Storyteller's Notes: Thank you very much for your reviews and for your patience. I really appreciate your opinions.
Disclaimer: as in the first part as it is continuation of the story...
An old farmhouse is a picture of rural tranquillity, the sort you'd send from a long vacation to your co-workers, back at the stuffy office, to add a green colour to their pale faces.
A hand-written sign at the turn off a quiet country road informs in English that a home-made cider is available for purchase here. A long drive leads to a quaint grey-stoned building, standing alone among the rows of apple orchards.
Clarice Starling doesn't see the serenity and rolling spaces of blooming Calvados though. She is hooded, handcuffed, compressed between two agents in the back of a dusty sedan. One of the agents armpits are ringed with a goat-smelling sweat, the sidearm of the other is digging into Starling's ribs. Handcuffs feel alien on her slender wrists. She has no illusions, there is more to come. It is going to be a long day. God fucking shit of a day…
Between the mapping down the yards and turns in her memory palace's navigation helm, she takes a sinister pleasure in cursing Dr Lecter under her breath… …Son-of-a-bitch… what the fuck is going on?...
Finally the car softy rocked to a stop, Starling was helped out and into the house. A long blind journey along the halls, through the creaking doors, down the steps, to a stale smell of dampness and decay. How ironic that her career in law enforcement should start and end in the dungeons!... In fact, thinking about it, her government service was plagued by dungeons and oubliettes… Far too often, she looked into the oubliettes of people's souls, their ghastly stench left her lifeless… And enough of these were the souls of men sworn to uphold the law…
They finally reached their destination when one more door creaked, and Starling was dumped onto a bolted down metal chair. As the hood came off, she had to wait until her eyes adjusted to a flood of light that left her feeling exposed as though if she was an actor on a stage. Well, there was the part to play.
She couldn't see the people in the room, only their ghostly shapes. The light travelled farther along the cement floor. Starling recognised a pair of Bouvier's DocMartins, a tripod, then three pairs of men's shoes standing in a row. Laurie and the two agents she'd shared the back seat with. A pair of brown nubuck lace-up oxfords, with some serious thick carpet mileage and one careful owner, suggested a small man, sitting in the corner to the left. In the opposite corner a muted light balanced on the polished tip of a black "vamp and tassels" loafer as its wearer bobbed it up and down in the air. The fact that the Frenchman's shoes were absent from the line-up confirmed her early conclusions about the pecking order.
The French weren't on it. The dull-eyed Commissaire was to provide the cover and any going info but not much else. If Sneed's in charge, he was here "off the record"… The whole set up is a hush… what did the mop-head say... "sweet and quiet"… sumbitches intend to smuggle Dr Lecter out… without an extradition pain-in-an-ass… Well, fuck you… I have a bargaining chip after all…
Starling remembered Bob Sneed too well. Krendler's crony. A bottomfeeder. After the Drumgo disastrous raid, the cocksuckertried to pin on her the blame for the ugly mess at the Fish Market shootout… Looking down at the handcuffs on her wrists, she remembered sitting in the interrogation chair at their last encounter. Remembered Sneed's face, pale with anger, when she leaned close to the underhand microphone on his tie and said, "I'm perfectly happy to acknowledge the sort of person Evelda Drumgo was, Mr Sneed: She was better than you..." Starling closed her eyes. She was in deep deep shit… She didn't expect any favours.
From the loafers' corner came the voice she loathed. Krendler's voice. The resemblance was uncanny…
"Clarice M. Starling, you are not under arrest. Not yet." Sneed didn't feel a need for introductions. "You are helping with our enquiries. Also, since you are under the US Inspector General's investigation we are expecting your full cooperation. But, first, there are a few formalities we have to get out of the way. I trust I have your consent for the full body search. I believe you are familiar with a pat search, Agent Starling. Benny?"
A pair of man's shoes broke the line and walked into the light. The sweating agent took off her handcuffs and said. "Stand up next to the chair, …spread out, …hands behind your head."
She knew what was coming. A crusher. Unable to draw on the French for support, Sneed couldn't afford any attention. "Sweet and quiet" was the key to his bounty. He had to rely on Starling's cooperation. He thought he had to crush her to be sure of her cooperation.
What did she have in her arsenal? Just herself. And years of practice and self-denial…
What was Sneed's armoury? Intimidation. In its simplicity, it all came down to it. The groping hands of Benny the Sweaty Agent on her breasts, thighs, and crotch were just the tools. She didn't doubt that's just a beginning. Keeping up appearances of legality while pushing the boundaries. How far would he go? Sneed was a climber. His stakes were high. Should he need to break her to get what he wants, he won't hesitate…
She could live trough that… She could deal with it later when weakness won't be an impediment…
What concerned Starling the most was the presence of the nubuk oxfords in the corner. She hoped they were there for a different reason that the one she was anticipating…
"She is clean, sir." Benny waited for further orders.
"Okay, Benny..." A pale narrow hand poked into the light and waved the man back to his position by the door. Then Sneed's face wandered in as he leaned forward, lips quivering. "Now take your clothes off, Starling. Next chapter in the manual is a strip search. We'll do it by the book. Agent Bouvier is qualified to perform this enviable task."
Starling heard a chuckle. A titter went around the court, she thought of a joke Dr Lecter shared with her once. With his taste for the all things exquisite, Dr Lecter had a fond appreciation for the British sense of humour.
"I feel obliged to give you, Starling, a fair idea of what to expect should you choose not to cooperate." Sneed said, the silence broken by the snapping of the latex gloves. "One thing is to read the textbooks at Quantico, the benefit of personal "hands-on", hmm, experience is quite another… Puts things into a right perspective, I'm sure you'd agree."
The alluring fragrance of the Champs-Élysées fashion houses teased Bouvier's senses as she passed into the darkness Starling's clothes. Then the door creaked, and for a moment a dim corridor light revealed hungry eyes of the camera and of the agents, propping the wall by the entrance, as Laurie stepped out into the passageway, his face burred in her lingerie, atop of the pile of the clothes in his arms. Her stilettos swaying off his little finger.
"Please, sit down, Ms Starling." Bouvier said, a mag-lite flashlight pinned behind her ear. "I'll start with your cranium hair."
Watching Starling bent her head down, Bob Sneed couldn't deny the elegance and calm grace the bitch possessed. Even sitting naked under the spotlight. Even when someone's looking for lice in your hair and shining a torch up your nose... He remembered Krendler's eyes, gliding up her legs, as she sat, defiant and tight-assed, in Clint Pearsall's office. For once he didn't agree with his mentor – true, the "town" was full of "cornpone country pussies" but not like this one. This one he wanted to taste. This one he will taste…
Bouvier had finished with the inside of Starling's ears and mouth. As Starling stretched her stiffen bones, the red strands swelled over her ivory shoulders, and for a moment, a faint aroma of fine perfume charmed the musty air of the basement. "Stand up, please, legs apart, hands behind your back." Bouvier crouched down, her latex fingers parting the ginger curls. Close, Starling's skin smelled of almonds. As she stood up, Bouvier glanced towards Sneed's corner.
"Carry on, Bouvier. Give Agent Starling a full service." Sneed grinned. "And take your time; a body cavity search is very demanding. Particularly, for the audience..." He sniggered. The shoes by the wall shifted and shuffled - Bouvier was obstructing the view.
"Ms Starling, squat and cough… Thank you… Now stand up, please, put your hands on the back of the chair and bend down, relax your pelvic muscles,.. cough,.. and again." Bouvier changed the gloves between the inspections.
Yes, Bouvier was smart, and being smart, she knew it wouldn't hurt to be polite, particularly, where the infamous Dr Lecter was concerned… Or his whore… Is that what she believed Starling was? Bouvier didn't know. That what they called her at the briefings. Among the other equally undesirable things… Back at Quantico Starling was a legend, an embarrassment and a cunt… Depends who was giving you the earful of their crap. The truth was, nobody knew Starling close enough, including that righteous bitch Mapp.
Now Bouvier found herself a breath close to that legend. Touching her lean body, she tried to distance herself from the thought that she was placing her gloved fingers in the most intimate places, where the monster had been pleasuring himself, and, probably, not so long ago. The thought was repulsing. And hypnotising…
Why? Bouvier had sought to understand. Why had this attractive woman forsaken her independence to become the monster's plaything? Why had the sworn agent chosen to betray her oath and join the killer on the run? Bouvier had no answers, but, as any smart person, she believed in the power of intellect and observation. What she wasn't prepared for that she actually liked Starling. In fact, and she would never admit to it, even to herself, that she would rather be like this naked whore, fondled, exhibited and humiliated, then the likes of Sneed and the rest of the dickheads in this goddamn safe house, liking their lips and stroking their cocks in their sweaty pockets. Perhaps, even then the most of the agents she encountered over her FBI career.
With Starling's face hidden in the shadows, Sneed observed her body for the signs of distress and submission. He saw her distress then. Back muscles knotted in tension, quivered, when she felt the intrusions. Not enough submission though… We'll see about that…
"Now, Bouvier, you can demonstrate to the Special Agent Starling the meaning of Vanilla Bitch position she'd have to get used to in a slammer… They'll love you there, Starling. Bull bitches would go all dewy-eyed over you – ah, a former government agent, they'd really make you feel special…"
"Sir?" Without looking, Bouvier was aware of a tinge of contempt in Starling's icy eyes upon her. She wasn't going to make it any easer for Bouvier.
"Is there a problem, Bouvier?"
"Yes, sir, there is. That's bullshit. You said, do it by the book… My duties don't include a custodial abuse, sir…" She dropped the used gloves into the evidence bag, straightened up and consciously lowered her voice, recognising the risk of her indiscretion, "…besides, I am not the biggest bitch in the yard…"
"Agent Bouvier!"
The bobbing light fell of the loafer's tip as its owner jumped to his feet, walked over and stopped behind Starling.
"Insubordination is contagious, I see… Don't take a leaf out of Starling's book, Agent Bouvier, you'll end up just like the Lecter's lap dancer here,…" Sneed glared at Bouvier over Starling's shoulder, breathing her scent, brushing against her naked back and making a point of not touching… The fucking dyke is right, of course, she knows she is being taped… There'll be a private moment… with both of them… "Fall in line, Bouvier, I'll deal with you later…"
Sneed walked around and faced Starling. "Now, to more pressing business…"
Starling glanced down his pants and said, "Indeed…"
Smile faded of his face, Sneed unhinged his set jaw, said, "Still a perky bitch, Starling? Watch and learn, Agent Bouvier, watch and learn where your smart mouth will lead you if you let it loose… Sit down, Starling!"
"Do you think, Mr Sneed, your boys have finished playing with my underwear? Your fucking chair is freezing." Starling said as she sat down and crossed her legs. She didn't make any other attempt to cover herself.
"Hmmm," Sneed pursed his lips. "Call them upstairs, Benny, and tell Laurie to bring down the robe from the bathroom… And something for her feet…"
"Now, as much as I would love to hear the full story of your travels, Starling, it can wait. We have the more immediate business to attend to first. Where is Lecter?"
"I don't know…" Starling said, looking down. "Since we came over from South America, we've lived separately…"
"Mmm,.." Sneed raised his eyebrows with expression of sceptical disappointment. "Go on..."
"Dr Lecter had encountered someone in Buenos Aires, someone he knew. By chance, I believe…"
"Who? What happened?"
"I don't know." Starling shrugged. "Dr Lecter didn't tell me, and I didn't care to ask, but I know it spooked him… Soon after we left for Europe, and Dr Lecter suggested it would be best to reside in separate dwellings… Besides, he said, it'll give us some personal space to pursue our private interests and hobbies…"
"In other worlds, he dumped you, Starling… Ah, how sad… Of course, there're plenty of younger whores to choose from…"
She didn't reply.
"When did you last see Lecter?
"Two days ago… We went to hear La Traviata in Salzburg…"
"And?"
"Then we had a meal together…"
"And? Jesus, Starling, do I have to pull it out of you bit by bit?"
"We then spent a night together…" Admitting to Dr Lecter's and her intimacy felt like a worst kind of treachery, as much as it hurt at her abdomen, like a cold stone, pulling on her guts.
"Did Lecter fuck you?"
None of your damn business… The flash of anger died in her blue eyes as she knew what he would say next. So she subdued her rage. "Yes, we had had sex."
"We'll need to take some swabs," Sneed said, "from your… from your…"
"Vagina, sir."
"Yes, thank you, Bouvier. There is a good chance you still have got Lecter's DNA inside the… damnit…" Isn't it curious, Sneed thought, he could call that bitch a cunt but he couldn't get his tongue around the female fucking terminology. "Did Lecter use a condom?"
"No." Starling bit her lip.
"Excellent…" Sneed said, delighted with sight of her distress. "Bouvier will take the necessary swabs in a few minutes."
"Yes, sir. With Ms Starling permission."
"I assume we have your full cooperation, Starling?" Sneed turned to Starling.
Starling said nothing as she wandered off, down the leafy alley of her memory palace, Crawford's voice ringing echo through the woods: If you assume when I send you on a job, Starling, you can make an ass out of u and me both. She went looking for him next to the oak tree. What the hell would you say now, Jack… But he wasn't there… He never was when she needed him… She had to straighten her spine and face the men alone…
"Was it good? Starling!" Sneed stood above her. "Was Lecter a good fuck?"
"None of your fucking business." She hesitated a moment, then looked right into his eyes. "And, yes, sir, he was."
Sneed turned away first. "Where did you go the morning after?"
"I don't know where Dr Lecter's gone – he'd left as I slept. I went then to my apartment in Paris."
"Okay, we'll get back to it later. Did you tell Lecter about the blackmail and the meeting with the paparazzi?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"He said he trusts I'd handle it accordingly."
"Accordingly?..."
"Yes, as I saw fit."
"I expect he'd like to know how this morning went."
"I guess so, yes."
"How do you meet with Lecter? Who's initiating the contact?"
"Dr Lecter… Thank you, Agent Laurie, you are very kind… It is always Dr Lecter who calls me… I don't know his number or where he lives…" Starling tied the robe's belt and sat down again.
"Lecter calls you on this cell phone?" Sneed held up the phone from her purse. It's been dusted for prints, crevasses still filled with black powder.
"Yes."
"Are you expecting Lecter to call you today?"
"Any time. He calls as he's pleased. We meet at his invitation or initiation…"
"Like a bitch running to her master's heel…" Sneed couldn't help himself. "Why didn't you try to get away, Starling? Had Lecter been drugging you?"
She didn't reply, studying the lines on her palms.
"Agent Starling?"
"Yes, I believe, Dr Lecter used drugs on me." She fell silent.
"Why didn't you try to get away, Starling, when you could?"
"I couldn't… Dr Lecter is like a shadow… No. No, he is a shadow. My shadow…" Suddenly, Starling looked like a deflated balloon. "…I could never get away... He'd find me wherever I go… One plays his games by his rules or ends up as a garbage can…" Starling bit her tongue and cupped her face in her hands.
Sneed looked at the sorry figure in front, head in hands, tense shoulders, shuddering under the towelling cloth. Jesus, she is not crying, is she?.. She lost it, she finally lost it… All that bitching up… and now… Pathetic…
He smiled to himself. What a transformation… Sneed bared his teeth in a quick triumphant smile towards the nubuck oxfords' corner. And you said she'd be a tough client, Doc… Leave it to the professionals, you said… Yeah, she put up a little fight at first… Look at the cocksucking bush now… You just need to know which buttons to press or…, Bob Sneed thought with deep satisfaction, …or, which faucet to shut… Starling was as good as ready for the next stage.
In his sweetest voice, Sneed said. "You could've come to us, Agent Starling; we'd look after our own…" Even Sneed sensed how false it sounded.
"A titter went around the court…" Her eyes on her clasped hands, Starling said quietly, noting a little tap by Bouvier's boot at the edge of the shapeless darkness.
"What?" Sneed said.
Left palm over her mouth, Starling waved the question away; finesse of the irony would be lost on Sneed.
He put his hand on the back of Starling's chair and leaned over her. "Okay, Starling, here is your chance to get back on the good books…"
That'll be the day,.. everyone in the room thought simultaneously.
"…and Lecter off your back… Forever, this time the sick fuck would get the needle." Sneed turned to Laurie. "Ready upstairs?"
"Yes, sir."
"Great. Now, this is what we are going to do, Clarice." Sneed said, adopting a confidential tone. "We'll go upstairs, have a drink, and, when you are comfortable, we'll talk about our plan of action… You don't mind if we put the hood on again, do you? Let's go then, honey…"
"Honey"!... Fucking "Honey"! She almost choked. If she hadn't had the hood, tied around her neck, she would've graced the little shit's "vamp and tassels" with the entire content of her stomach.
The hood was a blessing really – it saved the son-of-a-bitch's face from her teeth as this tedious melodrama had become unbearably boring. Jesus, if it'd gone any longer, she wouldn't be able to hide the yawns. She always knew acting wasn't her calling. But, by God, is it degrading! The pissant was tempting her patience to no end… Thank goodness, she'd managed to steal a little laugh at Paul Krendler's expense to keep her sanity… Garbage can… Ha... Precisely the use Dr Lecter found for Krendler's skull… She'll have to watch out for the Bouvier wench though, quick, doesn't miss a beat. Perhaps, she could turn it to her advantage… She liked Bouvier… Lots of potential there. Would be a shame if she had to kill her…
Starling felt the agents grip her elbows, ushering her out of the cellar and up the stairs. Under the black hood her eyes were sparkling with the ice blue shade of cold. Starling used this moment of respite and, moving along the marble corridors of her memory palace, stark naked and barefoot, she looked for the toxicology chamber, where Dr Lecter had been extensively tutoring her on drugs, tranquilizers and stimulants. Yes, he was there when she pushed the heavy oak door open, busy, as usual, with his experiments.
"Ah, Clarice," Dr Lecter pulled out a scroll. A fine copperplate hand. He glanced down the elegant writing and said. "I think this is the one… Hmm, yes, Dr Doemling is the one, I know, with the penchant for old shoes and nubuck oxfords… as well as corrupt politicians…Let's hope I am right… Then, this is what you'd need to know about his medical preferences and "treatment" techniques, Clarice. Of course, you know, the man is a fraud and a buffoon…"
Dr Lecter's maroon eyes opened wide at the sight of her bare body, stripped of dignity, smeared over with summbitches greedy glimpses, lonely and longing. In the depth of his pupils sparks flew, cloaked her with the hot red plasma, burning the greasy eye-prints off her frozen skin, and she felt the blue ice in her eyes melt, the spring streams running down her cheeks… Fuck you, Hannibal Lecter… Don't you think you would escape your turn to weep... Quid pro quo, Dr Lecter, quid pro quo…
When, finally, upstairs, in the cosy cottage style bedroom, Benny took the hood off Starling's head, Sneed was delighted to observe the shiny streaks, glistening on her tired face. Yeah, she is ripe for the taking, he thought, assessing the options, Dr Doemling discussed with him earlier. I think I'll go with the "Lecter's Choice"… This one's promising to be most enjoyable…
to be continued…
As ever I'd appreciate your reviews.
CE