice, we did."

"We don't reckon time the same way, Clarice." His old voice in Memphis echoed in her mind.

"You were not allowed to tell many thing, back then, were you?" Within the bizarre setting, it was all beginning to make sense.

"I couldn't communicate directly, no." Responded the Doctor, then chuckled, "it doesn't work that way."

"Is that why you never gave me direct answers regarding the Buffalo Bill case?"

He extended both hands, palms up as in part apology and part surrender

"That was part of the deal, Clarice. Like Cassandra, I knew the answers but couldn't communicate them."

It no longer mattered, she thought, and dropped the subject. There were more important issues to clear up.

"…And now, what?…" she felt engulfed in a cloud of dread.

"I just killed myself, Hannibal, no heaven for me this time around, I'm sure." her hell, she realized, was to go through eternity without him.

"We'll have choices, Clarice"

"Together, we'll decide together?" she was hopeful.

He stood up and offered her his hand.

"Let's say that the next step will be contingent on the outcome of the hearing. If you are recycled for your salvation, then I'll chose to just go back and start again until we manage to finish the arch." He shrugged. "I can't fathom eternity without you, Clarice." He helped her up

She wished she had been less judgmental of him when she had a chance, that she had accepted her feelings for him; then felt a sudden impulse to touch him and wondered if it was possible for two dead people to touch.

Carefully she placed a hand on his arm. He looked at her hand and covered it with his own.

"And then?…" she insisted, pleased to discover that they could feel as if they were alive.

The Doctor didn't answer, he took her by the arm and guided her to a crypt like structure at one the side of the garden. He opened the door and led her in. She stopped then, and turned around to face him. He waited.

Slowly she put her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder "dead people can hug." She said to herself, simultaneously marveled and reassured.

He wrapped one arm around her and with his free hand smoothed her hair, his eyes like deep maroon pools.

"We have to go in now, Clarice" and guided her inside the structure.

The room was big and sparely furnished, just a desk and a few chairs. A middle-age man was sitting behind the desk. He looked up when they came in and greeted them with a smile.

"Sit, please" he invited

Once they were seated, he began to talk.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Special Agent Clint Pearsall called Assistant Director Noonan who then, called Director Tunberry .

Once the three men were in a conference call, Pearsall announced.

"She wants to visit Lecter in his death row cell."

"That will be another embarrassment." Commented Noonan, "there seems to be no end to the embarrassment the Bureau will derive from this lose cannon."

"She has offered her resignation without conditions in exchange for being allowed to visit him on death row, she want to be with him until right before he gets the needle." There was a sarcastic undertone in Pearsall's voice and his eyes glittered with malice.

"The woman is mad!" Tunberry snarled, then thought for a few seconds,, "but the deal sounds good, as soon as she resigns we can then disassociate ourselves from her, she will look like the nut she's always been and we'll come out clean. She'll fall entirely in the hungry hands of the press and merciless public opinion. "

"So you'll go with it, boss?" Noonan wanted a hard yes.

"Yes, lets go with it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Please let me know how you like the story so far. I'd really appreciate your comments. Being that this deviates "a bit" from the cannon

Clariz