Dr. Lecter found his way back to the silver Jaguar, concealed in a secluded parking lot in the back of the park. He wore a white fedora, and as he walked the tail of his charcoal Armani trench coat flapped out behind him and then snapped back, slicing the cool fall air.
He drove out of the park, passing Starling's Mustang in the parking lot near the entrance. He made his way back into the downtown Washington D.C., and the phrase "the belly of the beast" entered his mind as he drove past the J. Edgar Hoover building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He smiled to himself, a sight that would have frightened many.
He reached the Four Seasons Hotel and checked in under his registered and assumed name, Dr. Allister Stuart. A porter helped him cart his luggage onto the elevator and up to his suite on the top floor. Once inside, Lecter left his coat and hat hanging on a chair and strolled over to the large panoramic window, overlooking the city.
It has been three months since Dr. Lecter has visited Washington. He has recently been spending his time away from public view, in order to re-gather himself after the complications he encountered with Clarice Starling on the Chesapeake Bay. The dismembering of his thumb was an unexpected and regretful turn of events. Yet after he meticulously stitched the thumb back into place with an expert hand and spent the next three months working to strengthen the finger, he was soon able to use it almost as well as before. When he played the piano there were always a few lagging notes where the thumb was not quite able to reach the next key quickly enough, but Dr. Lecter was generally pleased with its progress. Most doctors would have considered his case nothing short of a miracle. Dr. Lecter wasn't the type of man to believe in such a thing as miracles.
And now he had returned to finish what he had started. He walked over to the hotel room's small kitchen, opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of Batard-Montrachet. He sipped and savored the wine, tilting his head back and allowing his eyes to close shut.
There was hope for Starling. And if there was hope for her, then there was hope for himself, as well.
He had never needed anyone as a companion. He had rejected the ways of society, and in return, society had condemned him for his actions; fair enough. But here was a woman so pure, so worthy, that he had never desired anything more. He was a man of impeccable tastes, and he had never denied himself anything. But Clarice Starling, the one thing he wanted most, was the one thing that he, himself, could not bring into his own possession. That, undoubtedly, was up to her.
He could easily control her, but only to a certain degree. And even if he had any power over her, he would never be able to completely possess her because of her incredible unpredictability. It was one of the things about her that never ceased to amaze him. However, if he could bring her under his sphere of influence for at least a short while, maybe she would listen and be able to understand the truth of the matter. Lecter, however, had decided that Starling would never accompany him until she made the full-hearted decision to do so on her own terms. Her strength of morals was one of the qualities that he respected most about her. All he wanted was to make her see. He wanted her to see what she truly was, in all her worthiness, and what she could do with her life, outside of the Bureau. He wanted to show her what he saw in her and what she could be, with him.
A recent visit to the hospital took care of a few pharmaceutical needs, and a few other minor preparations had set Dr. Lecter's final arrangements in order. The Doctor walked over to the stereo system and turned it on. He sipped his wine as the delicate notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D filled the air. Yes, it would soon be time to bring Starling out of the darkness and to enlighten her, and open her eyes up to the world. Soon, very soon, Clarice Starling would be at his side