The Characters belong to T. Harris. I own nothing. All other disclaimers apply.
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Exchanges I
Dialogue
She was alternately cold and clammy, then hot and sweaty. During the last few days she had made a serious effort to avoid alcohol in an attempt to make a sober decision concerning her future.
She was at a crossroad and had to put her life in order. This was 'IT'—the end of the road—no more avoidance of the issue like the temptation of open windows high on skyscrapers.
"Are you actually going to face your feelings and make a decision, Clarice?" said the ever present, familiar voice in her head.
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" she yelled into the empty room. "Can't you for once let me take ownership of my own fate without your input? Don't you want us to get out of this pitiful state of events and have a go at it?"
"Us?" the voice in her head interjected with suppressed sarcasm.
"I just hope the 'go' is in the right direction, Clarice."
"You mean your direction. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" she yelled again.
This time, her head felt empty as an amphitheater—the stillness was deafening. She had the eerie feeling that her thoughts would echo as they bounced against the walls of the chambers he'd vacated.
"I love him." She whispered just to hear the words spoken, testing them, one by one, to see how they felt—how they weighed on the edges of her consciousness—as they tried to penetrate and survive the onslaught of her guilt, which lurked insidiously under the guise of job, loyalty, and duty.
Her ever-present guilt for loving him made her feel deserving of the shabby treatment she'd received from the FBI. They'd shunned her because in some unperceivable way, her secret was evident and they despised her for it.
"So," she said, in a sudden revelation, "Maybe I despise myself for it. Maybe I feel tainted for the unspeakable crime of loving him; as if I wore a scarlet letter carved on my forehead— a pennant of shame. I am the one who feels I have to make apologies for my feelings and invite castigation for them."
"One step in the right direction! Bravo, Clarice," said his voice. "Do you intend to take several leaps back and flagellate yourself to compensate for such earthshaking revelation?"
"Tell me, do you simultaneously feel exhilaration and horror as you face the truth, Clarice?"
"Dr Lecter, maybe if you get out of my head, I'll have an opportunity to discuss this with myself privately, at my own pace."
"Discuss it with yourself?" his voice asked, in a neutral tone.
"I thought I was supposed to be the nut in this fruit basket, Clarice."
"You would" she muttered under her breath, and added, "Well; a good basket should offer more than one kind of nut. Not that I'm trying to jump on the band wagon, mind you, but the very fact that I'm contemplating this issue in this manner says something about my eligibility for nut status."
"I need some privacy."
"Understood" said the Good Doctor as he vacated the premises.
Clarice tried to focus again. His interference was distracting and she wondered if he did it on purpose to tie her up in conflict so he could then come to the rescue. Lecter to the rescue. She chuckled.
She was quiet for a while as she surveyed the confines of her thoughts.
"Are you ashamed of your love for him? Do you feel guilty and undeserving?" she asked herself.
"It's hard to tell. Maybe both. Not embarrassed, per se. Personally, I'm proud he chose me."
"Embarrassed to have to explain my love for him? Is it possible?"
"The conflict of interest, however, is what's tearing me apart—the fact that he's a convicted murderer and I'm sworn to bring him to justice."
"Maybe you should focus less on the conflict of interest issue and more on what he is," said her inner voice.
"Ah!" she responded to herself with force. "What he is to me is not necessarily what he is to others. What he is, is very much in the eye of the beholder."
"Curiously, there seem to be two groups of beholders. Me— and the rest of the world."
"I know what he is and I'm at peace with that. It's what he's done that bears weight. One can't very well undo the past but there will have to be boundaries—for both of us."
"Hannibal Lecter will respect boundaries?" She chuckled at the very thought.
"Why not? He's a man of honor."
"I really don't want to change what he is, but we must put what he's done behind us."
"Us, Clarice?" He couldn't stay silent, this monster of hers.
"Let me go on, please, I'm getting somewhere here," she said in a quiet attempt to temporarily still his voice.
"What other man would risk his freedom and his life just to catch a glimpse of me?" she asked herself.
"Nobody in his right mind, I suppose," was her immediate reply.
She probably knew all along what the outcome would be... she might have even known from the very beginning. It was just difficult to accept.
Now that she accepted herself, she hoped it was not too late.
She got up to retrieve a pad of paper and a pencil. She didn't feel it was safe to post a message to AA Aaron any longer, so she tried to be creative and succinct.
After several attempts, the right message presented itself.
AAA A Gourmet, MD
Can we talk?
I realize we share many stars
Love,
Mary the lamb keeper
She posted her message in the national edition of the Times, The International Herald-Tribune and the China Mail
The next day she sent her letter of resignation to the FBI, so sure was she of her decision to change the course of her life
She was exhausted, but believed she had faced her inner fears and found some kind of order—she just wished she could sleep until it was all resolved.
Two weeks later, she got her answer, just as she was beginning to wonder if it was indeed too late and had begun hitting the bottle again.
It was addressed to:
Mary the lamb keeper
We may. Will be in touch.
Be prepared.
Yours,
AAA A Gourmet, MD
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That's it for now, folks. Comments will be appreciated, let me know if I should continue
Clariz
