Author's note: After a bit of a break, I'd been writing this on and off. With the second chapter close enough to print, I decided to publish. Here we are, the sequel to 'Like Father, Like Daughter'.
Clarice Starling began her day as she always did. It was a calm day, for someone who worked in Behavioral Sciences. She was tracking a few isolated murders in Tampa for the local police department, trying to determine if there was a link. Nothing to say definitively either way. So it was calm and quiet, relatively speaking. Autopsy reports. Crime-scene reports. All low-key and relatively calm. The murders were average, she thought. Nothing to suggest the ritualistic aspects of a serial killer.
Her phone rang and she picked it up calmly.
"Starling," she said automatically.
The voice on the other end was male and interested.
"Agent Starling? This is Dr. Raymond Perkins. I'm the administrator of the Highview Psychiatric Hospital."
Clarice had heard of him. Since the Chesapeake State Asylum had closed all those years ago, the criminally insane were sent to Highview. It was located outside of Baltimore. Clarice had been there a few times to interview killers who had been deemed insane.
"Hi, Dr. Perkins," she said calmly. "How can I help you? I don't think there's anything going on between Behavioral Sciences and your institution."
Dr. Perkins's voice dropped a tone or two. "Well," he said. "No, it's nothing official. I'm sort of relaying a request for a favor."
Clarice pondered. "Relaying a request? Well, what is it?"
Dr. Perkins paused. "A patient has been asking to speak to you," he said.
Clarice's mouth quirked. What would a psychiatric patient want with her? Well, she could see that; psychiatric patients might be delusional. They were in the loony bin for a reason, after all. Maybe the question she meant was why the administrator of the facility had seen fit to relay the patient's request.
"A patient of yours?" she asked.
"Yes."
"May I ask who?" Clarice pressed.
She could hear the glottal click as he swallowed.
"It's…ahh…it's Alice Pierpont," he said finally.
Clarice let out a sigh. Alice Pierpont. Hannibal Lecter's daughter. She was not quite so free of illness as he; she was bipolar and possibly schizophrenic. They'd diagnosed her as schizophrenic, anyway. Clarice had her doubts. Two years ago, she had captured Clarice and caged her, trying to seek out her father. For a week and change, Clarice had lived in a cage, her life dependent on a madwoman's whims.
Now it seemed she wanted Clarice for something. A thump of fear tapped Clarice's gut.
"I see," Clarice said. "What does she want?"
Dr. Perkins let out a long sigh. "She wants you to come and see her," he said. "She wanted to know if you would help her with something. I'm sorry, this is all third-hand to me, I don't have more information. She asked an orderly, who referred it to the nursing supervisor, who in turn referred it to me."
Clarice smiled tightly to allay her nerves. "Dr. Perkins, I'm sure she may want to see me, but let's be honest," she said. "Alice Pierpont is there for a reason. She's mentally ill. I don't know if she's incompetent to stand trial or not, but that's what the court said, and that's what you've been saying at the hearings since then, so I assume she's not exactly in contact with reality. I have a lot of work to do, and I don't have time for this unless there's a good reason."
The doctor coughed. "I realize that, Agent Starling," he said. "To tell you the truth…we were kind of wondering if you would be willing to come up here and see what she wanted. For our sake."
"For your sake?" Clarice pressed. "I don't quite understand."
"Well," the doctor said, "you see, this is the first time Alice Pierpont has voluntarily spoken in about seven months."
Clarice tensed. "I see," she said archly. "So you'd like me to see her in order to keep her talking."
"It would be helpful in her therapy," the doctor agreed. "Also, we've been interested in her case since she came here. There's definitely a book's worth of material in her. Maybe two. Very, very fascinating case, you know. You just don't find cases like hers every day. Do you publish, Agent Starling?"
Clarice closed her eyes and made a moue with her lips. So, she thought, you want to get your lab rat to talk to you and that's why you want me to help.
"I publish occasionally," she said. Not enough to want to come see Alice Pierpont, she thought. Then she found herself feeling guilty. After all, she had promised Dr. Lecter that she would keep an eye on his errant daughter while she was incarcerated. The fact that no one at all had heard her make that promise mattered not a whit.
I can't believe the things I do, she thought. But dammit, that was the difference between the good guys and the bad.
"She's been troubled lately," the doctor said. "Seeing you would…mean a great deal to her."
Clarice cleared her throat. I am a goddam fool, she thought. A pure-d god dam idiot.
"What does she want from me, Dr. Perkins?"
The doctor sighed. "She asked that I not tell you," he said. "She wants to ask you herself."
Maybe she wants to try and drown me again, Clarice thought. No, she doubted the staff would help her in that. Maybe she's gonna give me nine more cans of Pringles. Chick is hardly Miss Sanity, after all. But she could feel the curiosity and duty tugging at her. The curiosity was ingrained in her as a profiler; she'd worked so hard to get this job. The duty was exclusively her own. She'd promised to watch over Alice.
Plus, the work she was doing now was only a step or two above puttering. Alice was an interesting case. The Bureau might get some benefit. Maybe Alice would agree to do some surveys or something. At the least, they might come up with something if she ever came to trial.
And so, after chatting with Crawford and getting the okay, Clarice Starling found herself in her Mustang, heading up the Baltimore-Washington Expressway to where Alice Pierpont was held with the rest of the loonies. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror.
"Why do I always end up doing this?" she asked her own reflection in the mirror. "How come I can't be more like Jack Crawford? He'd just say 'Oh, I'm sorry, I can't' and that would be the end of it. He wouldn't feel guilty. He'd go home and sleep like a log over it."
Her own eyes in the mirror offered her no answers.
"And now I'm talking to myself," she said irritably. "Maybe they ought to get me a padded cell there too."
The Mustang made short work of the miles between Quantico and the asylum, and before Clarice really knew it, the prow of the Mustang was aiming at several buildings set far back behind a fence. She eased up to a guardhouse at the front, where a bored man in a uniform checked her ID and waved her in. The driveway was long and cracked; it had been many years since it had been paved last. Clarice parked and checked in at the front desk.
The place seemed dilapidated. Ugly fluorescent lights cast hopeless lights down with an annoying buzz. The secretary's desk was chipped and well worn. The secretary herself took Clarice's ID and lifted an elderly black Bell phone.
"Dr. Perkins will be right with you," she said calmly, and waved Clarice to a battered chair.
It took perhaps ten minutes all told. A man in a white lab coat approached Clarice and extended his hand. Clarice took it and smiled perfunctorily. She studied him. He was short and thick around the middle. She figured him for about fifty. His face was pleasant. Blue eyes sparkled above a dark beard that she suspected might be dyed. A passable Tevye, if the lunatic asylum decided to put on a production of Fiddler on the Roof.
"Agent Starling, good afternoon," he said warmly. "Thank you so much for coming, especially on such short notice."
She smiled. "So can you tell me what all this is about?" she asked directly.
"Mostly, it's what I told you on the phone," he said. "Her attorney came to come see her yesterday. She's entitled to speak with him in confidence, you know, so I can't tell you what they talked about."
They began to walk down the halls. The doctor continued speaking. His voice was jovial.
"After that, she seemed somewhat troubled. She didn't say anything. That's not that uncommon; she goes for months without speaking. Then this morning she asked the orderly if she could call you. Of course, we don't let inmates call their victims directly, so he simply told her no. She asked him to move things up the line, you know, and it came to me."
Clarice sighed. Victim. I'm her victim now, I guess. She didn't like the thought. She was a warrior. A fighter. She took up arms and fought the bad guys. 'Victim' was not her preferred label. Yes, Alice Pierpont had kidnapped her. Yes, she had starved Clarice and tortured her and held her under strict conditions. But Clarice didn't want to be thought of as Alice's victim. She was an FBI agent, a warrior strong and true.
"What can you tell me about her?" Clarice asked. "How has she been?"
The doctor shrugged. "She hasn't been a difficult patient," he said. "No violence since she came here. We've tried different medications. She's been cooperative – she does what she's asked to do."
"But you said she doesn't talk," Clarice pointed out.
"She doesn't. She remains mute for months on end. She'll write notes sometimes, and sometimes she just won't communicate at all."
Clarice nodded slowly. She'd long suspected that Alice was crazy like a fox. From the week Clarice had spent in her custody, she didn't think Alice was legally insane. But the doctors here had said she wasn't competent at her hearings.
"What kind of notes?" Clarice pressed "Does she use proper grammar? Do the notes indicate she's lucid?"
Ahead was a set of double doors. The doctor tapped out a code on a keypad. With a pneumatic hiss the doors opened. For a moment Clarice pondered on that. It wasn't quite the same as the Chesapeake asylum: black iron bars had given way to nice double doors. But the place was no less secure.
"It varies, Agent Starling," the doctor said. "The notes are part of her file. I'd give you them if I could, but they're confidential, you know." He sighed. "Perhaps she might allow you to have some of them. She seems to want something from you, as near as I can tell."
The thought of that made Clarice shudder.
"Anyway," the doctor continued, "some of her notes are perfect grammar, perfectly lucid. That's usually when she wants something." He grinned. "It's other times that she doesn't maintain quite that level of clarity. If you ask her why she won't talk, she'll usually come up with some interesting answers. A few months ago she said she wasn't talking because the Devil had shoved a cookie down her throat. I took a look down her throat with a tongue depressor and told her I couldn't see any cookie. She wrote a note saying to pray for eyes."
Clarice thought for a moment about that. The doctor had been in the same room with her? That was frightening.
"Now what kind of conditions are going to be there for this visit?" she asked.
The doctor shrugged. "There's a visiting room in the maximum security wing," he said. "Two chairs, bolted to the floor. A table. You'll have privacy for the visit, but an orderly will be in the hallway."
A chill ran down Clarice's spine. "Is she…isn't she going to be in restraints?"
The doctor looked at her as if restraining a woman who had murdered and tortured had never occurred to him.
"Why, no, Agent Starling," he said. His tone suggested that what she was asking for was unthinkable. "There were new rules passed a few years ago strictly limiting the use of restraints in psychiatric hospitals. We're only allowed to restrain a patient who is being violent, and then under strict regulations. Alice has been well-behaved since she came here."
Clarice thought of the crimes Alice had committed and drew in breath sharply. "You don't restrain her."
"We haven't had to," Dr. Perkins replied. "If you prefer, I suppose we could put her in the padded cell. That's quite secure, although it's hard to hear through the door. Are you nervous about being in the same room with her?"
Clarice gritted her teeth. Her mind echoed the question. Watsamatta, Starling, ya chicken? Buck-buck-buck!
"I guess given her history of violence it's cause for concern," she allowed through clenched teeth.
"She hasn't been violent since she came here," the doctor repeated, a bit prissily. "Agent Starling, just about every inmate I have on maximum security has a history of violence. Despite that, most of them get along just fine. If you'd prefer to have higher security than normal, we'll put Alice in the padded cell and you can talk to her through the door. There's a microphone installed in it, so you can converse with her."
His tone indicated that he thought she was being a wuss, and she hated that. She gritted her teeth. I do not want some pear-shaped psychiatrist in his necktie and his beard thinking I'm scared, she thought. For a moment her mind whirled back to Chilton, with the microphone hooked up to the desk she'd sat in. Did she want him curled over a speaker, listening to her discussion with Alice in some unseen room? No.
"I just want to see what happens if she jumps me," she said.
Dr. Perkins shook his head. "I doubt that," he said. "There will be two orderlies outside the room. If she attacks you we'll have her off you quickly."
Yeah, and what if she breaks my jaw or eats my tongue before you do? she thought. But no, Alice was not her father. Quit being such a scaredy-cat, she scolded herself. Find out what the crazy chick wants. Maybe she's going to go to trial after all. Maybe she wants to apologize. Hell, you don't know.
So she accompanied the psychiatrist through a few more locked gates and doors to a final set of doors marked Women's Maximum-Security. A smaller sign advised All weapons must be checked, and another warned her that All visitors must display photo identification to leave ward. What if someone forgot her wallet? Would they make her stay here? Toss her in a cell and start ramming Thorazine down her gullet? Quit it, Clarice. You were at Chesapeake and that was worse.
The white-uniformed orderly was expressionless as he took her gun and exchanged it for a cardboard tag with a clip. She attached it to her lapel and swallowed. Glancing around indicated she was in the lobby of the maximum-security ward. The desk behind which the orderly sat was enclosed in bulletproof glass. Behind him was a long device – a handle with a U shape at the end, used to pin a struggling inmate to the wall. There was also a straitjacket, neatly folded, a rifle she recognized instantly as a tranquilizer gun, and a set of leather wrist and ankle restraints arranged in a foursquare group of neat tan O's.
Clarice found herself wondering if any of those devices had ever been used on Alice Pierpont and forced herself to quit thinking about it. What did Alice want, anyway? And why the hell had she simply gotten in the car and driven out here?
Because you said you would and you haven't, her mind reminded herself. Dr. Lecter asked you to keep an eye on her and for two years you haven't. That's what's driving you here, Clarice old pal, good old-fashioned guilt. That's why you came here. Not because of the FBI, not because of Dr. Perkins and his desire to keep his patient talking so he can get a book out of her, and strictly speaking, not even for Alice herself. You're here because you promised you'd do this and you never did.
"Well, Agent Starling?" Dr. Perkins asked. "I need to get her. Will it be the visiting room or the padded cell?"
I am not having an overweight psychiatrist think I'm a pansy, Clarice thought to herself. "The visiting room will be fine," she said shortly.
"Very well," Dr. Perkins said, and smiled brightly. "Barney, would you please bring Alice Pierpont down to Visiting Room One and go over the rules with her?"
Clarice turned. Barney? Yes, indeed, it was the large black nurse. His hair was a fine steel gray now, but his eyes were just as bright and intelligent as they had been all those years ago.
"Barney?" she asked.
Barney smiled. "That's me," he said calmly.
"Didn't know you were working here," she said.
"You always go back to what you know," he said enigmatically. "It's not so bad here. I like it. I'm on this floor now, with the ladies."
She chuckled. "Tough job," she quipped.
"Tougher than you'd think," he said. "Anyways. Let me get her settled and then we'll have a chat once you're done."
He disappeared down the hallway and past the door at the end of the hall. Even at this distance, she could hear him speaking. His voice was calm and collected. Then again, she supposed, a guy big enough to pick up most people and break them in half probably could afford to be calm.
He returned with a figure that he towered over. Dark hair, pale skin. A calm face that she remembered. Alice Pierpont. Clarice felt herself tense. How come she hadn't asked for Josh, anyway? It was Josh she had a thing for. Barney held her elbow in one massive black hand and calmly steered her into a room on the right. Her eyes met Clarice's once, and then she disappeared into the room.
Barney's voice again, issuing from the room. It was calm and paternal. She could see how he got along easily with the inmates. He didn't threaten or get nasty. He knew his power and didn't need to throw his weight around. Now Agent Starling came all the way to see you. You be nice to her. I'm gonna be right outside. You stay in your chair and keep your hands visible, that's all. We don't want to have to pull out the jacket or the cuffs or anything, so you mind your manners and everything will be just fine. All right?
He emerged a few minutes later. His small teeth gleamed at her, shockingly white against his dark skin. A large hand extended out to her and she took it. His palm was coffee with cream, she noticed absently.
"Things will be just fine," he said. "She knows the rules. She hasn't tried anything since she came here. But I'll be outside the door, just in case. If you run into problems, you just yell and we'll be in there like a shot."
Clarice took a shuddering breath and nodded. She walked towards the room and found herself feeling somewhat woozy. Was she really doing this? Yes, it seemed. She was.
She stepped to the door and paused, her toes just barely touching the linoleum. Then she decided she was being foolish, took another step forward, and closed the door behind her. The click of the lock made her start. They had locked her in with a lunatic. How…comforting. At least with Dr. Lecter, she'd had a big plexiglass wall between them.
The room was small and rectangular, reminding her of a very short bowling alley. The walls were white and peeling. The floor was gray. One window was on the far wall, covered over with a heavy steel grid. The room contained only a bare table and two chairs. The one nearest to the door was empty. The one behind the table contained Alice Pierpont.
She appeared to have dropped some weight, Clarice noticed. She wore the white pajamalike uniform issued to the inmates. It seemed a bit too big on her, as if she had been starved here in captivity. Her face was thinner. Her hair and eyes and lips seemed to be the only color in the room. Clarice thought of Chesapeake and this woman's father and felt her stomach clench hard.
Alice Pierpont tilted her head and looked emotionlessly at Clarice. Her hands were on the table where Clarice could see them. That was comforting, but this oh-we-trust-her bit really sucked as far as reassurance went.
"Hello, Clarice," she said. Her voice sounded rusty and clogged. Her eyes seemed clear and she didn't seem as crazy as she'd been when they moved her to the mental hospital. Maybe meds were helping.
"Alice," Clarice said, and sat. She did not take her eyes off the woman in the chair. "How are you feeling?"
Alice shrugged. "All right," she said disinterestedly. "I have meds, and psychotherapy, and all that. Also the TV room. Everyone likes Jerry Springer. Ewww." She wrinkled her nose. "How is life in the FBI?"
Clarice nodded slowly, still distrustful. Alice could lunge over the table and grab her at any time. How long had it taken Dr. Lecter to break the nurse's jaw and eat her tongue? Not too goddam long as she recalled.
"It's fine," she said shortly.
"How is Josh?" Alice asked.
Clarice swallowed. Feeding Alice's obsession with Josh didn't seem like the brightest idea in the world. She'd sent him some bizarre love letters when she first arrived at the asylum. What they contained she didn't know; he hadn't wanted to add them to Alice's file.
"Agent Graham is just fine," she said.
"They told me I can't write him anymore," Alice said dolorously, as if being confined to a maximum-security psychiatric hospital was only a minor inconvenience compared to not being allowed to contact Agent Joshua Graham.
"Your doctors are doing what they feel to be right," Clarice parried. She leaned forward just a bit before halting. That would put her into Alice's reach. Even though Alice simply sat in her chair, she was wary. Alice's hands lay on the table, fluttering like birds just barely asleep. Clarice stared at her weird left hand for a moment before making herself meet the madwoman's eyes.
"Okay," Clarice said. "You didn't ask to see me because you wanted to tell me they won't let you write Josh. I'm a busy woman, Alice. What was it you wanted me for?"
Alice glanced down at the table as it if held some fascinating hieroglyphic that only she could see.
"You're afraid of me," she said suddenly. "Why?"
Clarice stopped. Her throat worked. Because you kidnapped me and locked me in a cage and starved me, was what she wanted to say.
"I know what you're capable of," was what she said.
"I've been good since I came here," Alice observed. "No fights, no violent behavior."
"I'm glad to hear that," Clarice said.
"Would you feel more comfortable if I was in restraints?" Alice asked.
Clarice paused. "Maybe," she said. "You don't have much impulse control. I've seen it." You killed a woman in front of me and nailed her to a cross. Don't you remember? No, better not to remind her of her crimes.
"I've been getting better," Alice said, sounding bizarrely like a little kid.
Clarice exhaled. "Glad to hear that," she said. "Now. What did you want out of me? You wanted me here enough to start talking after six months."
"Seven," Alice corrected, and smiled a lost smile to herself.
"Seven. What's the deal, Alice? I came here to see what you wanted. Now please don't waste my time."
Alice nodded and looked down. She cleared her throat and paused for a moment or two. Her eyes fixed on her hands. Still on the table, as if chained down there. Her fingers trembled.
"I wanted to know if you would help me," she began.
Clarice's eyes narrowed. "Help you? How?"
Alice's eyes flitted back up to Clarice's. She cleared her throat again and took a deep breath. Whatever she said, she was expecting to be turned down.
"My stepfather died a few days ago," she said.
Clarice's mouth quirked. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said neutrally.
"I wanted to know if I could go to the funeral," Alice continued.
Clarice stopped. Was Alice that delusional? She seemed to know where she was. Clarice studied her cautiously and leaned back, just in case she freaked out.
"Alice," she began, "that's not something I can do for you. You'd have to ask your doctors. And I don't know if they will let you go."
Alice shook her head. "There is a furlough program," she explained. "And I qualify, because I haven't had any behavioral problems since I got here. The thing is, they won't let me go because I'm maximum security. So I have to have two orderlies with me. They don't have the staff to spare."
Clarice sighed. "I'm not sure why you think I could help you, though," she hedged.
Alice's eyes were calm but seemed sad. "Well," Alice said, "I know that Behavioral Sciences does those surveys. The FBI has a lot of agents. And SWAT teams if you're going to be totally paranoid about it." She glanced down at her feet for a moment before looking back up to Clarice. "If the FBI took me to the funeral I'd do one of the surveys."
Clarice blinked her eyes for a moment and thought. For a moment, voices of the past spoke in her mind. She was ten, her father newly dead. Her uncle talking to someone in the next room: Yeah, they shot him…I don't know if I ought to let Clarice go to the funeral. She's pretty broken up over it. She'd burst into hysterical tears and run into the room screaming at him. Losing her father was bad enough. Being denied the opportunity to say goodbye to him? That was unconscionable.
Edgar Morgan II wasn't Alice's father, but he was her stepfather. From her records, he was as close as she got, emotionally speaking. Hannibal Lecter might have begotten her, but he was a stranger to her.
Clarice Starling felt something she hadn't thought she would ever feel: sympathy for her former captor. She eyed Alice suspiciously still.
"Alice, we've never promised anything to anyone who participates in the survey," she said. "And as I recall, you didn't even like your family."
"That doesn't mean I don't want to pay my respects," Alice said placidly. "He was my stepfather. He was part of my life. Plus, he was the best of the lot to me. My brother is getting a furlough from the state prison he's in. If he gets to go, why can't I? He was convicted of rape and murder, you know."
"Just what did you have in mind?" Clarice asked. "The FBI is for law enforcement. We're not a limo service."
Alice sighed. "I thought you might be willing to help me, Agent Starling," she said, and her tone seemed laced with regret. "I thought you might understand. All I wanted to do was see if you would help me go to my stepfather's funeral, and in return I'd take the survey that I know you do on serial killers. But if you're not interested, then fine. If it's too much to ask, it's too much to ask."
Clarice found herself tensing. She couldn't tell if Alice was trying to manipulate her or not. This could be simply an attempt to get out. Or maybe she wanted no more than she said: to pay her respects. And why, oh why, oh why, did Clarice find herself feeling sympathy? Uh-uh, Clarice, she told herself. No, no, no, no, no. We are not going to feel sorry for a woman who tortured and murdered.
"I didn't say that," Clarice said defensively.
Alice shrugged.
"Well, Alice, the best I can promise you is that I'll talk to Dr. Perkins," Clarice said. "And I'll do that."
"Dr. Perkins won't help," Alice said stonily. "He only wants to write a book about me."
"Then maybe he'd be willing to give you what you want," Clarice parried.
Alice shook her head. "I asked him," she breathed. "He said he would if he could, but he didn't have the staff."
Clarice stopped and took a breath. "You…you asked him? Him directly, I mean?" she asked.
Alice nodded.
"When?"
Those spooky maroon eyes glanced up at the ceiling as Alice thought. Clarice studied her carefully. Alice was stiff in her chair, but there was a good reason for that. There were orderlies lurking outside who would slam her into the wall if they thought she was up to something. For her part, Alice kept her hands on the table and her feet on the floor in a manner that made Clarice think of the military.
"This morning when he came around for rounds," Alice said easily.
Clarice swallowed. Who was lying? The psychiatrist or Alice? It was hard to tell. Or for that matter maybe Alice was deluded and thought she was telling the truth. But she seemed pretty lucid to Clarice now. Could she have been that bad this morning?
"Alice, what medications do they have you on?" Clarice asked, her eyes narrowing.
Alice sighed and looked down at the table. "Depakote," she said. "Zoloft sometimes for my down phases. Sometimes Ativan or haloperidol when they want me to calm down."
You're no more schizophrenic than I am, Clarice thought. Your meds aren't right.
"Are you on anything now?" Clarice pressed.
"Ativan," Alice said obligingly. "Ever since my lawyer told me about my stepfather. They're afraid of what I might do if I'm not sedated." A small cold smile crossed her face, reminding Clarice all too much of the Alice of old. She could feel sweat break out along her back. Yes, the woman who had kidnapped and tortured and killed was still here. All the psychotropic drugs and restraints and secure environments had not quite wiped her out.
Alice's eyes slid back to Clarice's. Clarice found herself feeling as she had back in Chesapeake. Those same maroon eyes scanning her and taking her measure. The eyes of a nocturnal predator studying its prey. Dr. Lecter had seen a lot. How much could Alice see?
"Surprising as it seems, that's all I wanted, Agent Starling," Alice said politely. "I appreciate any help you could give me, but you don't want to help me. You're afraid of me. I can see it in your posture."
"I didn't say that I wouldn't help you," Clarice repeated. "And I'm not afraid of you." Her own voice rang flat and untruthful in her ears.
"Yes, you'll talk to Dr. Perkins who will say the same thing he already did," Alice said implacably. "Very well, Agent Starling. I suppose I should have known. I thought I'd try, that's all." Her eyes did not move off Clarice's, but the volume of her voice rose. "Barney?" she called. "We're done here. Thank you."
The door clicked open. Clarice jumped at the sound. She turned for a moment to see the large black man enter the room.
"Barney, it's all right," she said.
Barney nodded calmly. "Of course it is," he said softly.
Clarice paused. Was this really it? Why did she feel that she didn't want to see this end? She felt unsettled and nervous and jumpy.
"We can keep going, Alice," Clarice said.
Alice shrugged. "I've said what I have to say," she said offhandedly. "You'll either help me or you won't. But I'm tired of having to stay in this position in any case. My arms are getting stiff, and in order to move them I have to end the visit." Her eyes shifted to Barney. "House rules."
Barney nodded wordlessly.
"All right, Alice," Clarice said. "I can understand that." She kept an eye on the other woman. Something was bugging her, and she didn't know what.
Barney smiled calmly. "You have to leave the room first before I can take her out," he said by way of explanation.
Clarice sighed. It seemed she had no control here. That was part of what was bothering her, she supposed. The other part came to her after a moment. It was just weird to see Alice behaving normally. It was weirder to think that she was allowed to roam the halls of this place unrestrained. She was used to Dr. Lecter, she supposed. In his case, he was deemed evil and treated as such. His cell was the only place he had not been restrained. He had been separated, from her and from everyone with bars and gates and plexiglass barriers. Had anyone suggested she sit in a locked room with him with only scant air separating them, she'd have run screaming from the room. But things had changed over the years.
But she had to leave first, so she did. She returned to the lobby and waited. An odd sort of disquiet came over her. She found herself thinking about Alice, and her desire to pay her final respects to her stepfather. That…that was weird because it made sense.
Alice didn't claim to have reconciled with her family, or that she even cared terribly much for her stepfather. She simply wanted to go in recognition of the part he'd played in her life. Clarice found that easy to believe. It was just…weird to see a killer wanting to do that.
There was also the unpleasant harking back to her own past. If Alice's story was true, there was something that cut Clarice in it. Had the hospital's policy simply been that Alice could not leave their grounds, that would have been one thing. Knowing that the possibility existed, but that mere bureaucracy stood in the way…that made Clarice uncomfortable. The FBI agent could not quite forget the hurting ten-year-old girl she had once been.
Oh well. Only one way to find out. Dr. Perkins was returning to the lobby after checking on his charges. Clarice smiled at him calmly and got his eye.
"Hi, Dr. Perkins," she smiled.
"Ahhhh, Agent Starling," the psychiatrist said. "That was…quick. Was she talking?"
Clarice nodded. "She told me her stepfather died," she began.
He nodded his pudgy head. "Ah yes, I did hear about that," he said calmly.
"And she wanted to go to the funeral," Clarice continued.
The doctor's cheek twitched. "Unfortunately," he said, "she is a maximum security patient."
Clarice eyed him carefully. Crazily, she decided that Alice was more believable than her doctor.
"Is there a furlough program?" she asked directly. "She said there was."
The psychiatrist sighed. "There is," he said. "Unfortunately, maximum-security patients are required to have two escorts while off the facility grounds. I don't have the people to spare."
Clarice nodded slowly, as if she was prosecuting him. "I see," she said archly. "Does Alice Pierpont qualify for the furlough program?"
The psychiatrist looked distinctly uncomfortable. "She does, yes," he acknowledged. "She's behaved well enough. Her therapy hasn't gone well at all, but she has no violent episodes on her record. But that's not the problem, Agent Starling. I simply don't have the staff. Also, the potential negative press from letting her go…," he shook his head.
Clarice felt her teeth click against each other. "You're telling me you won't let her say goodbye to her stepfather because you're afraid of the Tattler?"
"Agent Starling, my budget gets cut every year. I have the same inmates and they all need therapy and security as deemed fit by the courts. I barely have the personnel to run the place as it is. And if she were let off the facility grounds…you know how the press is. I have this entire institution to run."
On that, he was on safer ground, even if Clarice thought it was skuzzy to hide behind fears of bad press. She let out a sigh of her own.
Don't say it, Clarice. Don't, don't, don't. It's not your problem.
"So," she said, "the only reason you're not letting her go is because you don't have the people."
"Correct," the man agreed.
"And if you did, then she could go."
Clarice, don't you dare say this. Be like Crawford. Don't care. Nope, not gonna say it, not gonna do it. Not my problem. It's sad for her and all, but--,
Those thoughts ran through her head as she heard her own voice speaking. The thoughts were eminently sensible. They were right when you came down to it.
But there were other thoughts and voices in her mind too. The voice of a frenzied, hurting ten-year-old screaming at her uncle: What do you mean, I can't go to the funeral? He's my daddy and I have to say goodbye! There was a calmer but still keen voice. If you follow the rules, you ought to be OK. If the rules say if you behave you can go, and she behaves, she ought to get to go. Screwing her out of it because of stuff beyond her control is wrong. And there was a final voice in her mind speaking up in Alice's defense. A metallic but sophisticated voice, one she knew all too well. One that had cut her to the quick of her life before. While you guard the lambs from harm, Clarice, might you add one more to your flock? She is troubled, yes, but she is alone and imprisoned. A kind hand or word would mean a great deal, both to her and to me. She had promised the owner of that voice she would look after Alice.
Then her own voice was there in her ears, speaking without her volition. And certainly without her good sense. Klaxons sounded in her head. Bad idea, Clarice, very bad idea, shut your mouth now before you get into trouble. But it was already out.
"Dr. Perkins, what if I took her?"