Terror swept over Clarice as she was dragged to the wide doorway of the immense banquet room from where the screams were clearly originating. Skeletons clothed in decomposing flesh milled about like lost sheep, their horrified wails echoing throughout the cavernous room each time one stepped forward and laid its head on the table, where Hannibal, his back to her, would lower the axe to send its head rolling to the pile gathering on the floor. In tears, she turned to face her father, who was saying:

"Is this how I raised you to be? Why are you crying?" Out of nowhere, he produced a bat and handed it to her, urging, "You know what you have to do."

Clarice's tears stopped as she stared at the bat, then looked back up into her father's face.

"B—but I can't!"

"Don't you want them to stop screaming?"

"Yes, b-but—"

"Then you know what you have to do," he repeated, thrusting the bat into her hands.

Lights flashed from behind the closed door to room 217, and voices roared in hideous screams, demented laughter, and always in the background was the music of Bach's great commissioned lullaby: the Goldberg Variations.

Hannibal gently eased his eyes open, looking around to make sure it was safe to get up. He was alone. Mischa was nowhere to be seen, and whoever had knocked him unconscious was gone—and so was the axe. He brought forth his Harpy.

Clarice approached the table slowly, trying to avoid touching the bodies around her.

Thwak! She recognized the face of the poacher as his head rolled towards her. She looked then at all the other heads, and labeled each face with the crimes for which they'd been punished by judge, jury, and executioner: Hannibal Lecter. Her grip loosened on the bat and she turned to tell her father that he was wrong about Hannibal and was confronted by a snarling, six-foot snowman with green and orange eyes. Without a thought, she swung the bat and snow blasted across the room, raining in little droplets everywhere.

At the sound, the man in front of her turned around and she saw that it hadn't been Hannibal at all! Eyes wide, she held up her bat, "Who the hell are you?"

He swung the axe from one hand to the other, and laughed. "Wendy! Long time no see, babe!"

"I'm not Wendy. Look, I don't know who you are, but…" Suddenly, the absurdity of the moment hit her and she just turned and ran.

"Hey! Come back here! Wendy!"

She could hear him coming after her and ran faster, barricading herself inside the office. She heard him calling out for her in the lobby, and wondered where Hannibal was.

Hanni! Horrified that she had forgotten about her son, she looked urgently around the room for a weapon, but it seemed the bat would have to do. Her eyes landed on the phone. If the authorities sent out a rescue squad, Hannibal would surely be arrested. Fuck that shit, she needed help! She dialed 911 and got a message that all circuits were busy. What the hell? She tried again and got the same message, then tried the emergency phone number the manager had left them, and the other line rang, the shrill sound blasting through the room. What the hell? But she didn't have time to think about it as the door rattled.

"Hey, let me in! C'mon, open the door, Wendy!"

"I'm not Wendy," she yelled. "I'm Clarice Starling, FBI! Step back from the door and put down your weapon!" Where the hell had that come from?

"F B I!" He dragged out the 'I' facetiously and continued, "Aw! Is there a little piggy in there?" He snorted like a pig. "C'mon, little piggy, come out or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow—" the axe came crashing through the door, "—your house down!"

He stuck his face through the opening and grinned, "Heeeeeere's—"

Before he could utter another word, Clarice swung the bat directly into his face, hearing a crack as he fell back onto the floor, half his face sunken into his skull cavity. She quickly opened the door and stepped over him, bare feet slapping against marble as she ran in search of Hanni.

Hannibal heard Clarice calling for their son. One part of him understood what he'd seen her doing was impossible, but another part of him was unwilling to overlook the image. There had been times over the years when he'd wondered if she ever regretted her decision to be with him.

It was at that moment that his wife came running up the stairs, stopping face to face with him.

"Hannibal?" she asked warily, looking at his drawn Harpy.

"Clarice," he answered inscrutably, looking at her bloody bat. Had she been the one to knock him out?

"Where's Hanni?"

"I haven't seen him." There was a touch of menace in his voice, and Clarice feared the worst as she examined the Harpy for blood. There was none.

"We have to find him. There's something awful happening here and we have to go! Please put that away, Hannibal, you're scaring me."

"And why would you all of a sudden fear me? What have you done to be afraid, Clarice?"

"Damn it! Stop it, Hannibal! I'm in no mood for your games. We have to find Hanni and get out of here!" But she raised the bat as he started moving towards her, eyes fierce. "Get back, Hannibal! What's wrong with you?"

"If you say the name 'Hanni' one more time, I'll—" He raised his knife and Clarice, realizing she would never strike him, turned and ran.

The corridors seemed to swirl around her, and her heart pounded as she felt him right behind her. She twisted and turned and he lunged at her, their bodies crashing through a door. They both stopped their scuffling as they took in the sight of what was in room 217.