nine

Clarice held her breath as the cold metal blade slipped between the plaster cast and her skin. She watched as Lecter slowly cut through the plaster. Minutes later, her wrist was free. Lecter pulled the blankets down and started on the casts on her legs. His touch was surprisingly gentle and not for one second did it cross her mind how easy it would be for him to hurt her.

The door to the balcony was open, allowing the cool morning breeze to enter. It was a welcome change from the weeks of feeling nothing but plaster, and she smiled. She wasn't sure if it was the breeze or Lecter's hands that gave her goosebumps, but right now she didn't care.

"Thank you," she said. Her tone was sincere, and there was a warmth in her voice that was new to her.

Lecter gently lifted her right leg, flexing it so she had to bend her knee. She held her breath, the ache in her unused muscles not entirely unpleasant. He repeated the action with the other leg and she gasped, her calf muscles cramping in protest.

"How is your wrist?" Lecter asked.

She flexed it and smiled. "A little sore. But otherwise, perfect."

She would need to work hard to regain her strength. It was a good thing she wasn't planning to enter any shooting competitions in the near future, she thought with a slight chuckle.

"Would you like to go outside?"

She looked at the window. Yes, she would love to go outside, but not just yet. She turned to Lecter. "What I'd really like is a bubble bath."

Ten minutes later, Lecter was helping her into a steaming bath. He was the epitome of gentlemanly courtesy and she found herself surprisingly unashamed of her nakedness. He had been looking after her for weeks now, and not once had he taken advantage of her helplessness. Some deep part of her wished that he would look at her.

She sank back into the bubbles and smiled up at the doctor, pleased to see that he looked slightly flushed. With the casts off, she felt strangely liberated, and she decided she could enjoy this unfamiliar new power she seemed to have over him.

You're playing with fire, a voice warned in the back of her mind.

I know, she thought gleefully. And I'm having fun.

What?! The voice shrieked. Have you lost your mind?

"I'll be right outside. Call me if you need anything," Lecter said.

She nodded. Maybe she had lost her mind. What did it matter? She was damned anyway.

*

Buzzard's Point was appropriately named, Graham thought. It was a home for scavengers and predators. Graham wished he were anywhere else. He'd needed to see Pearsall though, and Pammy had managed to squeeze him in between two meetings. But, of course, Pearsall was running late.

Finally, his office door opened and Pearsall stepped out. He said something to Pammy then approached Graham.

"Take a walk with me."

Graham fell into step with Pearsall as they made their way to Pearsall's car.

"I got a phone call from Senator Martin. She wants to know how the investigation is going," Pearsall said.

"Lecter's managed to avoid capture for ten years. He's not going to get careless now. Especially not when he has exactly what he wants."

"Which is?"

"Clarice Starling."

Pearsall stopped and looked around; no one was in earshot. He lowered his voice anyway. "Clarice Starling is probably dead already. We're not looking for her, we're looking for him."

"If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it years ago." Graham felt sick. Pearsall didn't care about Clarice Starling; he just wanted Lecter caught. Graham had had his suspicions from the beginning, but there was no joy in having them confirmed.

He had a fleeting thought that perhaps Clarice Starling was better off with Hannibal Lecter. There was nothing for her to return to. People would always wonder about her, there would always be talk of her relationship with Lecter.

Pearsall was speaking again. He forced himself to listen.

". . . Keep looking. And keep me informed." Pearsall strode to his car, leaving Graham staring after him.

He wondered what Pearsall would do if he just left and went back to Florida.

*

Clarice was overjoyed to be mobile again. She'd mastered the use of her crutches with a little practice, and had already explored the entire upstairs level of the house. She was currently negotiating her way down the stairs when Lecter opened the front door.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

She blew a stray strand of hair from her face and smiled. "Just looking for the kitchen."

"That way." He gestured to his right and stood, watching her as she struggled down the last few steps. She was glad he hadn't offered to help.

The kitchen was spacious and airy. Ardelia would have loved it. It was the first time Clarice had thought of Ardelia without wanting to cry.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

*

Dwayne stood in the cemetery again. He said a silent prayer for Ardelia and Clarice. He'd meant what he'd said to Graham; he had to go on living. He couldn't mourn forever. And there was nothing he could for Clarice now except pray. The only person who could possibly help her was Graham, but Dwayne had a feeling the agent had too many of his own demons to fight before he could.

If God were at all merciful, Clarice would be dead already. That was certainly preferable to being held hostage by that monster.

Dwayne took out Ardelia's cross from his pocket and laid it on the grass in front of the headstone. He took a deep breath, his voice choked as he finally said, "Goodbye, 'Delia."

He didn't look back on his way out. Ardelia wasn't there anyway. He looked skyward, and there was a faint trace of a smile on his face.

He thought, just maybe, he'd be okay after all.

*

The stars were clear in the night sky. Clarice sat on the balcony, lost in thought. If Lecter had wanted to help her work through her grief and her guilt, he'd done that. Which meant that she was ready to return, only . . .

Only she wasn't sure she wanted to.

She liked being here. She liked her conversations with Lecter. She liked feeling that she belonged.

But the nagging voice inside her told her she couldn't stay. Countless questions tumbled through her mind. What guarantee was there that Lecter wouldn't tire of her and kill her? What if they were found, what would happen then? If she did stay with him, where would they go? What if he killed again? Or worse, would she be able to kill for him?

Too late, she thought, she'd already done that. Mason's goons, in the barn. That deputy—one of her own.

Would she do it again?

The answer came immediately. Yes.

But she still didn't feel any better. It didn't matter what she wanted. She should leave, go back to D.C. and rescue whatever remained of her life. It's what Ardelia would have suggested.

Ardelia had never understood. No one had. Not even she understood completely.

She still couldn't stay.

Her mind made up, she picked up her crutches and hobbled back into the bedroom. Lecter was waiting for her; she wondered how long he'd been watching her. He smiled at her and she knew he knew what she had decided. She raised her chin.

"You said I'm not a prisoner here."

"Did I?"

A sliver of fear ran down her spine. He had, hadn't he? Or had she just imagined that?

To what lengths would he go to keep her here?

"Dr. Lecter—"

"You don't really want to leave. I expect it's just your conscience, trying to convince you that staying is wrong. Listen to your heart, Clarice. Your heart won't lie."

She glanced at the door behind him and knew she'd never make it. But she had to try. She dropped the crutches and darted past him. He grabbed her around the waist and threw her to the bed, pinning her to the mattress with his weight. His breath was hot against her neck. She closed her eyes, panting from both the exercise and his proximity.

"That world holds nothing for you anymore," he said. "Why do you keep wanting to go back to it?"

She couldn't give him an answer she didn't have.

"Tell me, Clarice, that you haven't felt more alive in the past few weeks than you have in the last three years. Tell me, and I'll drive you back myself."

She was so tired of fighting; maybe it was time to stop. Listen to your heart, he'd said. She opened her eyes and saw he was waiting for her answer. Very slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and softly pressed her lips to his.

*

"Dr. Williamson? I'm Agent Graham. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."

Graham wasn't sure how much help the psychologist would be. He'd only spoken to Clarice Starling once and Graham was sure that the topic of Hannibal Lecter had not come up. But he was short on leads, and he had to follow through on every one he got.

The doctor glanced at his watch and nodded. "I have a patient in five minutes."

Graham closed the office door and sat down. "You spoke to Clarice Starling shortly before she went missing."

Dr. Williamson frowned in thought, then nodded. "Ah, yes. Miss Starling had been in a very serious accident. I assumed, correctly, that she was struggling to deal with her grief. Especially when it was compounded by the guilt of her friend's death."

"Did she tell you she felt guilty?"

Dr. Williamson seemed surprised at the question. "Why, no. She didn't have to. Anyone in her situation would have felt that way. It's a natural human response."

Graham decided he didn't like the doctor. He was sure Clarice hadn't liked him either. He stood. "Well, thank you very much."

Dr. Williamson grunted in reply and turned back to his paperwork. Graham shook his head and left.

For no reason at all, he decided to visit Ardelia Mapp's grave.

*

Clarice laid a bunch of forget-me-nots on John Brigham's grave and slowly made her way to Ardelia's. Lecter walked beside her in silence. He stopped just before Ardelia's grave, giving Clarice some privacy.

Something glinted in the afternoon sunshine. Clarice bent to pick it up. It was Ardelia's necklace. She wondered how long it had been there; it was strange that no one had taken it. Smiling, she slipped it into her pocket.

"I'm sorry, 'Delia. For all of this. You didn't deserve it." She looked at Lecter, not surprised to find him watching her. "I wish . . . I wish you were still here."

She dropped a single rose on the grave and turned to Lecter. He was staring past her. She looked back over her shoulder and froze.

Will Graham was just a few feet away, an expression of shock and disbelief on his face.