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By Jstarz927 and Aine Deande
A/N: Wow, it's been awhile, eh? Never fear, we're far too addicted to this story to ever give it up. We'd like to take some of this time to respond to a certain reviewer.
angelofnight: A guy that thought Hannibal was God, eh? Close, close, read on, and see…
And we'd like to thank all reviewers, you all mean so much to us. And now, the eighth part of our endless saga of insanity.
Chapter 8Journeys
Dr. Lecter sat before the table in his apartment, his right hand resting lightly upon his thigh. His left forearm lay flat upon the table, muscles taut as he clenched and unclenched his fist. The ceiling fan spun a lazy pattern and Dr. Lecter's hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, unnoticed by him as he focused all his attention upon his hand.
His therapy had taken an enormous leap forward just this past morning. He had terminated his sessions with Nicole Bondelier in a late-night phone call to the hospital, giving no explanation but more than satisfying the hospital by paying for the rest of his sessions in full. Dr. Lecter had entertained himself for long time afterwards with images of a distraught Nicole, placing all dresses she had tried on as possible attire for the night out back in the closet, leaked mascara smearing those precision-corrected corners of her eyes and cheeks in classic movie style.
His new therapist was male, a doctor from a hospital in a nearby town. Dr. Link
had immediately abandoned the gradual approach his previous sessions had
incorporated and had begun taking him full-throttle through more and more
difficult exercises with little mercy. By the end of this morning, Dr. Lecter's
hand had stiffened into something resembling a crab's claw, but he was pleased
with the progress his therapist was allowing.
It was now late afternoon again. His hand had loosened sufficiently that Dr. Lecter felt he could manage a few more exercises.
Exactly twenty-four hours since he had heard that fateful broadcast. What had prevented him from going straightaway to her rescue? Fear? Uncertainty? Or perhaps the knowledge that whatever actions he might have taken in the heat of the moment might have had disastrous consequences? Dr. Lecter made few mistakes, but the few that he had made had been devastating.
For a brief minute, Dr. Lecter wondered why he had never been able to maintain a successful relationship with any female. His pupils dilated slightly at a memory before he swiftly slammed the door of his memory palace upon it, the cloying scent of death nevertheless escaping to torment his mind.
Clarice. Kidnapped. What in the world did she get into now? The girl just never was granted a break…
Nor would she ever receive
one. Clarice Starling seemed to attract trouble wherever she went. That's my
girl. With a long sigh, Dr. Lecter relaxed his left hand and slid it from
the table surface. Of course, he had no choice. Clarice was in trouble. What
was left for him but to help her out? Leave her to the wolves? Not an option.
Let her sweat for a bit before coming to the rescue? Not his style, even if he
liked to tease. No. He had known that he would free her before his mind had
determined the thought as valid. No further thinking could dissuade him from
that conclusion.
He had discovered long ago he couldn't refuse her anything.
But where was she?
His thoughts were disordered pieces of information, a puzzle he had yet to
solve. He knew from the news report that Clarice had last been seen in the
company of Memphis police, apparently investigating a series of murders closely
resembling his own. Dr. Lecter was fairly certain he hadn't killed a single
soul since that abominably rude Paul Krendler. Krendler had dirtied his tongue
with remarks directed at the only thing pure in his life, and therefore had been
punished in the most suitable way. Dr. Lecter was not the only one who admired
his unique form of justice.
Who was copying him? Was it an admiring figure with a dark sense of humor, a
fan, much like Dolarhyde had been in some strange aspect? A shadow of a smile
flickered over the doctor's features, allowing his mind to drift back to those
good old times for just a moment, before redirecting his thoughts to the matter
at hand.
An admiring fan? Maybe. But it could also be someone who held a grudge against
him. Someone who wanted to kill him, perhaps, and thought that by offending him
by duplicating his pleasurable hobby in frightening fashion he could lure Dr.
Lecter out of hiding to seek out the offender.
Alas, Dr Lecter would come out of hiding now, but for decidedly other
reasons. Or else…this was just what was intended. Perhaps, Clarice had been
kidnapped…by the same person.
Snap. Dr Lecter's eyes snapped open and instantly registered, one blink at a
time, this revelation. So, the copycat killer was also the Clarice's kidnapper.
There could be no doubt over this conclusion; Clarice would never stay out of
contact with anyone for this long. Her loyalties bound her to the people she
cared about, the institution she had so craved to be a part of…
She would have thought it
insolent not to reveal to the FBI or that friend of hers, Ardelia Mapp, a sign
of her well-being or current whereabouts. If Clarice had been on her way to
capture this impersonator of his, it could well be she had been shot dead already,
if she had interfered with the person's plans. But not likely.
Judging from the attention to detail the murderer had displayed in copying the
Doctor's work, it was fair to say that he was a level-headed, unperturbed human
being. Which made him much more dangerous than he otherwise would have been.
Then he would know…he would have to know what value Clarice Starling would be
to him.
So for now, Dr Lecter had the comforting inference that Clarice wasn't yet
gone, merely in a state of helpless captivity. Now then, the next step in his
analysis…how to find them?
For this, he had to rely on what he knew of little Starling's behavioral
pattern…the part of her personality that had molded her into being, into
becoming this flaring beacon of incorruptibility for which he respected her.
Why had she agreed to take
the case? It would have been more likely for her to dismiss from this point in
her life all concerns and dealings related to him. Yet, Clarice had once more
thrust herself into a game of hide and seek, of cat and mouse. She certainly
sought out such a possibility with relish. A smile threatened to invade his
features. Had she enjoyed their verbal battles as much as he had?
Clarice had once before left behind the familiar without telling Mommy and
Daddy, and later, without telling her disloyal consort, the F.B.I. She had
ridden into the night on her precious blind steed to save her lambs from the
killing, to save her own mind from the screams. Rescuing her symbolic Princess
from the Tower, she had forsaken her values and thereby embraced her own fate,
and with that, her destiny.
She had also abandoned all for the sake of his safety. In the eyes of
the world, he was a criminal who got his just desserts when being captured by
one of his own victims. In her eyes, he had been a victim trapped in the
evil claws of Mason Verger, and she had felt the immediate, frantic need to
rescue him. Rescue him from the killing.
Who had to be rescued now?
Engrossed in thought, Dr. Lecter toyed with the metal brace but stopped short
of reattaching it to his wrist. Instead, he laid the brace aside and reached
with his right hand towards a dusty box, within which lay his passe-partout to
all the information he would need to create his own case file of the matter.
And more. He would have to return to Memphis.
Memphis. The taste of the name reminded him of almond soap Sapone di
mandorle. The touch of her skin under his forefinger. His return to the
much-loathed city would undeniably dig up old memories. Yet, in order to catch
the culprit, he would willingly enter the killer's field of study.
And throughout the time he was thinking, Dr. Lecter was always working,
working…his left hand still of little use, but able to hold down the edge of
the piece of plastic he had retrieved from the box, his other hand removing an
area approximately the size of a postage stamp, knife flashing. Adding strokes
of ink here and there. Within a matter of hours, he had emptied his room of all
belongings he would need upon the trip and reset the alarms to the apartment.
He tucked the Harpy away neatly into his pocket.
The FBI badge, former owner Paul Krendler, was secluded safely from sight, his
altered face staring back from the space where a photo of the deceased used to
be, and a new name settling proudly on the jotted line. Suspicious officers
would be most unwelcome during his investigation into the case. Luckily for
him, Krendler's signature had appeared as little more than chicken scratches
and not much effort was needed to alter the name.
The Jaguar roared as Dr. Lecter pulled away from the city. The stars in the sky
glimmered with intensity as the lights of the world below ceased to be seen. He
took a deep breath of night air as it rushed past his face. The taste was
intoxicating. He had always enjoyed driving the Jag.
Memphis…Clarice…a sea filled with memories. Let's hope that in the process,
the killer might reveal himself.
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Clarice Starling drifted off into oblivion like a child on a water float,
riding upon a smooth wave away from shore. She could feel it happening, feel
herself transported from one world to another, but could do nothing about it.
These forces were stronger than she was.
The darkness swallowed her whole it seemed, just like it had on that very first
day when Cahlin had brought her into the house, into the room with the human
skin and that odd, copper-like smell again clanging the air like a layer of
rust over an old piece of iron.
She felt wretched now, thin, and her awareness of where she was faded by the
minute. She felt herself being picked up and laid down again, someone tucking
at her clothes…who's doing that, she vaguely thought, her mind's
discursive thoughts drifting in and out of focus like a lens that wasn't
working properly. You mustn¹t do that…this is my body, get off, get off…
"Geroff me!" she screamed, West Virginian accent returning full force
into her voice, a little girl of ten years old, fighting off arms that wanted
to comfort her. "Leave me alone, leave me alone…daddy!" She wanted
her daddy, wanted him desperately. How could those awful men tell her daddy was
gone? Daddy could never be gone. He was going to be there for her, always. He
would be there to peel oranges in the kitchen and tickle her belly with his
trigger finger.
"No! Daddy, no! Daddy! Daddy, come and tell these people they are wrong!
Daddy! Daddy…"
"Daddy…" Clarice murmured, in present time, her eyes rolling upward until
only the whiteness of her orbs was visible to Cahlin, who was hovering over
Clarice's trembling and twitching form. Cahlin shook her head ever slightly
and, mentally, went over every piece of information she knew about Clarice and
her father, the dead night watchman with the tobacco smile and the knife with
the top broken off square.
She was drifting again, but the arms wouldn't leave her. In fact, they seemed
to hold her down now, as though to control her. Control? Nobody controlled
Clarice Starling! She was her own woman… "No," Clarice murmured
again, "Daddy…no…"
"Clarice…Clarice…"
The voice came softly, tugging at the corners of her mind, consoling while
she jousted with windmills. Clarice…only two men in the world had ever called
her that…strange she should think of it now. The voice, she couldn't yet
decipher but… "Dad?"
"Clarice…"
No, not her father. Her father had a thick West-Virginian accent, drawing
out every vowel leaving it little distorted with mountain slang. No, this voice
was crisp, slightly metallic sounding, as though the voice was coming from afar
and echoing off the walls. Or as if the space from which the voice was speaking
was closed off…and the cultured voice spoke again, from behind unbreakable
glass.
"Dr. Lecter?"
Cahlin raised her head abruptly from where she was applying gentle pressure to
Clarice's arms, keeping them flat upon the bed. She had heard his name being
spoken. A smile tugged at her lips. Funny…they never got to the point of
addressing each other upon first name basis. Or perhaps she simply refuses
to call him by his given name. Now why is that?
Despite herself, Cahlin
found herself intrigued by this woman, not merely because of her connection
with the aforementioned, with all its consequences; but also because of her
obvious inner strength and resources. In spite of all that Cahlin had done, or
hadn't done to her, Clarice still did not resort to begging or even thorough
questioning.
Cahlin could see it in her eyes: that hunger for knowledge and advancement. The
first time she'd seen it, it had made her laugh. The little cub. And yet
now…now, she noticed with displeasure she was beginning to like, truly like the
young woman.
One must remember that Dr Hannibal Lecter and Rachel Ariadne Cahlin were quite
similar when it came to their methods in the approach to and dissection of
their fellow members of the human race.
"Dr. Lecter?" Clarice repeated, writhing on the bed as she tried to fight off the imaginary hands holding her down. She felt disconnected, away somehow, but the voice attempted to bring her back. She knew it…as she knew he had come for her. Only her.
"Come, Clarice…"His voice caressed her like an ocean breeze, and almost inaudible, a soft sigh escaped Clarice's lips at the sound of his voice, soothing, and her whole being focused on him.
"Dr. Lecter, help me."
"Run with me, Clarice, run… run…"
"I can't, Doctor, I need your help."
She was always in need of his help, it seemed, one way or another. First Gumb… the thought of him caused for an involuntary shudder throughout her body, and once again the voice came to soothe.
"Clarice… open your eyes."
My… eyes? It appeared to her, in her drugged state of mind, the most ludicrous question she had ever heard. Did she even have eyes, or ears, or a tongue? All that was happening, transpired inside her mind…or didn't it?
With great effort, Clarice managed to raise her eyelids, just enough to let a streak of light reach past the darkness and outstretch its ivory-white hand to her. It was a beacon, and she took the hand extended to her gratefully. "Thank you."
She could hear him smiling. "That's my girl." Her eyes flew open. Dr. Lecter stood there, before her, an aura of white light surrounding him as though he were a vision. And he was. The tuxedo he wore was also a bright white, and his teeth glimmered when he flashed his smile at her. Clarice could feel her jaw dropping.
Once again, he offered his hand to her, as in her shock her hand had slipped from his to dangle limply at her side like a rag. "Run with me, Clarice," he said now, his voice clear and crisp in her mind, the metallic hiss underneath only a memory to her now, as he had been outside his cell for many years. "I came halfway round the world just to see you run."
Run…But why would she run? Clarice shook her head, confused. Why would she run from him? He meant safety to her…She ran, only when being chased by something, her inner demons, or…Gumb.
Once more, the name made her shiver, and she closed her eyes and shook her head to rid herself of the image. Yet when she opened her eyes, the Doctor was gone… and she was alone again.
"Doctor? Doctor? Where are you? Doctor…" She stood now, a frightened girl in a tweed coat, in front of his cell in Baltimore. Gone was the light, and so was he. There was no Dr. Lecter in this cell.
"Memphis," Clarice murmured, trying to make sense with the thoughts tumbling over one another inside her mind, "He's gone to Memphis… I must find him… he knows… he knows…"
Cahlin, who had been eyeing Clarice with great interest, her hands no longer applying pressure to Clarice's arms, mentally stored this information for later use in one of the oftentimes-attended chambers of her memory palace. So, that is why little Starling was in Memphis also, around the time of the Doctor's escape… but why? What did Hannibal know, what essential knowledge did he keep hovering above her head, letting it dangle like a lost key in front of her, so that she would follow him all the way to Memphis?
Cahlin suspected it had something to do with the Buffalo Bill case, another serial killer that had been murdering and slaying size 14 female victims around the time of Lecter's escape. She had suspected Clarice Starling had obtained the needed information using Dr Lecter's help, but had always assumed she'd had all information needed from their conversations in the dungeon in Baltimore.
So Memphis was special to them. Hmmm… The place held
emotional value to Cahlin herself as well.
Running again, running, running…but no sun lit her path from behind. No guidance. No clear path. No light.
Her feet tumbled over something, and she fell and kept on falling until she was sure she would never feel the ground again. There was blackness all around her, blackness blacker than the night, as this darkness was never brightened by the glow of lucid stars.
It was her and the Beast once more, and she was frightened, more frightened than she'd ever known herself to be, more frightened than when they'd taken Daddy away from her, even more frightened than when she first walked down those steps into the dungeon with her greasy-haired companion at her side. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. She was sure that she could taste her own fear.
Only one thought, one focal point to direct all her attention to…Where is he where is he whereishewhereishe… Everything she had been, was, or could be would be determined now and the moment when one of them pulled the trigger in the dark, dark room.
The sound of a gun being cocked, behind her. Turn, now, quickly, don't pause for breath, don't stop to think, just shoot, shoot, shoot. Three times in the chest, and once more for good measure. The lights went on, the ventilator still zoomed, and the jack-o-lantern with the two butterflies on it swayed mockingly at her from the ceiling.
But no Jame Gumb lay dead on the ground.
It was her.
Her, down on the ground, face-up, the jack-o-lantern laughing at her. Blood gushed from a wound to the right of her heart.
She was dying. And she felt nothing.
The darkness invaded her vision once more, and then, with a sickening feeling in her stomach, like just before she plunged down the highest hill on a roller coaster, she was pulled back, back to that place left behind in the past, to another time, long, long ago…
The barn.
"No…" Clarice twisted, turned, her face distorted with fear and knowledge of what was to come. "Not the barn, no, no… not again, no…"
Barn? With renewed engrossment in her captive's
hallucination trip, Cahlin regarded the bed on which Starling lay squirming and
decided to pay a little more attention to what came next. The mind works in
mysterious ways… perhaps she would find out something that would prove
invaluable to her.
She was in the barn, her ten-year old feet cold upon the wooden floor, and she heard the lambs… screaming… howling, screaming at her, Clarice, Clarice, come and save us… don't leave us, rescue us…
Then there was another voice. Coming from behind her, she did not dare turn around. A steady voice, hissing in her ear, the cutting edge of the blade he held underneath the words palpable to the small girl's ears.
"And what did you see, Clarice, what did you see…?"
"No! NO! I won't tell you again, I won't! I won't!" Cahlin watched with growing concern as Clarice screamed from the bed, fighting the sheets and the bonds holding her down, and the horror in that young voice she used, a voice now completely drenched in West-Virginian slang, was so authentic Cahlin blinked, twice.
This came too close, even for her. *Especially* for her. If
she went on crying out in panic like this, she might have to bring her out of
it. Cahlin's hand crept towards the needle in her pocket, which contained the
antidote to the drug given to Clarice…then Clarice's shuddering eased and her
voice quieted. Cahlin's hand halted halfway to her pocket, and she listened
carefully to what would be said next.
The silence the air carried was heavy like a sack of sand, pressing her limbs down.
"Alright."
Was that her voice or his? She couldn't tell… but the feeling of fright wouldn't leave her. In fact, it grew and grew and grew… until it seemed to take her over. Until there was nothing left anymore in that barn but her, and her fear. "Doctor…"
She wanted him, needed him, but she couldn't say it out loud. He could lead her out of that barn. He could take her away from the screaming lambs, grant her blessed silence. She knew it. But her heart and her mind spoke in different tongues. Her frightened eyes were windows to her soul as she scanned the space for any sign of normalcy.
It…had grown. The room. Or had she somehow shrunk? Every object in the barn was now bigger than it had been before… she saw the .32 shotgun lying at her feet, the hulking shadows in the corners of the room even larger than when she had been younger.
Clarice looked at her feet… and screamed.
Her feet had turned into hooves. She had four of them.
Her skin was snow-white wool. She opened her mouth and screamed… the cry of a
lamb erupting from her throat.
The fresh burst of panic penetrated the air of the darkened room so unexpectedly that the freshly whitewashed doors to Cahlin's memory palace were thrown open. Starling's screams chasing Cahlin's own shadows in her memory palace like sunbeams catching up with dawn. Cahlin fled down the halls and rapidly shut all doors ajar because of Starling's presence.
Yet before she could shut all doors, an unbidden memory strode forward from the darker shadows in the hallway and took shape. It lunged forward, grabbed her by the throat with a hand that felt horribly real, choking the life out of her while the shadow of the once real man grinned maliciously, the vision of him swimming in blood…
Cahlin shook herself with the force of a hurricane, pushing the memory back into the room with almost inhuman self-control, closing and locking the door with one swift movement. She returned her attention to Starling.
Clarice was truly falling apart. The whiteness of her orbs
were fully revealed, the little red veins in her eyes about to pop, her nails
dug into the flesh of her inner palm so mercilessly she had already drawn
blood. She was pulling at the bonds with all her strength, causing the straps
to cut into her skin but she couldn't feel. Her consciousness was trapped
within its horrific past.
Clarice-the-lamb bellowed and shrieked her lungs out.
"The lambs, the lambs, please don't kill them…"
Cahlin's mouth curved upwards in a grin. Only something Starling had discussed with Hannibal could possibly distress her so much. Well, in that case, she need only make Starling relive the encounter.
Cahlin's lips barely moved as she whispered in her borrowed voice, phrasing her sentence as accurately as she could guess. "Lambs? They were slaughtering the spring lambs?" Her intonation was perfect, having once heard his voice incessantly for over two years, a smooth, crisp sound dripping with menace and strength.
Commotion upon the barn floor. Clarice-the-lamb's hooves kicked up sawdust as she ran desperately from the gloved hand reaching for her. They trapped her in a corner of the floor in less than a minute.
"'Old her still now! Don't wanna make 'er suffer too much."
The voices of the men squeezed their way into Clarice-the-lamb's mind, disjointed by fear, like wet bars of soap. She struggled harder than ever. Those fingers tightening even more around her neck and wrists…she turned her head in time to see the slaughter knife coming down upon the base of her neck.
Clarice arched her back, standing upon the top of her head as if she were being electrocuted, lifting her neck from the bed. A piercing shriek escaped her lips.
"And they were screaming!" Her words barely comprehensible amidst her own scream that disintegrated into a hysterical sob as her body began to twitch more violently than ever. Cahlin once again fondled the antidote in her hands…no.
The slaughter knife was gone, it was in Clarice-the-human's hands now, only the blade was now shortened, the edge dull.
Clarice's hand clumsily moved forward, the butter knife aimed in the general direction of Dr. Lecter's chest. He caught her hand easily. "Come on, Clarice…" When she resisted yet again, she felt herself roughly shoved against a refrigerator door. An aching sensation on her scalp as she felt her hair trapped in the door.
No…no…not this again.
"How did you feel when you saw them, Clarice?" hissed Cahlin. Unfortunately, her message was not translated word for word in Clarice's hallucinations.
"How do you feel when you see me, Clarice?" Dr. Lecter's mouth was brushing her ear, his warm breath sighing.
A painful, throbbing sensation in her abdomen gave way to fear and anxiety. She had avoided this answer for ten years.
The screaming of the lambs were further away now…the ticking of the grandfather clock now the only thing she could hear over his breath. Clarice remained inside the barn, but Agent Starling was now focused completely upon that voice, that man, who had always probed her for answers, and now demanded one that she simply wasn't ready or willing to give.
She swallowed, hard, and then, in ragged breaths, her voice leapt forward, still tinged with West Virginia, but less like the mountain girl and more like the FBI agent now was.
"I feel…" A beat. "… scared."
Liar.
She didn't need him to tell her that, the thought was already resounding in her mind.
Cahlin continued speaking in her borrowed whisper. "What would you do to make them stop, Clarice?"
Again, the message was distorted. Horribly.
"Would you ever say to me, stop? Clarice?"
Don't ask me for answers you know I cannot give, Doctor… Do not make me relive this night again, this night I so long to forget…
"No…not in a thousand years…"
Starling had switched to another experience now. Cahlin regretted that she could not take the time to decipher the origin of this new horror that Starling was reliving, but the drug was wearing off. She would have to make do with what information she had already received. The screaming lambs. "Thank you, Clarice."
"Tell me his name, Doctor," Clarice gasped, out of habit, the images in her mind beginning to fade.
Cahlin said nothing. Pondering the new information she had just received, her eyes regarded Clarice's form upon the bed, drenched in sweat, with barely a twitch in her facial features. She had survived. Good. Without another word, Cahlin turned upon her heels and walked out of the room, leaving Clarice with her dying demons. On her way out, Cahlin removed another golden bracelet from its place in a drawer.
The figure of Dr. Lecter flickered, faded with the sounds of faraway footsteps. Her body was cold again, floating upon an icy bed in the nether regions of night.
Amidst the blackness that consumed her mind, Clarice ran wildly into the darkness after him. "Dr. Lecter, Dr. Lecter…come back, please…"
Her only answer was the mocking echoes of her own sobs and distant screams.
"Doctor…" He had not come back, had not repaired her soul after tearing it to shreds. Clarice sank into the blackness, unable any longer to see… and futilely attempted to gather the shattered pieces of her memories back together.