When I return for one final check on Clarice, I find her diligently working the knot on her wrists back and forth over the bed post. Charming.
"Here, let me help you."
The distinctive click of my opening Harpy cuts through the air as I shear the ropes off her body.
"I would never have forgiven myself if I'd damaged the sensitive nerve pathways in your slender wrists."
She sits up on the bed and slinks back from me. I can see her eyeing my hands for any trace of red.
"I would have washed up afterwards, my dear, if indeed there had been any bloodshed."
She pales, taking on a ghostly white pallor.
"Is she…"
"Anxiously waiting my return."
She seems to believe me. This exchange is becoming tedious. I decide to catch her off-guard.
"How many men have you welcomed into your bed, Clarice?"
The question hangs in the air between us. If she is offended or embarased, she gives me no indication, although it is clear that she is hesitant to hand over this personal information. I wonder if it's the influence of the Lutheran home, or born of her uneasiness at the dark undercurrents that have always run between us in electric sparks of erotic fission. Perhaps, it's a mixture of both.
"Three."
"Practically a virgin."
She does color nicely here. She is ashamed of her inexperience. She shouldn't be. Such a capable and driven woman is bound to intimidate all but the most confident of suitors. When she speaks her voice is tinged with retaliation.
"And just how many women have you been with, Doctor."
"I have entered into a business arraingement with many women, Clarice, renting their time and efforts for several hours, then sending them on their way with a generous tip. It has all the romance of a tax audit, but I do find it nessecary and theraputic. But, I believe we were discussing your sexual history and not mine. Of these three men, how many of them were before our first encounter down in the dungeon."
"Two."
"I see. Well, you certainly haven't taken a lover since I regained my freedom, so that leaves a brief window from our first meeting, and our last in Memphis. When did you meet this brief paramour?"
"I don't see how any of this is relevant, Doctor Lecter."
"You're offering yourself to me, Clarice, in exchange for the life of my young charge. Don't you think I deserve to make an informed decision?"
She is angry, and humiliated, but her instinct to protect the lambs is overriding. She restrains herself with admirable control.
"It was right after Memphis."
"What was his name?"
"I don't remember."
"Where did you meet him?"
"At a bar. Ardelia took me out to celebrate Catherine's safe return."
"What attracted you to him, Clarice?"
"Nothing really. He hit on me, and I took him home."
"Isn't that a bit out of character for you?"
"Yes."
"Yes. But, even still, you took a man you barely knew home to your bed. So I'll ask you again, Clarice. Why?"
I move a bit closer to her and she stiffens. Seeing her reaction, I ease back a fraction of an inch.
"You had touched me. My skin felt like it was on fire for weeks."
I grasp her hand in mine, finding by memory the soft, tender skin just above her first knuckle. I stroke that little hidden divet of sensuality that I've ravished countless times as my mind drifted off into a fitful sleep.
"You weren't the only one who felt that spark, Clarice."
I loosen my hold on her hand, and she pulls away.
"So we've established the number of your conquests at three. The question remaining then, Clarice, is how many men have you welcomed into your heart?"
"I never welcomed you, Doctor."
She looks away from me, tears brimming in her eyes. When she finds her voice again it comes out almost a whisper.
"You slipped inside me when I wasn't looking."
It is a coward's admission, but it is an admission none-the-less.
"If I have become a part of your inner landscape, Clarice, it is because you wished me to be so."
It is ugly to her, that she might actually want my attentions. To actively desire me would be to desecrate the temple of her purity. How much more convienent for her if she lays that putrity on the altar of her sacrifice. If she gives in for the sake of the lamb, no one could ever fault her. No one except me.
"Have you had time to consider, Clarice, what your life with me would be like?"
"Some."
"I would love to see Florence through a new set of eyes. I know I could teach you some things about your body that, I dare say no man has bothered to show you. I think you'd discover you had an aptitude for languages, a taste for certain types of art and music. I could spend the rest of my life teaching you new things, and learning the complicated web of who you are. I can only see one problem."
"What is that, Doctor?"
"All your life you'd always remember that the way I enticed you to remain by my side was to tether you there. If I have to clip your wings to keep you, Clarice, you're not worth having."
She looks at me then with an abundance of pain and regret painted on her lovely face. It has to end soon. The gentleman in me gives way just a bit and I pull her towards me, and hold her fast. Lowering my head, I part her lips and taste the warm, succulence of her mouth. I feel the silken flesh of her tongue barely skim mine, and I feel her captured hands digging subtly into my suit. I rip my mouth from hers, startling her, and force to arm's length. My voice issues forth harsh, and gutteral.
"Clear your mind, Clarice. Forget about Bonnie and forget about the F.B.I. Forget who you were and forget my case file."
She closes her eyes, shaken. I place my finger tips over her reposing eyelids.
"Forget whatever moral debt you feel you owe the world…"
I place my hand over her heart. It's knocking violently against her ribcage.
"And remember the fire that consumed you the first time we touched."
There are tears again, tracing tired patterns down her cheeks.
"Remember it Clarice, because memories are all you'll have left after tonight."
She doesn't even wince as the needle goes in. I don't bother to catch her as she crumples to the floor.
"Here, let me help you."
The distinctive click of my opening Harpy cuts through the air as I shear the ropes off her body.
"I would never have forgiven myself if I'd damaged the sensitive nerve pathways in your slender wrists."
She sits up on the bed and slinks back from me. I can see her eyeing my hands for any trace of red.
"I would have washed up afterwards, my dear, if indeed there had been any bloodshed."
She pales, taking on a ghostly white pallor.
"Is she…"
"Anxiously waiting my return."
She seems to believe me. This exchange is becoming tedious. I decide to catch her off-guard.
"How many men have you welcomed into your bed, Clarice?"
The question hangs in the air between us. If she is offended or embarased, she gives me no indication, although it is clear that she is hesitant to hand over this personal information. I wonder if it's the influence of the Lutheran home, or born of her uneasiness at the dark undercurrents that have always run between us in electric sparks of erotic fission. Perhaps, it's a mixture of both.
"Three."
"Practically a virgin."
She does color nicely here. She is ashamed of her inexperience. She shouldn't be. Such a capable and driven woman is bound to intimidate all but the most confident of suitors. When she speaks her voice is tinged with retaliation.
"And just how many women have you been with, Doctor."
"I have entered into a business arraingement with many women, Clarice, renting their time and efforts for several hours, then sending them on their way with a generous tip. It has all the romance of a tax audit, but I do find it nessecary and theraputic. But, I believe we were discussing your sexual history and not mine. Of these three men, how many of them were before our first encounter down in the dungeon."
"Two."
"I see. Well, you certainly haven't taken a lover since I regained my freedom, so that leaves a brief window from our first meeting, and our last in Memphis. When did you meet this brief paramour?"
"I don't see how any of this is relevant, Doctor Lecter."
"You're offering yourself to me, Clarice, in exchange for the life of my young charge. Don't you think I deserve to make an informed decision?"
She is angry, and humiliated, but her instinct to protect the lambs is overriding. She restrains herself with admirable control.
"It was right after Memphis."
"What was his name?"
"I don't remember."
"Where did you meet him?"
"At a bar. Ardelia took me out to celebrate Catherine's safe return."
"What attracted you to him, Clarice?"
"Nothing really. He hit on me, and I took him home."
"Isn't that a bit out of character for you?"
"Yes."
"Yes. But, even still, you took a man you barely knew home to your bed. So I'll ask you again, Clarice. Why?"
I move a bit closer to her and she stiffens. Seeing her reaction, I ease back a fraction of an inch.
"You had touched me. My skin felt like it was on fire for weeks."
I grasp her hand in mine, finding by memory the soft, tender skin just above her first knuckle. I stroke that little hidden divet of sensuality that I've ravished countless times as my mind drifted off into a fitful sleep.
"You weren't the only one who felt that spark, Clarice."
I loosen my hold on her hand, and she pulls away.
"So we've established the number of your conquests at three. The question remaining then, Clarice, is how many men have you welcomed into your heart?"
"I never welcomed you, Doctor."
She looks away from me, tears brimming in her eyes. When she finds her voice again it comes out almost a whisper.
"You slipped inside me when I wasn't looking."
It is a coward's admission, but it is an admission none-the-less.
"If I have become a part of your inner landscape, Clarice, it is because you wished me to be so."
It is ugly to her, that she might actually want my attentions. To actively desire me would be to desecrate the temple of her purity. How much more convienent for her if she lays that putrity on the altar of her sacrifice. If she gives in for the sake of the lamb, no one could ever fault her. No one except me.
"Have you had time to consider, Clarice, what your life with me would be like?"
"Some."
"I would love to see Florence through a new set of eyes. I know I could teach you some things about your body that, I dare say no man has bothered to show you. I think you'd discover you had an aptitude for languages, a taste for certain types of art and music. I could spend the rest of my life teaching you new things, and learning the complicated web of who you are. I can only see one problem."
"What is that, Doctor?"
"All your life you'd always remember that the way I enticed you to remain by my side was to tether you there. If I have to clip your wings to keep you, Clarice, you're not worth having."
She looks at me then with an abundance of pain and regret painted on her lovely face. It has to end soon. The gentleman in me gives way just a bit and I pull her towards me, and hold her fast. Lowering my head, I part her lips and taste the warm, succulence of her mouth. I feel the silken flesh of her tongue barely skim mine, and I feel her captured hands digging subtly into my suit. I rip my mouth from hers, startling her, and force to arm's length. My voice issues forth harsh, and gutteral.
"Clear your mind, Clarice. Forget about Bonnie and forget about the F.B.I. Forget who you were and forget my case file."
She closes her eyes, shaken. I place my finger tips over her reposing eyelids.
"Forget whatever moral debt you feel you owe the world…"
I place my hand over her heart. It's knocking violently against her ribcage.
"And remember the fire that consumed you the first time we touched."
There are tears again, tracing tired patterns down her cheeks.
"Remember it Clarice, because memories are all you'll have left after tonight."
She doesn't even wince as the needle goes in. I don't bother to catch her as she crumples to the floor.