ROBIN RED BREAST IN A CAGE
Clarice awoke from a troubled sleep, but did not open her eyes. She did not want to believe, or even think about what had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Lying on her back, she inhaled deeply while sensing every physical part of her body. She felt all right, but only on the outside. Inside, she was shredded into confused confetti.
There was no way to avoid it.
She opened her eyes and was face to face with a white ceiling. The lights across the back wall hummed quietly, but other than that, all was quiet. She sat up on her cot and saw a tiny metal toilet, a stone sink, and a broken mirror. The three wall faces around her were made of rough, grey stone that was never meant to be penetrated. Looking to her right, she found herself peering through cold, iron bars. How is it that I am here after everything I have done? After everything I have been through? I let my guard down once, and I'm here.
Of course the situation created inconceivable irony. Suddenly, she was locked up, and Hannibal… where was Hannibal? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she ever would. It had been two days already since she last spoke to anyone. The police had taken her to the airport in Paris and sent her, handcuffed the entire way, back to Baltimore. After the guards had put her into her cell, no one came back to question her.
As the incredible weight of the situation fell upon Clarice, she began sobbing into the pillow on her cot. Her body heaved as all her emotions poured down her face held within her tears.
After several minutes, she forced herself to regain control. She stood up and found herself looking into the mirror. She disliked what she saw: puffy, red eyes, unkempt hair and, the worst part, in her opinion, a blue convict uniform. It certainly did not belong on her. It did not fit Special Agent Clarice Starling. In her reflection, she no longer saw the young girl who pursued her dreams to honour her father's death and make her parents proud. She saw a woman who had been successful, but had made mistakes along the way. She was the a mere shadow of Clarice Starling. Like the pathetic combination of fire, water, and Earth that Hannibal had lectured to her two nights ago at dinner. She was nothing.
She pulled herself away from the mirror and drew her face up against the bars. She was in the second last cell of the row. There were no sounds resounding in the stony hall, so she resolved that she had no neighbours. She was alone.
An antisocial orderly brought dinner. She quietly accepted the meal.
While she ate the unspeakable bland food (at least bland compared to what Hannibal used to make), she pondered her situation. How could she prove her innocence? How could she communicate with others if they didn't come to her first? And most importantly, how could she move on without knowing the whereabouts of her beloved captor, Hannibal?
Her heart ached as she swallowed her last few bites. For countless hours she remained seated on the floor facing the stone walls. She neither did, nor said anything, but merely sat in thought.
It was this, then, that Hannibal spoke of many days ago. "Hold on to your illusions for they will be your saving grace when the worst comes to take its toll." My illusions will keep me grounded. My very own mind palace. A place to remember the paradise I once had. The paradise I've now lost.
Clarice, unaware of the events of the outside world, finally laid herself back down to sleep upon the cot. Only the sound of her slow breathing and the hum of the lamps could be heard throughout the night.