Author's note: Yes, this story has been going slow. R+R, that's always appreciated. For now, Clarice and the GD have a meeting, but it isn't exactly romantic…
Clarice tensed. She sat in her desk chair with someone standing above and behind her. Her right hand was effectively pinned to the arm of her chair. Another arm was snaked around her neck. She could feel the point of a knife pressing into the soft skin of her throat. Above her she could smell cologne.
"Dr. Lecter?" she asked to the unseen figure.
A male chuckle came from above. "Why, yes, Clarice. It's been a while."
Her muscles were electric with tension. What was he doing here? What did he want? For that matter, what did he want from her? Ardelia was on a date with some guy up in Cape May; she wouldn't be back for hours. Clarice was alone.
"Clarice," he said calmly, "I should like to speak with you about…certain arrangements."
She swallowed. She'd thought about him for years. Yet having him here in her house was terrifying. Clarice Starling was as protective of her home as anyone else. How had he gotten in? She'd have to find out. Serial killers invading one's home was not a good thing.
Was he here for her, or was he here to help his daughter? Memories of being in Alice's home struck her. He had gotten her out of the cage and brought her upstairs. At the time, she'd been so starved and confused. Clarice, you really should consider…is this what you want out of life?
But now her thoughts were clearer. She was pursuing his daughter, and he had the knife, so she had to be careful. For now, she had to consider him an enemy. Perhaps he'd played a role in his daughter's escape. It would hardly be unexpected of him.
"Can I stand up, Dr. Lecter?" she asked carefully.
Above her, he chuckled unseen. "Very well, Clarice."
He stepped aside. The knife moved from her throat. Very carefully, Clarice stood. She planned out what she was going to so. Lunge for his right hand with her left. Try to get him to drop the knife. Otherwise, she would simply hold onto it to keep him from stabbing her. Then she would draw her .45 with her right hand, put the gun to him, and get the cuffs on him.
She thought about these things for a half of a second, then she lunged.
The struggle was short and quick. Clarice Starling was trained to fight, but Dr. Lecter was quicker and more brutal. She'd never gone up against someone quite like him. He seemed to have an instinctive grasp of grappling; his hands and legs moved too quickly for her to follow, let alone recalculate and prevail. The .45 was in her hand, and then vanished as neatly as any magician had ever made something disappear.
What the hell? Clarice thought.
She ended up bent over his lap. His left hand pinned both of her wrists; his right leg pinned her legs down. She didn't like the vulnerable position and fought.
"Goddam it," she spat, "you let me up this fucking minute"
"Please, Clarice. Potty mouth shall get you nowhere."
Then there was a sharp, stinging pain from her buttocks. The pain was well within her ability to deal; it was the realization of what he had done that shocked her speechless. He'd spanked her. Pinned her down and bent her over his knee and spanked her as if she was a little girl.
"What the fuck?" she asked, staring at him incredulously, face flushing red with humiliation.
Whack. Whack. "Clarice, you naughty girl," he purred, "if you persist with this childish behavior, you'll suffer a childish punishment." He chuckled.
Frustration and anger flooded her bloodstream. She'd been an FBI agent for years. She had given nothing to any man in drive or technique. She had worked to keep herself as strong as she could possibly be.
Yet here she was, sprawled across a serial killer's lap, and he was spanking her for using dirty words, no less. To make it worse, he was obviously quite amused by all this. He wasn't angry nor was he even out of breath. The son of a bitch was patronizingly amused by what he was doing, as if she was a clever six-year-old. It was infuriating.
She struggled in his grip, her lips skinning back from her teeth. She would show him amusement. For a moment the idea of biting him occurred to her. But even in her anger, she knew better than that.
"Stop hitting me, goddam you," she snarled.
Whack. "Honestly, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said nonchalantly, grinning widely. "I realize you never went to charm school, but really. I assure you my hand can keep up with your tongue."
Part of her wanted to curse like a drunken sailor, just to show her defiance. But that wasn't getting her anything more than a stinging bottom. Anger coursed through her veins. Her anger was just providing him with more amusement, and knowing that made her want to scream.
"Fine," she spat.
Dr. Lecter chuckled. "Now then. Where were we? I was suggesting that perhaps you might be amenable to a bargain."
Like hell, Clarice thought, but did not dare say it. For now he was satisfying himself with a bit of petty humiliation. Keeping it up might urge him to try more.
"What sort of bargain?" she asked, fighting to keep the bitterness out of her voice. His hand held her wrists together as firmly as if they were handcuffed.
His tone of voice changed, as if they were discussing this over tea. "Actually," Dr. Lecter said, "it is in regards to my daughter. Perhaps I could help you find her, along with her compatriots."
Her lips twisted. If anyone could figure out what the hell the three psychos were doing, he would be the one. There had to be some pattern amid the chaos that they could use to track them.
But she was angry. Angry that her sympathy to Alice had resulted in her escape. Angry that innocents had died because Alice was free. And more recently, she was angry that Dr. Lecter had invaded her house, flipped her over his lap and spanked her like a five-year-old.
"And what would you want in return?" she asked, trying to crane her neck to glare at him.
Dr. Lecter paused. "Well," he said, still calm as a glacier, "allow me to take my daughter off your hands. You may have the other two; they mean nothing to me. You'll have your killers. I assure you, I shall take Alice far from these shores. She shan't trouble you again."
The sheer gall of the man amazed her. His daughter had suckered her into setting her free, killed people, and he expected her to let Alice go? To add insult to injury, he came in her house and overpowered her and he expected her to deal with him?
"You must be out of your fucking mind," Clarice said vehemently, and then flinched as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
Another flat crack, another sting, another wave of seething, helpless anger. Clarice growled deep in her throat. She glared at him openly.
"I assure you I am not, Clarice," he said gently. "Think now. Can you discern a pattern amongst the chaos? Can you tell where they will strike next? Help me now, Clarice, and I will help you. All I ask is to take my daughter." He sighed, as if a moment's regret was spoiling his fun. "She's troubled, Clarice. I assure you, never more will innocents be threatened."
Clarice twisted again. God, his hands were so strong.
"No," she grumbled. "I'll put her away and you too. And she's not schizophrenic, doctor. Who taught her to fake it? It was you, wasn't it?"
Dr. Lecter sighed. "Clarice, if you don't help me, then I'm afraid I'll search her out on my own. And I'll find her before you do."
"My ass you will," Clarice snarled, her heart racing. She knew it was coming, so she simply stared at him, letting him know that he hadn't won entirely. Whack. Sting. She choked off her anger as amusement painted over the prior regret on his face.
"Come now, Clarice," Dr. Lecter chided. "Part of you loves this, doesn't it?"
Loves this? He thinks I love this? He is crazy, Clarice thought.
"Let me up," she grumbled. Cussing was only getting her a sore rump; she would express her contempt in her tone. "And no, I do not love this. In any way shape or form. In case you were wondering."
He chuckled again and shook his head. "Oh, my, Clarice," he said lightly, "I told you once. You really need to get more fun out of life. Now be a good girl; is that the file on your computer screen?"
She tensed again, but it was useless. His grip was like nothing human. She couldn't get away. But she wouldn't give it to him either. "I won't tell you," she said, and smiled rebelliously.
"As you wish, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, and reached across. From her belt he plucked the handcuffs with the nimble fingers of a master thief. To lock one cuff to her wrist took only a moment, and despite Clarice's struggles, he managed to get the other cuff locked to the wooden arm of the couch without much ado. The ratchets rasped closed, pinning her in place.
Dr. Lecter rose and walked across the room to where the PC's monitor cast a pale light over the room. He sat down at the computer. From his pocket, he produced a small object about as long as his thumb, but slightly thicker and flatter. He had bought this at a computer shop not far away for cash.
He removed the cap, exposing a standard USB port. Plugging the device into Clarice's computer took only a moment. The computer recognized and installed the device in a few moments, dubbing it Drive F with all appropriate rights and privileges associated with that title.
With a few taps on the keyboard, Dr. Lecter transferred the contents of the file to the flash drive. It held a gigabyte of storage, and the contents of the CD-ROM she had brought home fit easily onto that. In a few minutes it was done, and he plucked the flash drive from her computer and dropped it into his pocket. He winked at her and rose.
"You disappoint me, I must say," he said. "I had hoped for…more. I'm sorry it had to come to this, Clarice…but admit it, we had a lot of fun."
Under other circumstances, Clarice might have thought it was witty. As it was, she was angry enough to spit. She glared openly at him with no fear of the consequences.
He set his fedora at a jaunty angle and strode purposefully to the sliding glass door. It rasped open. For a moment, Clarice wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now. Getting out of the handcuffs wasn't the hard part; she was good at hiding handcuff keys on her person. As soon as he was away she could open the cuffs and escape. No, it wasn't that. What was she supposed to tell Josh and Crawford? Dr. Lecter broke into my house and stole the Homicidal Productions file. Oh, and he spanked me for using dirty words. Yeah, that would go over well.
Before he disappeared through the portal, he winked at her again. When he spoke, his voice was jaunty, as if he had dropped by for scones and jam. Damn him.
"I do thank you for helping Alice," he said mildly. "Mercy is not always a weakness. And perhaps you can forgive her, and perhaps even me. I asked you once how far you could forgive, Clarice. That answer still interests me more than you would know."
Then the door rasped as he slid it shut, and he was gone.
She reached into her skirt pocket for where she customarily kept a handcuff key and opened her manacles. Once free of the handcuffs and his immediate presence, she had a moment to think about what she wanted to do. Screaming, punching the wall, and perhaps knocking down the neighbor's house with a bulldozer seemed like satisfying outlets. She settled for the first two. Hot anger burned the back of her neck and her cheeks.
The nerve of the man. How dare he think she would let his daughter go? After what he had done? Crawford's voice spoke ghostly words in her mind: Dr. Lecter likes his fun. He sure did.
A persistent electronic tone interrupted her fuming. Clarice glanced over at her cell phone, trilling calmly from the desk. She sat down at the desk with her head in her hands, letting it ring twice, forcing herself to calm down. Then she grabbed it and pressed the TALK button.
"Starling," she said, in a tone that sounded far calmer than she felt.
"Hi, Starling, it's Graham."
Clarice sighed and wiped her nose. "Hi, Josh," she said calmly. I just got spanked by someone on the Ten Most-Wanted List. How's your night going?
"We've got a lead on them," he said. "Just like you said. Someone saw Alice bouncing around and acting weird. It's at a Renaissance fair in Ohio."
Clarice snorted. At least there was something Dr. Lecter didn't have. Until the damn Tattler got ahold of it and spread it across the front page.
"Good," she said. "Let's go check it out."
"Crawford's got us plane tickets. Our flight leaves at six in the morning." He sighed himself. "Um….," he began diffidently.
"Just say it, Josh," she said resignedly.
"They're not there. But they can't be far. They were spotted just this afternoon. Local boys are looking for them. And there's another videotape at the scene."