Clarice felt a light breeze touch her face. The after-effects of the drugs left her feeling heavy and dazed as she tried to prop herself up on her elbows and take in her surroundings. She found herself lying in a queen-sized, rather comfortable bed, and was covered with a large, white down comforter. A canopy of thin, white silk hung above her, and white, lace curtains fluttered in the breeze from the open doorway of a balcony on her left.
Too dizzy to remain sitting up, she laid her head back down and shut her eyes tight, trying to recall what had happened. She remembered Dr. Lecter coming into her home.Then she remembered him cooking for her, and them talking. And then she racked her brain and tried to remember the words that he'd whispered to her. God damnit, what was it he'd said?
"I'm going to make you see yourself for all that you are. Now, little Starling, you will run with me."
Clarice shuddered in the warm breeze as a chill overtook her. She tried to sit up to get out of the bed. It took her several minutes, but finally she stood shakily on her feet and slowly walked over to the balcony. She was dismayed to find the house, or at least the back of it, encased in a wall of trees and forest. All she could hear was the sound of birds and the hum of insects in the early-fall heat; no cars or trucks, or anything that would suggest a way to reach help. She racked her brain for a solution, a way of escape, but none came. Her eyes blurred, and all of a sudden she felt very light-headed. Her knees gave way, but as she was falling into a tunnel of blackness, she distantly felt two arms catch and lift her back up into the air. Then the world was completely still.
Clarice awoke later, once again lying safely in the white bed, and found her head to feel far less clouded. Upon opening her eyes, she found Dr. Lecter sitting in an armchair next to her bed, his hands quietly folded in his lap.
"Well, Clarice, how are you feeling? Any nausea?" He asked as if it was an inquiry to the weather; to her, it seemed as if everything he did was careless and nonchalant.
"No. I feel a bit better."
"Any dizziness? Fatigue?"
"Fatigue rings a bell; then again, who in hell knows what drugs you've been giving me, so I guess that's to be expected, right?"
He looked at her expression and didn't reply; he had expected this aggression. "Hmm," was all he murmured, as he lifted a small tool from the night table next to the bed. "Excuse me Clarice, this will only take a moment," he said, and he lifted her eyelids to check her pupils. "As I expected, all is well. And please forgive me for my administrations, but it was simple fact that you would never come with me willingly, so I'm afraid I had to find other means to… make you comply. I hope you will not be too angry with me," he added. He sat back down in the chair, playing with the small flashlight, rolling it between his fingers and gazing at her with an unreadable expression. Clarice thought, his eyes are the same as a cat's.
"Whichever way you put it, Doctor, you took me in the middle of the night, from my own home, so I think I have every right to be a bit annoyed. And as for the rest, I don't understand why I'm here, so I think I at least deserve some sort of explanation."
"Fair enough, Clarice. I agree that you deserve some clarification, and perhaps a few formalities and guidelines can be thrown in as well, while we're at it. I hope we can both follow them, as long as we are both here together," he added, as he stood, leaving the flashlight on the table and turning to face her. He demanded attention, this man; it seemed that with even the slightest flick of a wrist, he could make the entire earth move.
"Clarice, I've brought you here, albeit without your approval, because I feel that it is time for you to break away from the FBI and from the world of Special Agent Clarice Starling. I understand that I am admittedly keeping you here without your permission, but I highly doubt that you would ever stay here with me out of your own free will. Hence the secluded location. There is no possible way for you to run far enough, or scream loud enough, to bring to you any means of help, whatsoever, Clarice." Here, he stopped for a pause while he gauged her reaction.
"But while you are here, you are not a prisoner by any means; on the contrary, you are my guest, and my home is your home, for as long as I feel that you need to remain here. Once I can see that you've learned what I will try to teach you, only then will I allow you to leave. After that, you will never have to be visited by me again, Clarice, it is a promise."
His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, but other than that his face was completely unreadable. Clarice shivered. "And what exactly is it, Doctor, that you hope to teach me?"
He looked at her as he seated himself back in the armchair, crossing his legs and folding his hands across his knee. "Only how to become enlightened, my dear. I'm going to illuminate your world for you, Clarice; I'll lighten the darkest corners of yourself that you'd forgotten had ever existed. I'll give you time away from your career and the ruin that has become your life, for you to simply live. It is high time that you were given a chance to do so, I believe."
"And are you going to keep drugging me, or will I have to fight you every time you try to stick that needle in me?" She nodded to the tray of syringes lying next to the bed, and was rewarded with deep laughter of amusement.
"No, no, I doubt your self-defense tactics will be needed here. I don't plan on giving you any more medications in the near future." He got up and moved towards the bed, looking down at her. "But of course, if you turn out to be entirely disobedient, I'm sure there are many other means by which I could subdue you," he added. The innuendo dripped in the air, as he reached for her hand and gently placed a kiss there, never letting his eyes leave hers. A wave of heat rippled through her body. Just as quickly as it came, it left her as he dropped her hand and stood, a hint of a smile reaching the corners of his mouth.
"I'm sure you'd like get cleaned up, Clarice. There is an adequate bathroom off to your right that I hope you will make use of. And I hope you don't mind, but I also took the liberty of purchasing a few things for you; you'll find it all in the dresser, if you wish to make use of any of it."
"'I took the liberty' should be your middle name," she said with chagrin. He winked at her in response.
"Once you're ready, then, please meet me downstairs in the study, and I'd be delighted to give you a tour." He turned and left her to herself to do as she pleased. She watched the door shut behind him.
Clarice moved to test her legs, finding that she could stand without feeling dizzy and nauseas as she had before. She stood and wandered around the room, looking at all the shelves and dressers. She found the bookshelves filled with copies of Dante's La Vita Nuova, Writings of Virgil, and essays by Marcus Aurelius. Well, so long to John Grisham novels, she thought as she smiled at his flawless taste in literature.
She went into the bathroom and found it to be far more than "adequate," as the doctor had lightly put it. The countertops were made of white marble and had large golden sinks and faucets. There was a large Jacuzzi-sized bathtub, and a large, spacious white-marble shower next to it. On the marble countertop was an arrangement of unwrapped soaps and unopened bottles of bubble bath, shampoo, and perfumes, all with Italian labels on them that Clarice couldn't read. She spent nearly ten minutes opening all of them and smelling each one to find out what they were. Finally, she chose vanilla bubble bath, and turned on the golden faucets to fill the bathtub. She was almost surprised at herself for choosing to take a bath instead of a shower, but she attributed this to her lack of pampering and luxury in her normal lifestyle; even if she was in the company of a man that was being hunted by the FBI, she might as well enjoy the benefits.
Sinking into the vanilla bubbles, she laid her head back and closed her eyes. Taking a bubble bath was also a good way to give her more time before she had to go downstairs and face Dr. Lecter. The man terrified her, but not for the same reasons that he frightened the rest of the world. No, her reasons were far more unnerving than the simple fact that he was a murderer. The fact that he didn't want to kill her scared her far more than if he had actually wanted to kill her. She sunk further underneath the blanket of bubbles and tried not to think.
Finally, after a good amount of time in the bath, she got out and wrapped herself in the emerald-colored bathrobe hanging on the door. She'd forgotten about the wardrobe, so she walked over and opened the doors. Hanging there were numerous sweaters, shirts, blouses, slacks, pants, and a few evening dresses that looked expensive in their beautiful silk materials. In the drawers were socks and shoes for her, as well as silky undergarments. A smile played across her face when she found the underwear drawer. Alright Doctor, you can have your fun, but we'll see who has the last laugh, she thought as she picked up a silk thong.
She dressed herself in a simple green colored sweater, slacks, and a pair of comfortable loafers. She was only mildly surprised to find that the clothes fit her perfectly. Glancing out the doorway to the balcony, she saw the sun falling behind the tops of the trees. The effect cast the room in a soft yellowish glow, and rays of sunlight played across the walls. For a moment, Clarice was lost in the calm stillness, but quickly gathered herself and walked out into the hall. She stood at the top of the stairs, preparing herself for the evening. After a few short moments she was finally ready. She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and took the plunge.
Clarice found Dr. Lecter lounging in a leather armchair in his study, reading some unknown Italian magazine. If he had heard her approaching, then he pretended he had not noticed, and looked up from his reading when she entered the room.
Clarice was still disconcerted to face Dr. Lecter without a wall of bars or glass between them. Seeing him in repose in his own home startled her and left her at a loss for words. She'd come downstairs to talk to him and perhaps further argue her situation of captivity, but under the glare of his scrutinizing gaze, she found herself to be completely mute. Instead of searching for something to say, she chose to look at the study and take in her surroundings. The wood-paneled study that she found herself in was elaborate in its décor. The room itself nearly screamed Hannibal Lecter; it was very clear to Clarice that the Doctor had decorated himself. A large mahogany desk stood in the corner, and endless rows and shelves of books lined the walls. A large Persian rug lay on the floor. At Dr. Lecter's feet, a large Great Dane reclined on the rug, but stood abruptly when Clarice entered the room, and began to walk toward her suspiciously.
"Back, Duke," he said, and the dog turned and ran back to sit next to the armchair and watch Clarice, quietly. The Doctor set his magazine down on a table and stood, taking in Clarice's image.
"I see you made use of the things I purchased you. Good choice, I might add. Love the color on you, Clarice. It suits you well." He nodded towards the deep green color of the sweater she wore, and smiled in approval.
"Thank you, Doctor, for preparing everything for me," she said, and looked self consciously at the intricate design of the rug on the floor. "But I'm not even going to ask how you knew my size for all the clothes," she added, looking up and giving him a dry smile.
He winked at her as he turned to walk towards a door leading out of the room. "Perhaps you'd like something to drink, Clarice," he said over his shoulder. Clarice followed him into the kitchen, the large dog following at her heels.
The kitchen was large and roomy, yet seemed like one of the most comfortable rooms in the entire house. Black marble countertops covered the surfaces, and tall, comfortably padded stool chairs lined the counter. Two large glass doors led out onto a garden patio.
"I regret to report to you that I am 'fresh out' of Jack Daniels." His eyes sparkled. "But I do have wine, if you're at all interested," he said, taking a chilled bottle of Chianti from the refrigerator.
She sidestepped the Jack Daniels comment. "That would be fine, thank you Doctor." She moved to sit on one of the chairs next to the countertop.
"Although," he added, "I suppose I should have known to purchase a bottle, seeing as you are my guest and seem to have acquired a bit of a dependency on it," he said, turning to face her and hand her a glass of wine. "I don't approve, Clarice," he added, taking a sip from his glass.
Immediately Clarice's defense mode kicked into gear. "I'm not dependent on alcohol, if that's what you are implying," she shot back.
"On the contrary, drinking yourself into a stupor every night would imply that you are."
She glared at him. "Why do you feel the need to point out all of my weaknesses, Doctor? Is it so we never have to focus on any of your own?"
Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed. "Clarice, you know better than that, and you know I don't mean to antagonize. I am simply trying to help you find a solution to your current predicament."
She defiantly held his gaze. "And what exactly is my predicament?"
"You are involved in an agency that can't even stand the thought of working alongside someone as pure and ethical as you. They don't understand you, and because of that, they fear you. The amount of hierarchy within the agency is shameless enough, but while you have been cast out to stand alone in the pouring rain, your superiors and co-workers stand beneath an umbrella of bureaucracy. You, however, will never know that comfort because you will never submit to that falsehood. You will never be like them, Clarice. You will forever be different from them, and they hate you for it."
She stared in disbelief at the words he had just spoken. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly turned her face away from him. Crying revealed weakness, and she'd be damned before she let Hannibal Lecter see her crying. She sat tracing the delicate stem of her wine glass, avoiding his eyes and trying desperately to hold back the tears.
Dr. Lecter stood watching her, but didn't take anything back. When she began to shake with sobs, he closed the distance between them and pulled her to him. Clarice's hands, balled into fists, rested on his chest as she tried desperately not to give in. But he held her there and quietly began stroking her hair, and reluctantly her arms slowly came up around his neck as the tears kept coming, and she sobbed uncontrollably into him. He calmed her, quietly saying "Shhh," over and over again into her ear, until she was able to breathe calmly again.
When the sobs subsided, Dr. Lecter slowly pulled away from her and looked down into her face. She looked up at him briefly and then looked away, embarrassed. She awkwardly pulled away from him, instantly putting a distance between them. "I never cry," she muttered.
"Mmm," he said, knowingly. "Federal agents never cry."
"Right." She gave him a half smile, and sat back down in her chair. "Why do you always have to be so honest?"
"You deserve the truth, Clarice. You can't see it yourself, so it becomes necessary for someone else to show you."
"It's not that I can't see it. I refuse to believe it," she mumbled, and took a long sip of wine.
"I see." He watched her, and sighed. "Well, I think that it might be time for dinner, wouldn't you agree?"
She hadn't realized how hungry she was, and nodded in agreement. "Good idea."
"Why don't you go take a look around the first floor and get acquainted with the house, while I start dinner."
The idea of getting away from his penetrating gaze was more than welcome, and Clarice nodded and quickly left the kitchen.
After a quick walk around the bottom floor, Clarice saw the living room, the dining room with the enormous oak dining table, and the large front hall. But her favorite room of them all was the library. The room itself was in the left wing of the house, situated farther back in the woods. The windows were draped in long burgundy colored curtains, and the sky outside still held the glow of the last rays of sunlight, which reflected into the room making patterns on the walls and the shelves of books. A stone fireplace and a few large armchairs made the room feel comfortably homey. Clarice chose one of Dr. Lecter's psychiatric books and perched herself on the arm of one of the chairs, while she began to flip through the pages of the book. Soon, she sunk into the armchair, got situated, and read for at least an hour before Dr. Lecter appeared at the door to inform her that their dinner was ready to be served. While following him down the hall, Clarice felt amazed at how natural it felt to be in Dr. Lecter's home. This is just too surreal, I have to be in some kind of dream, she kept repeating to herself.
Clarice helped Dr. Lecter set two places for them outside at the table on the garden patio. The garden itself was like nothing she had ever seen before; all of the plants were exotic, and Clarice could smell Jasmine hanging in the air. A large fountain stood in the middle of the garden, with a bronze figure of the goddess Venus spouting water in the middle. Clarice sat down in her chair and seemed to lose herself in the night and the sound of the fountain.
Dr. Lecter came out carrying their plates, and a box of matches. He lit the two tall candlesticks in the middle of the table, and Clarice noticed that as the wick of the candles ignited, the dancing flames were reflected in the light of his eyes. Dr. Lecter poured himself another glass of wine and then seated himself at the table.
For the rest of the evening, Lecter decided to let her off the hook and avoid the heavier subjects, while keeping the conversation light and casual. T hey talked together about books that they were reading, and their opinions of different authors and literature. Occasionally, he would tease or mock her taste, or cast out a sarcastic comment, just so he could watch her become agitated. However, the Doctor was delighted to find that Clarice would bite back with venom, and always had a quick-witted remark to fire back in return.
"Dan Brown is a pathetic excuse for an author, and although his novels may have gone on to become bestsellers, do you honestly believe that their content is truly worth even a glance? His novels will never leave such an impression on society as, say, Dante Alighieri or Virgil." He watched from over the rim of his wine glass, as he took a sip while holding her gaze.
"Really, Doctor? Well, please excuse me for declining to read ancient poetry about being tortured in Purgatory and visiting the nine circles of Hell. I honestly can't understand why anyone would pass up such an enjoyable piece of literature," she shot back, with a slight smirk on her face as she drained the last of her wine.
The two of them sat and continued to spar over the issue for some time, Dr. Lecter arguing the importance of Dante's Divina Commedia in the world's society, until it was finally concluded in a draw. Dr. Lecter suggested that it was late and that they should most likely go inside. As they moved to clear the table, Clarice looked up at the sky and saw that there were an infinite amount of stars filling up the night. She stood briefly to look and see if she could find any constellations, but as she stood there under the sky, the stars seemed to be moving and falling into a certain alignment. She remembered the old trick that occurs when one stares at a certain star for too long, the entire sky of stars seem as if they are beginning to move. The effect made her feel slightly detached, but she re-gathered herself quickly and followed Dr. Lecter indoors.
Dr. Lecter led her up the stairs and back to the bedroom where she had awoken hours earlier.
"I believe you have everything you need, Clarice. If there is anything you require, you can find me in the study, down the stairs." He watched her walk into the room, but did not breach the door's threshold.
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Good night, Clarice."
"Good night, Doctor," she replied, as he bowed his head and shut the door behind him as he left.
The wine she had consumed throughout the evening had left her feeling warm and tired, so Clarice quickly dressed in a pair of pajamas and climbed under her large down comforter. Thoughts or concerns about her career or Dr. Lecter seemed far away from her then, as she quickly drifted off to sleep. That night, Clarice's dreams remained silent.