Screamer
Chapter Two
Responsibility is (and was) My Liability
Sitting in the dark room of the basement, where Clarice Starling had once worked on Dr. Lecter's case, Sharon found herself reading up on him, including some accounts Clarice had testified to, mainly what happened at Muskrat farm and Paul Krendler's lake home. She avoided feeling sick, reading Clarice's account of the dinner Lecter had begun with her, Paul and his open scull. It was disgusting, vile nad nearly unbelievable from what she had met a week ago. She heard footsteps but figured it was Pearsall, sighed, closed the file and began speaking while taking donw some notes.
"Mr. Pearsall, if you're here because the Lecter file isn't there I'm almost done with it, just wanted to . . ." She looked up in time to realize it wasn't Pearsall, and stiffened noticeably when Lecter strolled to a nearby chair and took it. "Why. . . Why are you here?"
"I wanted to speak with you, special agent Mahoney," he casually leaned back in the chair, his eyes never left her. "I wanted to speak with you about your ex-husband."
He studied her expression as his words washed over her, it went from slightly frightened to totally passive, unreadable. "What is there to talk about?"
"Did he ever beat you, Sharon? Outside of the accounts you were able to prove?"
She was stunned, her mouth hung open ever so slightly and her eyes widened, but she quickly closed her mouth. "I . . . that information was strictly confidential where did you . . .?"
"Oh Sharon, you're just as naive as Clarice, I have my ways, as always, now please answer the question."
She fidgeted, stood and placed the particular manilla folder into the box of Lecter info. "Um, y-yes, he did."
"And you always thought it was your fault, didn't you? He made you believe it was all your fault. Especially when your babies died."
He saw her shoulders tense, she gripped the edge of the box, took a deep breath and went back to her desk. "I . . . . I don't want to talk about that, Dr. Lecter."
"You should, as I understand you never had any therapy after their deaths."
"I really don't think I can . . ."
"How'd he do it Sharon? How'd he make you think those babies deaths were your fault? Big words, small words, the back of his hand? Or maybe his fist and feet?"
Tears rolled down her face but she quickly wiped them away and sniffled, looked up at him. "He would, say things, terrible things when they died, and, um, he would hit me, yes. He's knocked out three of my teeth and broken my left arm twice . . ."
"Cracked your ribs three times for a total of 16 ribs cracked all together, broken your right femur and caused severe head trauma by hitting you over the head with a brick . . ."
"27 times."
Both sat in silence, she looked to Lecter and saw he seemed to be deep in thought, she pulled her ankles up to rest on the desk and keep her skirt on her legs, and after quietly thinking a moment said. "She told me if you should come around that I absolutely couldn't tell you where she was, because she's afraid, doctor."
"Of me?"
"No."
"Then of what?"
She bit her lip, lowered her eyes as she replied. "The way she feels."
"And how is that?"
"She'd not sure." She shook her head, bit her lip again. "It wasn't my place, I shouldn't have told you."
"No, it's quite all right dear." He crossed a leg, fixed her with am amused grin. "So tell me, where do you go now that everything you ever loved is gone forever, do you stay here and save little children from sexual predators?"
She pulled her feet from the desk and crossed one of her own legs, shrugged. "I hardly deal with missing children's cases, Dr. Lecter."
He cocked his head curiously. "Even after what happened to yours?"
"I won't let my emotions interfere with my work."
"Ah," he stood and went to the box, flipped through some of it's contents. "But it seems you already have."
"Pardon me?"
"Tell me, Sharon. How did you feel the other day after I left?"
Contemplative she shrugged, stood and walked across the room. "Relieved at first and then . . . Curious."
He did not look at her as he asked. "Curious? How?"
"I. . . I don't know, I was just curious as to why Clarice seemed so afraid to stay in the same room with you."
"How long has it been since you've participated in coitus, Sharon?"
"Pardon me? What right have you to ask me that?"
He turned to her, grinned mischievously. "Did you want me, Sharon?"
"Should I have?"
"That all depends, are you willing to help carry the baggage."
"I have no sexual interest in you, doctor. Only innocent interest."
"Was it the same way with Jerome? Did you marry him to get out of Richmond, and away from your family's expectations? From the hustle and bustle of ordinary life, did you want the world, Sharon? Did you think with a rock star you could have that?"
She was silent, holding back her emotions, trying desperately not to look vulnerable. "I . . ."
He came closer, was inches away. "Did you think as long as you were free the beatings wouldn't matter? You were wrong, Sharon. No man should ever hit a woman, not in any circumstance, especially when she is carrying his child, that is one of the beautiful things about women, in my opinion, the strength the carry a human life within them for nine months or more or less, and the ability to shove them from your body, out of an opening the size of a lemon, no man, I assure you could do that, and to have the gall to beat a woman in such a state, it's barbaric."
Tears shined on her face, her lower lip quivered and she contemplated running away, running far from what he was saying, mostly, because it was true. She now understood why Clarice was terrified of her feelings for him, and why she had traveled so far away. She opened her mouth to speak but ended up letting out a gasp-like sob, slid down the wall she had backed against to her knees, then sat there, wrapped her arms around herself.
"Why didn't you stop him, Sharon? Did you not love the lives growing inside of you?"
More tears leaked out, and she answered in between harsh gasps for breath. "I. . . I tried to get away but that's when he did it harder and I almost . . . I couldn't run he would have killed me, killed my babies and so I couldn't run . . ."
"So what did you do, Sharon?"
"I called the police."
"When?"
"When I was bleeding."
"And they brought an ambulance?"
"Yes."
"And that's why the twins were born a month and a week early?"
"Yes, I'd been bleeding."
He watched her drown in her painful memories, then bent and extended his hand, helped her to stand. "Sharon, if I help you will you help me?"
"I. . . I can't, doctor, she'd be so upset."
"I would never harm, Clarice. I could never harm her."
Her red, puffy eyes met his calm, claer ones, and she sighed, shrugged. "What the hell."
A library, Waldorf Maryland. The next afternoon
Sitting at an available computer, Lecter sighed, typed in http: and once the page showed up, clicked Images and typed Sharon Mahoney into the search box. He waited a moment while thumbnails began to pop up. He straightened in the chair and crossed his arms, when they finished, he looked through them and clicked the ones that were of most interest to him. One of her in her mid twenties after the twins were born, pushing a double stroller. Another one that was studio quality, her, Jerome, and the twins, newly born. He frowned, went to the back button and clicked another, when it loaded, it was a pciture of her leaning against a bed, shoe in hand, black and white cocker spaniel puppy chewing the other end playfully, she was laughing. He clicked the link the pciture came from and read through the article.
. . . sources say Jerome killed the beloved puppy out of jealousy, he denies such rumors.
Good God, a puppy. They think I am sick?
(The caption on the picture) Sharon and Claudia have some fun with a shoe a week before her death.
What don't I know about you, Sharon? What has driven all of these tragedies into your life? First your dog, then your children?
. . . in 1976, when Sharon's uncle was murdered, her cousin, Clarice Starling came to live with her and her parents on their sheep and horse ranch, where both girls ran away from just two months later, Starling was sent to an orphanage, while Sharon was forced to stay with her parents.
Bingo. You're easy, you think if you give other people their way, you can get yours but you know now, don't you Sharon? You're starting to realize that to get your way, you have to fight for it.
"Mahoney, I'm warning you, stay away from that house until we can get SWAT over there with you and special agent Terry, I don't care why you want to nail him yourself, just wait until tomorrow."
Sharon was insulted, in the least, she let out an exasperated huff and swung her arms to her sides. "I don't get it, Clarice was fine when she went after Jame Gumb herself! Why can't I . . ."
"You and your cousin are very different people, Mahoney." Pearsall's eyes stayed on her as he stood and went to the opposite side of the room.
She bit her lip, nodded, glaring at him while it felt as if saline was being poured onto the wound. "I see, she's the big hero, right? She got Hannibal Lecter to open up she gave up a chance at a family, she shot the monster when she couldn't even see him. I train 4 hours a day, I'm stronger than she is, younger than she is and just slightly smarter than she is. You're right, we are different. But you're making me sound like a little whimp!"
"Your IQ's are basically the same, you just study better."
"Bullshit, Pearsall!" She grabbed her gun from his desk and made for the door.
"Mahoney, if you go to that house I will strip you of field duties and you'll be answering the goddamned phone for all I care!"
He heard the waiting room door slam, and sat, lit up a cigarette. He was concerned for her, this guy was tough, and sick, he knew if she went, she didn't stand a chance.
He prayed the girl minded him.
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