Disclaimer: The
characters of Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, Jack Crawford and Paul
Krendler do not belong to me, but to Thomas Harris. No copyright
infringement intended. I don't see how I could make any money of it
anyway.
I'm just borrowing them for a ride. I'll turn them back. I promise ...
Or
maybe not ... Some phrases have borrowed too, but take it as a tribute
to the author.
Chapter 7
Mike Simpson was talking to her while driving. Clarice heard his voice but wasn't paying any attention to the words he was saying. She was lost in her thoughts and in the strange feeling of discomfort she had been experiencing ever since she woke up that morning. She knew something was wrong, but she could simply not make it out.
She had not talked to anybody about her last encounter with Dr. Lecter. Neither to Crawford nor to Simpson. And she knew she wouldn't. It was a decision she had taken in the middle of the night. She had tried to justify it by the fact that she had not learnt much that could be useful to the FBI. She could have recognized the house, yes, but was unable to lead them to it. Lecter had probably moved already anyway. He would not run the risk to let her find him. And he had not released any clear information about what his next moves would be.
At some moments, she even managed to believe it. But deep inside, she knew these were not the real reasons why she would never talk. It was too ... personal. Her relationship with Hannibal Lecter had passed the mere hunter-prey relationship. It had become too intimate. But what scared her the more in all this was that, in her rare moments of lucidity, she was no more sure that she really wanted to catch him. And that was a first !
She did not know how or if she could handle it. For the first time, she had started to see the man behind the monster. And though she would never admit it loudly, she knew she had appreciated what she had seen. Ever since he had left her in front of her building, she had not stopped thinking of him. Even when she finally fell asleep, he joined her in her dreams.
" - Which one should we start with ?" Simpson had raised his voice. She looked at him, puzzled.
" - Sorry, Mike ?
- You have not listened to a single word I've said, have you ?
- I'm sorry. I was just thinking of something else. What is it you want to know ?
- ... Are you all right ? You look ... preoccupied.
- No, I'm OK. I was just ... Nothing regarding the case anyway."
Simpson nodded at her.
" - No problem." he said. " I was just saying we have two places to visit this morning: one on Calvin street and another one on Parker. Which one do you want to start with ?
- As you want. Calvin is closer.
- Yes. Let's start with Calvin."
After a few seconds, as if she was feeling guilty not to be loyal to Simpson, Clarice added:
" - I don't think he would select a place downtown anyway.
- Yeah. We're probably loosing our time. But we haven't got anything else, have we ?"
He had looked at her with his last sentence. It was a genuine question. She shook her head negatively.
Hannibal was arriving home. He had made a last marking off of the place. He was as ready as a man could be. This night he would act.
When he entered the dining room, he smelt her scent. But he could not be sure whether it was still here or if it was just his imagination. He had been thinking of her whole day; to the point it sometimes spoiled his concentration. He was not used to it. He was a man of control. But nobody had ever troubled him the way she did. Was this what they called Love ?
He smiled. He liked this feeling. But had no time to give away to it right now. He had to prepare.
Clarice dropped in her sofa. The day had been useless. But she knew it would be. They had gone on searching for Lecter, but in the wrong places. She knew they were not even close. The other teams had not done any better.
She took her glass on the coffee table and took a sip of vodka. She grinned when the cold liquid burnt her throat. Her eyes caught the copy of Mc Dougall book she had left on the table. She took it and started leafing through it. She sighed.
She was more confused than tired. The feeling she was missing something had grown in the back of her head during the day. She knew the only person who could help her clearing her mind was out of reach. And anyway he would not make it easy for her. "What is it, Dr. Lecter ?" she uttered to the emptiness of her apartment. "What is it you have seen and I don't ?".
He had spoken of his sister. She went to the chapter in which Mc Dougall was writing about her death and started reading it loud. It was pure trash, merely assumptions, full of sordid details, even badly written. Though it made her want to puke, she forced herself to read through the whole chapter.
The story was somehow familiar to her. Where was it she first heard about Lecter' s sister ? She thought for a while, trying to concentrate.
"The FBI file. Lecter case file." This is where she first saw the name of Mischa mentioned. She tried to recollect her memories, tried to find out if she had ever read it mentioned in a paper or heard it in a TV report. She did not believe she had. Of course, she could have missed a few articles or broadcasts, but ... such a story, if it had come out, would not have passed unnoticed.
How did he know ? How did Mc Dougall know ? She re-opened the book and went to the chapter about her. She read it through. The first part was about the Jame Gumb case. Nothing that had not been mentioned tens of times in the press. The end of the chapter though was more interesting. Particularly the details about that night in Chesapeake. The Bureau had been pretty embarrassed with the end of Paul Krendler, and they did not release much information to the journalists that arrived on the scene. Obviously, minor details had escaped in the days that followed but ... from what she could remember, nothing about what happened between Lecter and her in the kitchen. She would not have forgotten that.
Mc Dougall had written that Hannibal Lecter was unable to seduce a woman, and that he had to 'use the force to satisfy his appetites', like when he had had to 'stuck Clarice Starling' s hair in a fridge to steal a kiss from her'. According to Mc Dougall, that was not necessary as she was more than willing to kiss him. Clarice felt her cheeks grow red.
How could she have missed this the first time she had read it ? She was probably too tired or too disgusted.
There were only two witnesses to that scene: Hannibal Lecter and her. No way Lecter could have talked to anybody about it. The only person she had talked to was the special agent who had interrogated her after that night. Of course, he had written a report, but that was internal and confidential information. Either Mc Dougall had very special acquaintances inside the FBI, or ...
Clarice closed her eyes. No. That was impossible ... or he was from the FBI, she mentally finished her sentence. She stayed like that for a few minutes, staring into space, realizing the consequences of what she had just thought.
Only Jack Crawford could have set up such an operation. Lecter was his case. Images of her meeting with Krantz and Crawford just a few days before came back to her mind. Then she remembered the night when she called him at home and the conversation they had the day after in his office. He had ordered her not to get involved. But in the same time, he had released to her so much information he could not possibly believe she would stay out. He deliberately fed her curiosity.
He had played with her. He had manipulated her. He had used her.
She was holding the book with such anger that her knuckles had turned white. She threw it on the wall with such force that the cover was dislocated. "Bastard !" she shouted.
Crawford had seen his plan turn bad. Lecter had assaulted Dubrowski and Sogliato, but not Mc Dougall, who was most probably the bait to the final trap. Now he was in deep troubles because two civilians had been kidnapped. And of course, Clarice Starling was the surest way to make Lecter come out.
So he had used her ... Once more ... As he had used her in Baltimore ... As Mason Verger had used her, with the consent and the help of the FBI. Hannibal Lecter was right.
She stood up, grabbed her bag and went out.
Hannibal had been waiting for Jack Crawford for about one hour when he finally saw him arrive at his home. It was 9:45 pm and the neighborhood was quiet. It was cold and he wished he had brought his coat.
For having already spent a few nights spying on old Jackie, he was knowing pretty well his habits. He would now go to the bathroom and take a shower - fifteen minutes. Then he would go down to the kitchen and cook his dinner. Hannibal had searched Crawford' s garbage a few times and had a fair idea of the menu: frozen stuff, canned stuff, maybe a soup. Seemed Crawford' s cooking abilities were rather limited.
Then he would swallow his dinner in the kitchen. Generally, it did not take him more than ten minutes. He would prepare himself a cup of tea and take it to the sitting room, where he would read for about one hour. He would be in bed before midnight. Hannibal would wait for one more hour and then would enter.
Hannibal sat on a rock, behind some thick bushes. From where he was, he had a good view on the house, but Crawford could not notice him in the dark. He let his thoughts go free for a while.
A little bit more than half an hour later, his attention was drawn by the sound of a car parking in front of Crawford' s house. He stood up to see better. He was rather surprised when he recognized the Mustang. Clarice stepped out from the car and went to ring at the door. Crawford opened almost at once.
Hannibal saw them talk in the doorway. Then Crawford let her in. They went to the kitchen. Though he could not hear what they were saying, Hannibal saw that the conversation was pretty animated. Clarice was making big gestures and looked angry at her ex-boss. Hannibal smiled at the night. This was becoming really interested. His girl had brains ... and guts. She apparently had made her way to the right conclusions. He might still hope for the best, after all.
The door opened. Crawford looked truly surprised when he saw Clarice on his door steps.
" - Starling ? What are you doing here ?
- I've got to talk to you, Mr. Crawford.
- And this could not wait till tomorrow morning in the office ?
- It could. But I believe it is better for both of us if we have this little conversation outside the FBI premises."
He looked at her intensely and let her in.
" - We'll have to talk in the kitchen, if you don't mind. I was cooking. Did you have dinner already, Starling ?
- I'm not hungry."
Clarice' s tone was as cold as Crawford' s one was friendly. He stopped the gas under the soup pan and turned back to her. He showed her a chair by the kitchen table.
" - Please, take a seat.
- I don't need one.
- What is it, Clarice ? You seem ... troubled.
- Don't call me that. Only my friends can call me that.
- I see. And I'm no more your friend ..."
Clarice was staring at him. He was smiling. Her eyes were full of rage.
" - You lied to me. You manipulated me and you lied to me. Once more.
- Starling, if you calm down a minute, I may underst...
- No, Mr. Crawford. I don't want to calm down. And you perfectly know what I'm talking about. Mc Dougall, or whatever his name is, is one of your agents, isn't he ?"
Crawford bit his lips. When he finally answered, his voice was calm and low.
" - Yes, he is.
- And you set up all this to trap Lecter.
- Hannibal Lecter is a criminal, Starling. And we're from the FBI, remember ? Catching Lecter is part of the job.
- And you consider using me any time you need it as part of your job ?
- I consider doing whatever is needed to capture serial killers as part of my job, Starling. As long as it does not endanger lives, of course. We both know Lecter will never hurt you.
- What about Dubrowski ? What about Sogliato ? They could be sacrificed ? It was worth it ?
- They were not part of the plan. But if you absolutely need to find a culprit for their death, why don't you ask Lecter ?
...
- And it never occurred to you that you could have told me ?"
Crawford did not answer. He bent his head and looked at his shoes. When Clarice started again, her voice was still cold as ice, but calm and determined.
" - Can you give me one example of a situation where I betrayed my oath to the FBI ? When did I fail you, Mr. Crawford ? What made you think I wouldn't have cooperated if you had told me the truth ?
- You're a good agent, Starling. One of the best. But your relationship with Hannibal Lecter is too personal and ...
- And you figured out you could not trust me. Just for your information, Mr. Crawford, you should not believe everything they write in the tabloids. I never slept with Hannibal Lecter.
...
- I made a mistake, Starling. But I did not mean to hurt you. And the cause was just.
...
- I want to be released from my assignment, sir." Crawford raised an eyebrow and looked at her in disbelief.
" - What do you mean, Starling ?
- I think it is clear. I don't want to work on the Lecter case anymore. I'm no more part of the Behavioral Science Unit. I believe this temporary assignment was an error. If you want to take disciplinary measures for my disobeying your orders, I'll understand."
Crawford sat on the chair he had offered to Clarice.
" - Clarice, we need to get him. And we're close. I can feel it. We can do it without you, but our chances are definitely better if you stay at our side.
- As a bait ? Thank you, sir, but that's not why I enrolled.
...
- I understand. You won't have any problem, not from me. Report to Krantz tomorrow morning. I'll call him and tell him I have changed my mind, that I think working on this case is not safe for you ... Krantz knows nothing about all this.
- And inspector Simpson ?"
Crawford shook his head negatively. Clarice left without adding a single word.
When Clarice finally left Crawford' s house, the moonlight reflected on her face and Hannibal saw her expression. "Clarice, you're beautiful when you're angry. Do you know that ?" he murmured.
She was getting to her car. He had to make a decision quickly: Crawford or Clarice ? He had come for Jack, but Jack could wait for another day, and the temptation was too big.
He discreetly reached his car and when Starling left, he followed her at a distance.
To be continued ... Thanks for reading. If you want to leave a review, feel free. If you don't, feel free the same.
Absolut.
Chapter 7
Mike Simpson was talking to her while driving. Clarice heard his voice but wasn't paying any attention to the words he was saying. She was lost in her thoughts and in the strange feeling of discomfort she had been experiencing ever since she woke up that morning. She knew something was wrong, but she could simply not make it out.
She had not talked to anybody about her last encounter with Dr. Lecter. Neither to Crawford nor to Simpson. And she knew she wouldn't. It was a decision she had taken in the middle of the night. She had tried to justify it by the fact that she had not learnt much that could be useful to the FBI. She could have recognized the house, yes, but was unable to lead them to it. Lecter had probably moved already anyway. He would not run the risk to let her find him. And he had not released any clear information about what his next moves would be.
At some moments, she even managed to believe it. But deep inside, she knew these were not the real reasons why she would never talk. It was too ... personal. Her relationship with Hannibal Lecter had passed the mere hunter-prey relationship. It had become too intimate. But what scared her the more in all this was that, in her rare moments of lucidity, she was no more sure that she really wanted to catch him. And that was a first !
She did not know how or if she could handle it. For the first time, she had started to see the man behind the monster. And though she would never admit it loudly, she knew she had appreciated what she had seen. Ever since he had left her in front of her building, she had not stopped thinking of him. Even when she finally fell asleep, he joined her in her dreams.
" - Which one should we start with ?" Simpson had raised his voice. She looked at him, puzzled.
" - Sorry, Mike ?
- You have not listened to a single word I've said, have you ?
- I'm sorry. I was just thinking of something else. What is it you want to know ?
- ... Are you all right ? You look ... preoccupied.
- No, I'm OK. I was just ... Nothing regarding the case anyway."
Simpson nodded at her.
" - No problem." he said. " I was just saying we have two places to visit this morning: one on Calvin street and another one on Parker. Which one do you want to start with ?
- As you want. Calvin is closer.
- Yes. Let's start with Calvin."
After a few seconds, as if she was feeling guilty not to be loyal to Simpson, Clarice added:
" - I don't think he would select a place downtown anyway.
- Yeah. We're probably loosing our time. But we haven't got anything else, have we ?"
He had looked at her with his last sentence. It was a genuine question. She shook her head negatively.
Hannibal was arriving home. He had made a last marking off of the place. He was as ready as a man could be. This night he would act.
When he entered the dining room, he smelt her scent. But he could not be sure whether it was still here or if it was just his imagination. He had been thinking of her whole day; to the point it sometimes spoiled his concentration. He was not used to it. He was a man of control. But nobody had ever troubled him the way she did. Was this what they called Love ?
He smiled. He liked this feeling. But had no time to give away to it right now. He had to prepare.
Clarice dropped in her sofa. The day had been useless. But she knew it would be. They had gone on searching for Lecter, but in the wrong places. She knew they were not even close. The other teams had not done any better.
She took her glass on the coffee table and took a sip of vodka. She grinned when the cold liquid burnt her throat. Her eyes caught the copy of Mc Dougall book she had left on the table. She took it and started leafing through it. She sighed.
She was more confused than tired. The feeling she was missing something had grown in the back of her head during the day. She knew the only person who could help her clearing her mind was out of reach. And anyway he would not make it easy for her. "What is it, Dr. Lecter ?" she uttered to the emptiness of her apartment. "What is it you have seen and I don't ?".
He had spoken of his sister. She went to the chapter in which Mc Dougall was writing about her death and started reading it loud. It was pure trash, merely assumptions, full of sordid details, even badly written. Though it made her want to puke, she forced herself to read through the whole chapter.
The story was somehow familiar to her. Where was it she first heard about Lecter' s sister ? She thought for a while, trying to concentrate.
"The FBI file. Lecter case file." This is where she first saw the name of Mischa mentioned. She tried to recollect her memories, tried to find out if she had ever read it mentioned in a paper or heard it in a TV report. She did not believe she had. Of course, she could have missed a few articles or broadcasts, but ... such a story, if it had come out, would not have passed unnoticed.
How did he know ? How did Mc Dougall know ? She re-opened the book and went to the chapter about her. She read it through. The first part was about the Jame Gumb case. Nothing that had not been mentioned tens of times in the press. The end of the chapter though was more interesting. Particularly the details about that night in Chesapeake. The Bureau had been pretty embarrassed with the end of Paul Krendler, and they did not release much information to the journalists that arrived on the scene. Obviously, minor details had escaped in the days that followed but ... from what she could remember, nothing about what happened between Lecter and her in the kitchen. She would not have forgotten that.
Mc Dougall had written that Hannibal Lecter was unable to seduce a woman, and that he had to 'use the force to satisfy his appetites', like when he had had to 'stuck Clarice Starling' s hair in a fridge to steal a kiss from her'. According to Mc Dougall, that was not necessary as she was more than willing to kiss him. Clarice felt her cheeks grow red.
How could she have missed this the first time she had read it ? She was probably too tired or too disgusted.
There were only two witnesses to that scene: Hannibal Lecter and her. No way Lecter could have talked to anybody about it. The only person she had talked to was the special agent who had interrogated her after that night. Of course, he had written a report, but that was internal and confidential information. Either Mc Dougall had very special acquaintances inside the FBI, or ...
Clarice closed her eyes. No. That was impossible ... or he was from the FBI, she mentally finished her sentence. She stayed like that for a few minutes, staring into space, realizing the consequences of what she had just thought.
Only Jack Crawford could have set up such an operation. Lecter was his case. Images of her meeting with Krantz and Crawford just a few days before came back to her mind. Then she remembered the night when she called him at home and the conversation they had the day after in his office. He had ordered her not to get involved. But in the same time, he had released to her so much information he could not possibly believe she would stay out. He deliberately fed her curiosity.
He had played with her. He had manipulated her. He had used her.
She was holding the book with such anger that her knuckles had turned white. She threw it on the wall with such force that the cover was dislocated. "Bastard !" she shouted.
Crawford had seen his plan turn bad. Lecter had assaulted Dubrowski and Sogliato, but not Mc Dougall, who was most probably the bait to the final trap. Now he was in deep troubles because two civilians had been kidnapped. And of course, Clarice Starling was the surest way to make Lecter come out.
So he had used her ... Once more ... As he had used her in Baltimore ... As Mason Verger had used her, with the consent and the help of the FBI. Hannibal Lecter was right.
She stood up, grabbed her bag and went out.
Hannibal had been waiting for Jack Crawford for about one hour when he finally saw him arrive at his home. It was 9:45 pm and the neighborhood was quiet. It was cold and he wished he had brought his coat.
For having already spent a few nights spying on old Jackie, he was knowing pretty well his habits. He would now go to the bathroom and take a shower - fifteen minutes. Then he would go down to the kitchen and cook his dinner. Hannibal had searched Crawford' s garbage a few times and had a fair idea of the menu: frozen stuff, canned stuff, maybe a soup. Seemed Crawford' s cooking abilities were rather limited.
Then he would swallow his dinner in the kitchen. Generally, it did not take him more than ten minutes. He would prepare himself a cup of tea and take it to the sitting room, where he would read for about one hour. He would be in bed before midnight. Hannibal would wait for one more hour and then would enter.
Hannibal sat on a rock, behind some thick bushes. From where he was, he had a good view on the house, but Crawford could not notice him in the dark. He let his thoughts go free for a while.
A little bit more than half an hour later, his attention was drawn by the sound of a car parking in front of Crawford' s house. He stood up to see better. He was rather surprised when he recognized the Mustang. Clarice stepped out from the car and went to ring at the door. Crawford opened almost at once.
Hannibal saw them talk in the doorway. Then Crawford let her in. They went to the kitchen. Though he could not hear what they were saying, Hannibal saw that the conversation was pretty animated. Clarice was making big gestures and looked angry at her ex-boss. Hannibal smiled at the night. This was becoming really interested. His girl had brains ... and guts. She apparently had made her way to the right conclusions. He might still hope for the best, after all.
The door opened. Crawford looked truly surprised when he saw Clarice on his door steps.
" - Starling ? What are you doing here ?
- I've got to talk to you, Mr. Crawford.
- And this could not wait till tomorrow morning in the office ?
- It could. But I believe it is better for both of us if we have this little conversation outside the FBI premises."
He looked at her intensely and let her in.
" - We'll have to talk in the kitchen, if you don't mind. I was cooking. Did you have dinner already, Starling ?
- I'm not hungry."
Clarice' s tone was as cold as Crawford' s one was friendly. He stopped the gas under the soup pan and turned back to her. He showed her a chair by the kitchen table.
" - Please, take a seat.
- I don't need one.
- What is it, Clarice ? You seem ... troubled.
- Don't call me that. Only my friends can call me that.
- I see. And I'm no more your friend ..."
Clarice was staring at him. He was smiling. Her eyes were full of rage.
" - You lied to me. You manipulated me and you lied to me. Once more.
- Starling, if you calm down a minute, I may underst...
- No, Mr. Crawford. I don't want to calm down. And you perfectly know what I'm talking about. Mc Dougall, or whatever his name is, is one of your agents, isn't he ?"
Crawford bit his lips. When he finally answered, his voice was calm and low.
" - Yes, he is.
- And you set up all this to trap Lecter.
- Hannibal Lecter is a criminal, Starling. And we're from the FBI, remember ? Catching Lecter is part of the job.
- And you consider using me any time you need it as part of your job ?
- I consider doing whatever is needed to capture serial killers as part of my job, Starling. As long as it does not endanger lives, of course. We both know Lecter will never hurt you.
- What about Dubrowski ? What about Sogliato ? They could be sacrificed ? It was worth it ?
- They were not part of the plan. But if you absolutely need to find a culprit for their death, why don't you ask Lecter ?
...
- And it never occurred to you that you could have told me ?"
Crawford did not answer. He bent his head and looked at his shoes. When Clarice started again, her voice was still cold as ice, but calm and determined.
" - Can you give me one example of a situation where I betrayed my oath to the FBI ? When did I fail you, Mr. Crawford ? What made you think I wouldn't have cooperated if you had told me the truth ?
- You're a good agent, Starling. One of the best. But your relationship with Hannibal Lecter is too personal and ...
- And you figured out you could not trust me. Just for your information, Mr. Crawford, you should not believe everything they write in the tabloids. I never slept with Hannibal Lecter.
...
- I made a mistake, Starling. But I did not mean to hurt you. And the cause was just.
...
- I want to be released from my assignment, sir." Crawford raised an eyebrow and looked at her in disbelief.
" - What do you mean, Starling ?
- I think it is clear. I don't want to work on the Lecter case anymore. I'm no more part of the Behavioral Science Unit. I believe this temporary assignment was an error. If you want to take disciplinary measures for my disobeying your orders, I'll understand."
Crawford sat on the chair he had offered to Clarice.
" - Clarice, we need to get him. And we're close. I can feel it. We can do it without you, but our chances are definitely better if you stay at our side.
- As a bait ? Thank you, sir, but that's not why I enrolled.
...
- I understand. You won't have any problem, not from me. Report to Krantz tomorrow morning. I'll call him and tell him I have changed my mind, that I think working on this case is not safe for you ... Krantz knows nothing about all this.
- And inspector Simpson ?"
Crawford shook his head negatively. Clarice left without adding a single word.
When Clarice finally left Crawford' s house, the moonlight reflected on her face and Hannibal saw her expression. "Clarice, you're beautiful when you're angry. Do you know that ?" he murmured.
She was getting to her car. He had to make a decision quickly: Crawford or Clarice ? He had come for Jack, but Jack could wait for another day, and the temptation was too big.
He discreetly reached his car and when Starling left, he followed her at a distance.
To be continued ... Thanks for reading. If you want to leave a review, feel free. If you don't, feel free the same.
Absolut.