An hour later Clarice was sat in the bar nursing a glass of Mountain Spring. Hannibal had gone to dry off and she didn't want to be around when he re-appeared. Downing the last of her drink she stood up and wobbled. Gripping the bar for support she edged along and out the door. Reaching the elevator she pushed the button and travelled up to her room. As she waddled along the corridor whilst trying to retain her dignity Clarice felt uneasy as she reached her door. It was open a crack and as she pushed it open she wasn't surprised to see Hannibal towelling himself off. She sighed deeply pushed the door shut. Leaning back against the door she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"What are YOU doing here?" she demanded her green eyes flashing. She noted with some annoyance that he had set out glasses and a bottle of Mountain Spring and a second bottle of Dom Perignon. For the second time in a matter of weeks people ran for cover as the ceilings shook. "Have you no respect for my privacy!" She shrieked. Hannibal sat there with an amused look on his face. Clarice glared at him and grabbed the towel from his lap. She dabbed her face and hissed at him.
"My dear," Hannibal said gently, "Is it wise for a woman, in your…state to be acting this violently?" Clarice was too tired to reply so she just waved her hand irritatedly and picked up the bathrobe lying on the floor. She also noticed with some embarrassment that a dirty pair of underwear lay on the floor by the bed. Kicking them under the bed she moved as if to remove her clothes but remembered her husband just before. Hannibal sat in his chair looking as if he was about to laugh. "Come now surely you can undress in front of your husband?" Hannibal said.
"If I had a husband I'd happily get undressed in front of him." Clarice retorted. Hannibal looked crestfallen. He stood up and opened the door. He looked sadly at Clarice and said:
"I suppose this is goodbye?" "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." She snapped.
When he was gone Clarice sat down. She looked miserably at the Dom Perignom and the mountain spring. With a groan of disgust she threw the bathrobe over the tray and undressed. Once in bed she leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed a magazine. She leafed through it and read a feature on cosmetic surgery. After that she threw it on the floor and turned out the light. She lay awake for several hours and then fell into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams were filled with mountain spring and Buffalo Bill, the reason why Clarice and Hannibal had met in the first place.
She awoke in a cold sweat, the dawn light streaming through the window and onto her face. Her chest was heaving and the sheets were in a heap on the floor. Clarice swung her legs out of bed and reached for the light switch. Staggering to her feet she rubbed her back and reached for the bathrobe covering the tray. Putting it on Clarice shuffled to the little bathroom and looked at her reflection. Her hair was sticking up in large tufts, her face was pale and she hadn't taken her makeup off the night before so she had large black circles under her eyes. Clarice reached for a piece of cotton wool and made a feeble attempt to wipe off the old makeup. After a few tries she gave up and threw the cotton wool at the mirror.
Wandering along the deserted corridors of the hotel, Clarice reflected on the previous night and what had passed between the couple. She was actually quite surprised she hadn't broken anything in her attempt to shoo Hannibal out of the room. Opening the door leading out of the breakfast room she breathed the early morning air and though about times when she had gone running early in the mornings. She thought about her friend and old roomie (?) Ardelia Mapp, she thought about Jack Crawford and the fish market massacre. Sighing she sat down on one of the large stone steps and wrapped a hand around a nearby stone carving.
"You can never go back," came a familiar voice from behind her. "You know what they would do." She turned her head and her eyes rested on a familiar figure. Clarice rolled her eyes and grunted. She wasn't in the mood for Hannibal's mind games and she certainly wasn't in the mood for a fight. In fact she had started feeling slightly queasy. He moved a few steps closer and Clarice pushed herself up and hobbled down the last few steps. She turned round to face him. He was wearing a cream linen suit and a red cravat. He had a large leather suitcase beside him and as Clarice rested her forehead wearily in her hands he picked it up and walked silently to where his white Bentley was waiting.
That was the last Clarice heard of Hannibal for a week. She spent them walking through the expansive hotel grounds and shopping for baby clothes. Sadly they had to be ambiguous, as neither of them knew the sex. However on the Sunday of that week, when Clarice's usual supper of doughnuts and pickles were brought up there was a familiar cream envelope on the tray. "Did you see who left this?" she demanded. The waiter looked a little nervous at being shouted at by a pregnant woman. He shook his head and explained that it had been left on the reception desk, with orders for it to be taken up to her. Clarice thanked the waiter and pushed a tip into his hand. It was only after the event that she realised she had given a much larger tip than she intended to do.
Cursing herself, she flopped onto the bed and gingerly poked the doughnuts. A large clump of icing came away and she licked it off her finger. The envelope dropped to the floor and she reached down to pick it up. She felt a twinge in her back and she straightened up quickly. Ignoring her stomach cramps she lay back to read the letter, written in an irritatingly similar copperplate script.
The letter started out complaining about the clothes she had bought that week for their child, saying did they really expect their child to wear cheap cotton and polyester? Then it started rambling about 'where did we go wrong?' Clarice read on rubbing her stomach. She suspected he had been drunk at the time, an occurrence which had never occurred when they were married, and to her knowledge before they were married, but was becoming a more regular occurrence.
Finally the pain started to annoy her. She got up and started walking around the room. She tried deep breathing but that didn't work. After fifteen minutes or so of deep breathing Clarice gave up and walked slowly to the grounds for a walk. The last thing she remembered was walking towards a small group of trees, thinking she could sit down amongst them for a while. Then the ground was suddenly rushing up to meet her and everything went black.
When she came to she found herself in a small, but attractive room. She was wearing a green hospital gown and Hannibal was looking over her. A green surgical mask obscured his face, and his blue eyes, by use of coloured contact lenses, twinkled. Clarice looked around and saw a large collection of surgical instruments that, quite frankly, she didn't want to know how they were used.
"Hello Clarice," he murmured. He dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth and left the room momentarily. When he came back he had another man in green surgical clothing and wearing a pair of latex gloves.
"Right Doctor Fell shall we begin?" the other doctor asked, who's nametag read 'Doctor Reynolds'. A nod came from 'Doctor Fell' and he held her shoulders and put his mouth close to her ear.
"This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you," he whispered.
"I highly doubt that." Clarice retorted sarcastically. Hannibal smiled sardonically and patted her face gently. At the end of the bed Doctor Reynolds was doing things, she didn't want to know about with the instruments that she didn't want to know how they were used. Hannibal leant over and picked up a syringe full of clear liquid. Pulling up her arm he injected the fluid into Clarice's veins.
"This will make you feel a little woozy." Came Hannibal's calm voice. The last coherent thing Clarice remembered saying was:
"What are you doing down there?"
During the next 9 hours, as Hannibal would later recall to her, Clarice shouted out numerous embarrassing things. These included ramblings about fruit and how her first love was the FBI but now they didn't want her, who would? At this point Clarice was reduced to tears and was inconsolable for the next hour and a half. After Doctor Reynolds told her to be quiet just for the next contraction, she sat up in outrage. "Do you know who I am? I am in the Guinness Book of Records!" Hannibal reached down a comforting hand to stroke her face but she batted it away in irritation.
"Don't you patronise me Hannibal Lecter!" No sooner were the words out of her mouth, did she, even in her present state, regret them. Doctor Reynolds' head shot up and looked suspiciously at the pair. The couple laughed nervously and Doctor Reynolds remarked silently that the woman was remarkably coherent and could hold a good conversation for someone under the influence of Pethodine.
Hannibal moved towards the door and as he left gave Clarice a warning glance. She pulled a face and wiped her forehead. Somewhere near her legs Doctor Reynolds was telling her to push. Her eyes bulged as she pushed and she lay her head back down on the pillow.
Somewhere in her mind Jack Crawford was talking to her about the Buffalo Bill case. "He's making a woman suit!" she blurted out and then laughed manically. This Pethodine stuff was good!
Paul Krendler flashed through her mind. 'Letch' she thought through the fog. His brain had tasted worryingly good though. The lake house really had added that special something to that meal. Clarice thought of the little boat Hannibal had made his get-away from the lake house in. It really was remarkable how they never managed to spot it with their searchlights and with the added lighting of the 4th of July fireworks. That had been a point of many laughs throughout their marriage.
"What are YOU doing here?" she demanded her green eyes flashing. She noted with some annoyance that he had set out glasses and a bottle of Mountain Spring and a second bottle of Dom Perignon. For the second time in a matter of weeks people ran for cover as the ceilings shook. "Have you no respect for my privacy!" She shrieked. Hannibal sat there with an amused look on his face. Clarice glared at him and grabbed the towel from his lap. She dabbed her face and hissed at him.
"My dear," Hannibal said gently, "Is it wise for a woman, in your…state to be acting this violently?" Clarice was too tired to reply so she just waved her hand irritatedly and picked up the bathrobe lying on the floor. She also noticed with some embarrassment that a dirty pair of underwear lay on the floor by the bed. Kicking them under the bed she moved as if to remove her clothes but remembered her husband just before. Hannibal sat in his chair looking as if he was about to laugh. "Come now surely you can undress in front of your husband?" Hannibal said.
"If I had a husband I'd happily get undressed in front of him." Clarice retorted. Hannibal looked crestfallen. He stood up and opened the door. He looked sadly at Clarice and said:
"I suppose this is goodbye?" "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." She snapped.
When he was gone Clarice sat down. She looked miserably at the Dom Perignom and the mountain spring. With a groan of disgust she threw the bathrobe over the tray and undressed. Once in bed she leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed a magazine. She leafed through it and read a feature on cosmetic surgery. After that she threw it on the floor and turned out the light. She lay awake for several hours and then fell into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams were filled with mountain spring and Buffalo Bill, the reason why Clarice and Hannibal had met in the first place.
She awoke in a cold sweat, the dawn light streaming through the window and onto her face. Her chest was heaving and the sheets were in a heap on the floor. Clarice swung her legs out of bed and reached for the light switch. Staggering to her feet she rubbed her back and reached for the bathrobe covering the tray. Putting it on Clarice shuffled to the little bathroom and looked at her reflection. Her hair was sticking up in large tufts, her face was pale and she hadn't taken her makeup off the night before so she had large black circles under her eyes. Clarice reached for a piece of cotton wool and made a feeble attempt to wipe off the old makeup. After a few tries she gave up and threw the cotton wool at the mirror.
Wandering along the deserted corridors of the hotel, Clarice reflected on the previous night and what had passed between the couple. She was actually quite surprised she hadn't broken anything in her attempt to shoo Hannibal out of the room. Opening the door leading out of the breakfast room she breathed the early morning air and though about times when she had gone running early in the mornings. She thought about her friend and old roomie (?) Ardelia Mapp, she thought about Jack Crawford and the fish market massacre. Sighing she sat down on one of the large stone steps and wrapped a hand around a nearby stone carving.
"You can never go back," came a familiar voice from behind her. "You know what they would do." She turned her head and her eyes rested on a familiar figure. Clarice rolled her eyes and grunted. She wasn't in the mood for Hannibal's mind games and she certainly wasn't in the mood for a fight. In fact she had started feeling slightly queasy. He moved a few steps closer and Clarice pushed herself up and hobbled down the last few steps. She turned round to face him. He was wearing a cream linen suit and a red cravat. He had a large leather suitcase beside him and as Clarice rested her forehead wearily in her hands he picked it up and walked silently to where his white Bentley was waiting.
That was the last Clarice heard of Hannibal for a week. She spent them walking through the expansive hotel grounds and shopping for baby clothes. Sadly they had to be ambiguous, as neither of them knew the sex. However on the Sunday of that week, when Clarice's usual supper of doughnuts and pickles were brought up there was a familiar cream envelope on the tray. "Did you see who left this?" she demanded. The waiter looked a little nervous at being shouted at by a pregnant woman. He shook his head and explained that it had been left on the reception desk, with orders for it to be taken up to her. Clarice thanked the waiter and pushed a tip into his hand. It was only after the event that she realised she had given a much larger tip than she intended to do.
Cursing herself, she flopped onto the bed and gingerly poked the doughnuts. A large clump of icing came away and she licked it off her finger. The envelope dropped to the floor and she reached down to pick it up. She felt a twinge in her back and she straightened up quickly. Ignoring her stomach cramps she lay back to read the letter, written in an irritatingly similar copperplate script.
The letter started out complaining about the clothes she had bought that week for their child, saying did they really expect their child to wear cheap cotton and polyester? Then it started rambling about 'where did we go wrong?' Clarice read on rubbing her stomach. She suspected he had been drunk at the time, an occurrence which had never occurred when they were married, and to her knowledge before they were married, but was becoming a more regular occurrence.
Finally the pain started to annoy her. She got up and started walking around the room. She tried deep breathing but that didn't work. After fifteen minutes or so of deep breathing Clarice gave up and walked slowly to the grounds for a walk. The last thing she remembered was walking towards a small group of trees, thinking she could sit down amongst them for a while. Then the ground was suddenly rushing up to meet her and everything went black.
When she came to she found herself in a small, but attractive room. She was wearing a green hospital gown and Hannibal was looking over her. A green surgical mask obscured his face, and his blue eyes, by use of coloured contact lenses, twinkled. Clarice looked around and saw a large collection of surgical instruments that, quite frankly, she didn't want to know how they were used.
"Hello Clarice," he murmured. He dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth and left the room momentarily. When he came back he had another man in green surgical clothing and wearing a pair of latex gloves.
"Right Doctor Fell shall we begin?" the other doctor asked, who's nametag read 'Doctor Reynolds'. A nod came from 'Doctor Fell' and he held her shoulders and put his mouth close to her ear.
"This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you," he whispered.
"I highly doubt that." Clarice retorted sarcastically. Hannibal smiled sardonically and patted her face gently. At the end of the bed Doctor Reynolds was doing things, she didn't want to know about with the instruments that she didn't want to know how they were used. Hannibal leant over and picked up a syringe full of clear liquid. Pulling up her arm he injected the fluid into Clarice's veins.
"This will make you feel a little woozy." Came Hannibal's calm voice. The last coherent thing Clarice remembered saying was:
"What are you doing down there?"
During the next 9 hours, as Hannibal would later recall to her, Clarice shouted out numerous embarrassing things. These included ramblings about fruit and how her first love was the FBI but now they didn't want her, who would? At this point Clarice was reduced to tears and was inconsolable for the next hour and a half. After Doctor Reynolds told her to be quiet just for the next contraction, she sat up in outrage. "Do you know who I am? I am in the Guinness Book of Records!" Hannibal reached down a comforting hand to stroke her face but she batted it away in irritation.
"Don't you patronise me Hannibal Lecter!" No sooner were the words out of her mouth, did she, even in her present state, regret them. Doctor Reynolds' head shot up and looked suspiciously at the pair. The couple laughed nervously and Doctor Reynolds remarked silently that the woman was remarkably coherent and could hold a good conversation for someone under the influence of Pethodine.
Hannibal moved towards the door and as he left gave Clarice a warning glance. She pulled a face and wiped her forehead. Somewhere near her legs Doctor Reynolds was telling her to push. Her eyes bulged as she pushed and she lay her head back down on the pillow.
Somewhere in her mind Jack Crawford was talking to her about the Buffalo Bill case. "He's making a woman suit!" she blurted out and then laughed manically. This Pethodine stuff was good!
Paul Krendler flashed through her mind. 'Letch' she thought through the fog. His brain had tasted worryingly good though. The lake house really had added that special something to that meal. Clarice thought of the little boat Hannibal had made his get-away from the lake house in. It really was remarkable how they never managed to spot it with their searchlights and with the added lighting of the 4th of July fireworks. That had been a point of many laughs throughout their marriage.