Chapter Six: The United States of America

It was on February 1, 1970, that I moved to this glorious country. I came here on a visa to work at Maryland-Misericordia Hospital. After spending a month in the emergency room I knew I had to stay here. There was a different atmosphere there that I couldn't describe. I was able to practice my field of study without the impending presence of the "conventional." Most of the doctors that I had met in Europe were very set in their ways. They taught all that they knew and expected you to follow in their footsteps. There was no change. There was no imagination or ingenuity. But I still found people that I despised here...

A couple of months after I established my citizenship, a man was taken to the emergency with an arrow wound. He was garbed in full military attire with the bow sticking out of his left shoulder. How he managed that I don't know. I treated the wound but thought that it was not the right season for hunting. It was illegal this time of year and surely he knew it. He claimed he wasn't hunting but practicing. It was odd that he was practicing with hunting clothes and green and brown make up on. I stitched him up (145 stitches to be exact) and released him from the hospital. He had piqued my interest, however. I followed him to his jeep and saw all of his equipment stashed in the back of it. I knew he lied to me! I knew! It was a talent I had yet had not trusted or revered.

I followed him home.

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"He wasn't the first one you killed, Doctor."

"Your right. He wasn't. He was only a starting factor."

Clarice shifted in her seat slightly. She let go of the gun and brought both of her hands to her hair and tied it back with a rubber band. Dr. Lecter never thought of taking advantage of that small act of defenselessness. He was strong but he did not want to have to tangle with a pissed off Clarice. Hurting her would hurt him ten times more. She stifled a yawn.

"When was the last time you rested, Agent Starling?" he said soothingly.

"Three days ago. Before the records were sealed, the case file stated that your first victim was Pernelle Forsell. She was a student at Princeton and also a patient of yours. I believe she was one the first ones of your private practice."

"She was. That happened two months after I started my practice. Quite a story that one."

"Do tell," she said scathingly.

Narrowed eyes glared at her. Dr. Lecter sat straighter in his chair with both of his arms resting on the arms of the chair.

"I can and will stop telling my tale if you persist in being so rude. I spent almost six years not talking to that spineless imbecile, Dr. Chilton. I could spend another five in silence. I really don't mind."

A metallic click met his ear.

"Are you really going to kill me, Special Agent Starling?"

"Yes."

They both stared each other down. Neither was going to back down. Dr. Lecter resigned himself to death and Clarice resigned herself in being the executor of said death. A rapt knock broke the tense silence.

"Hannibal! Darling! You must come down for your own party!"

Maroon eyes never leaving ice blue ones, Dr. Lecter said, "I'll be down in a while my dear. I'm entertaining a very old acquaintance at the moment. We have rather a lot to discuss..."

"Oh! Do be quick! Some of the other guests are starting to wonder..."

With that the woman behind the door walked away. They could hear the click of her high heels on the wooden floor. Clarice uncocked the gun. Her expression was pensive for a moment.

"My apologies, Doctor. Please continue."

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I opened my own practice in Baltimore in the fall of 1973. I purchased a large well-furnished home and converted several rooms into my study and practice. I was well on my way to being well-known among socialites and other prominent people. Rachel contacted me a week after I had settled in. She introduced me formally into American society. I was quickly accepted among the academics and snobs. People loved my wit and dry humor. I was compassionate when I needed to be and sympathetic towards them. Rachel persuaded me to join the board of the Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra. I agreed and accepted the nomination. After every performance, I honored them with an elaborate dinner. My culinary skills were and still are excellent if I might add (though I can guarantee you would not eat nor enjoy some of the dishes).

Pernelle Forsell walked into my office one day having heard from one of her father's friends that I was a psychiatrist. In the strictest confidence, she arranged sessions twice a week. She had a rather bad habit of drinking and sleeping around.

"A slut. Or so my father says," she had said while lighting a cheap cigarette.

She was the first person I killed and I'm glad I did it. She was a menace to society. Her sessions with me were going no where. She stubbornly refused to alienate herself from the dregs of society. One day I even noticed track marks on her arms. Her appearance when she first met me was of a heathly young woman who only needed more sleep. Before I killed her, she was a wasted junkie, too thin and sickly. The night I killed her was surprisingly clear and crisp. She was reclining on the sofa, telling me how much she hated her father for forcing her to come to me.

Listening to her whine, made me angry for how vulgar and ungrateful she sounded.

"Shut up for a damned second, princess."

She gaped at me as though I had slapped her. I went on.

"You need to realize that what your doing is going to kill you within another year or two. You're a whore and a disgrace to your family. Quit thinking about yourself for a bloody second. What do you think about when your on your back and a man is having his way with you? Do you think of your father? Or how about your mother? I've noticed she's not looking well... You need to tell her to lay off of the sleeping pills. Those can be fatal also."

Pernelle was up on her feet in a second. Her eyes had widened and had an animalistic glint to them. Her clothes hung baggily around her emaciated frame.

"You son of a bitch, motherfucker. Don't you dare talk about me or my family that way!"

"Why so defensive all of the sudden? I thought you hated them. What was it that you called your father? Oh! Yes, that cocksucker–."

She launched herself on me. She was too weak to put up much of an offensive though. Without realizing what I was doing, I broke her neck. Contrary to popular belief, I did not start off fileting my victims. I carried her body down into the cellar and laid it out on a table. In death, she looked more peaceful. I did not feel remorse. I did not feel angry. I looked on to her prone body and curiosity got the better of me. With surgical scissors I cut off all her clothes. If you remember, Clarice, she was found naked but was not sexually assaulted in any way. Turning her over on her back, I retrieved a scalpel and made a straight incision down her back. I made two more incisions across the top and bottom of the first one, enabling me to pull the flesh and muscle away. I clamped them open. Studying the corpse, I noticed that the drug use to did not affect nor reach some of her organs. A picture of Mischa flashed through my mind.

The sensation was so powerful that for a second I couldn't breathe. I hadn't thought of her in years. I was ashamed for that. I inhaled sharply. Looking back to the body, I thought of the soldiers. Had they killed Mischa first or had they eaten her alive? Did they gut her open or just take piece by little piece? I went back to the body. I noticed her pancreas was still healthy and removed it. I dropped it onto a metal pan. I stitched up her back and cleaned her up as best as I could. It would have not done well for me if she were discovered with evidence. I drove her car and left it at a club she frequented. Her body, after waiting another two days, was deposited on the steps of her father's company building.

The incident was in the papers that evening. There were theories everywhere from a busted drug deal to her father killing her. The authorities had of course questioned me. I was the last person to see her alive supposedly. When they left my office, they checked me off their suspects list. The Sunday paper came and with it, a new intensely exhilarating part of my life. I had made the first page.

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! Time is ever elusive these days. I just wanted to put in a small warning here before I go on with the next chapters... This will turn more gruesome and graphic. If your squeamish, be careful. Thank you all again for being such loyal readers! I got inspiration for this chapter because I got tickets today to go see Anthony Hopkins at the Arclight Theather in L.A.! I can't wait!