CLANK.
The metal door slid open. The stench of sweat, bile, and Lysol filled the air, making it harder to move into the chamber beyond. It was dark and gloomy, only a few lights placed along the ceiling of the stone-walled coffin. That's what it felt like. A coffin, buried miles beneath the surface of the Earth.
"Don't give him anything. Don't take anything he gives you, and don't get close to the glass. You know the drill."
"Yes. Thank you."
"I've set a chair out for you."
"Thank you."
She was far-to familiar with this place, and it still haunted her dreams. But nonetheless, she moved forward, head held high, trying to give off an air of fearless strength. This was a façade, and she knew that he would see right through it. He was a genius, and that's what frightened her most.
In her last encounter with the madman, he had gotten into her head, and released the secrets of her haunted past. She couldn't stand to think about how easily she had given up the information, all to save a girl's life. But that girl was safe now, and her sanity had not been given in vain.
She passed the first cell on her left. Inside was an older man, in his mid-late fifties. He was surrounded by two guards. At first, she couldn't figure out why. But then she saw that he was shaving, using an old-fashioned razor. A little risky she thought, after seeing what could happen when a psycho used a fork.
The second cell also contained an elderly man, a little older than the previous. He was sitting in a chair, just as he had been when she first came to this place.
The third cell had been a most disturbing cell. On her first visit, a man named Miggs had called to her from inside, chanting that he could smell her cunt. Later, on her way out, he had thrown his semen at her, and had howled with laughter. All of the inmates had started yelling at that point. It was a terrifying experience to say the least. It was not long afterwards that she found out Miggs had died by swallowing his own tongue. The cell now lay empty, waiting for its next occupant to arrive from the world of the wicked.
The last cell, her destination, was enclosed not with bars like the others, but glass. A chair sat in front of the cell, about halfway across the hall. She wished it was up against the back wall, as far away as she could possibly be from him.
He was drawing again, one of his favorite hobbies. His works of art were incredible, and detailed to the very last curl in a woman's hair, and then beyond. He had not seen her approach. When she sat down, he looked up, and a cruel grin appeared on his face.
"Why, hello Clarice."
"Hello Dr. Lecter."