CHAPTER TWO
(hannibal lecter was here)
Hannibal Lecter did not want to murder Richard. Clarice would never forgive him.
He stood still in his living quarters, which was too near the FBI Headquarters for his comfort, but he was confident in his own ability to evade the law. He had to get Clarice alone somehow while convincing her not to turn him in.
His alter ego was Ken Davidson. He did not have a job beyond selling wines to foreign clients every now and then, which was simple enough. He simply found his customers, searched for the wines they liked, and sent them letters inviting them to buy from him. They usually did; he acquired only the best quality wine. And they paid a lot, not that he needed the money. Being a psychologist had been a lucrative profession.
Lecter contemplated matters as he stared unmoving into his aquarium. The graceful sway of the fish through the clear waters of the large aquarium, tastefully decorated with stones and plants, soothed him. He often thought that the only things he enjoyed watching as much were Clarice's eyes – her eyes were often unfathomable pools that he longed to sink into.
An orange-gold fish was reflected in his maroon eyes as he gazed into the aquarium. He thought of Clarice. And hated the thought of her with Richard. Quietly, unexpectedly, never taking his eyes off the fish, he reached out and picked up the phone.
~~~~~^~~*~~^~~~~~
Richard picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"I would like to speak to Miss Clarice Starling."
"Who is this?"
The voice hesitated, then said, "Kenneth Patel."
Richard grew instantly more alert. "Aren't you the editor of a newspaper?"
"Yes. The National Tattler is a long-standing rival of ours. They just don't understand good journalism. We have space in the Features section, and we thought we would get Miss Starling's side of the story."
"Oh, all right. Excuse me." Richard covered the phone with one hand and called out, "Clarice, someone's on the phone for you."
Clarice emerged from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water. "Who is it?"
"See for yourself, sweetheart."
Clarice rolled her eyes at him and took the phone. "Yes?"
"Clarice."
She froze. Then, deliberately, she hung up.
~~~~~^~~*~~^~~~~~
Lecter's palm hit the aquarium with such force that it jolted and the waters sloshed. He should have disguised his voice.
Now he had to erase all the leads to him. He swiftly headed for Richard's house. He hoped Clarice was too distraught to trace the phone call immediately.
Lecter wasted no movements. He was inside Richard's house so smoothly it would have been easy to believe he owned the place. He saw Clarice hovering over the phone, her face tense, and he quickly removed himself from her line of sight.
Pressed against the wall, he was quiet and almost invisible. His eyes darted to the phone, and traced the line of the cord from the phone perched on the living room table . . . to the floor where it had been hidden under the carpet . . . his eyes traced the line of the cord under the tasteful, luxurious carpet to a corner of the room . . . the cord traveled up the ceiling . . . and into the room he was in.
Lecter smiled.
Clarice sounded agitated. Richard was hovering over her, worried. "He said he was Kenneth Patel?" Her voice was strange.
"That's the fifth time you asked me that."
"He's the editor of a newspaper, right?"
"I've answered that, too. The Enquirer."
Lecter had slithered soundlessly over to the cord. His eyes glinted.
"The National Tattler always makes fun of the Enquirer."
"Patel and his staff have class, sweetheart. They never fight back. They always win anyway. More respectable, more copies sold, more – "
"What does Hannibal Lecter want?" Clarice sounded frustrated.
Richard placed a comforting arm around her. "If it was him, I think he wants to scare you."
"If it was him?" Clarice snapped. "You think I wouldn't know his voice after – after all I went through with that criminal?"
Lecter's eyebrow rose as he worked soundlessly on the cord.
Richard's tone was soothing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I believe you. Do you want to call the FBI?"
For a prolonged moment, everything was silent. Everyone was still, save for Lecter, who was stealing out of the house as smoothly as he had come.
"Fuck this fucking world!" Clarice yelled as she picked up the phone and heard no dial tone. Even from outside, Lecter could hear her. He watched with amusement from a window as Clarice grabbed the cord and followed its path through the open doorway to the next room, where the dark disappeared as Richard flicked on the light.
Clarice looked down at the ripped phone cord. He knew she knew they would never trace the phone call.
"Damn it!" Clarice swore again.
Richard took her by the shoulders. "What is it?"
She didn't answer for a moment. Then, slowly, she enunciated every syllable. "Hannibal Lecter was here. He was with us just now."
~~~~~^~~*~~^~~~~~
Clarice decided not to tell the FBI about the incident. Richard supported her decision, as she had known he would.
One, there was no way to prove that Lecter had even called her. She might just spark off more gossip to feed the media monster. Two, they wouldn't be able to trace the phone call anyway. Nothing could be done. And three, she hadn't been able to catch Lecter. That reeked of incompetence.
But something made her uneasy. Counting the letter, that made it two times that Lecter had contacted her. A serial killer running loose had written her a letter and called her on the phone, and she hadn't told anyone in authority. If the FBI knew, they'd have her ass.
It irked her. That night, she lay beside Richard and realized that Lecter had shown up barely twenty minutes after he had called and she had stood by the phone too shaken to think. It could only mean two things. Either Lecter had planned to call her and had gone to a nearby spot just to do it, or the call hadn't been planned and he lived nearby.
She'd check it out tomorrow.
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A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this out. Life can be busy, can't it? Anyway. Review! ^_^