Chapter Nine: The Butcher and The One who Survived

Dr. Lecter tipped his cigar into the ash tray. In the course of their conversation he had finished it. Only the stub remained, smoking slightly. Clarice stared at him from behind blazing sapphires.

"Did you hold any remorse for those people, Doctor?" she asked in a soft voice.

"No. The killings made no difference to me." Dr. Lecter shrugged.

"What about Agent Graham? He sits now by himself in a run-down apartment trying to drink himself to death!" she took a deep breath, "You ruined his life and the lives of many people! Don't you see that!"

Dr. Lecter looked at her with a stony expression.

"I see, but it is not my fault for how they conducted their lives after I met them–."

"Everyone whose life you've become a part of has met their destruction or ruination–."

"Not every one."

"Yes, every one! Who are you not counting? Are you afraid they will haunt your conscience?"

"I am not afraid of anything. And when did I develop a conscience?"

"You are avoiding my first question."

"I don't count you."

"Why–?"

"Will you let me finish!"

Both adversaries glared at each other. The .45 was back in Starling's hand. Dr. Lecter gripped both arms of his seat in order to reign in his anger. Both took a steady, calming breath.

"I don't count you," began Dr. Lecter, "because I felt it necessary to lead you away from those masters who chain you to their institution. I thought you had more potential than that. You don't know what you can do, little Starling, until you spread you wings and fly away..."

A shiver ran through Starling's spine. Dr. Lecter sat still, just minutely examining Clarice. She seemed even more pale than when she walked into the room. She swallowed hard. Her eyes turned glossy and unclear.

"May I continue?"

"Yes, please," she whispered.

When two killers meet, both know they are predators. They know one will have to leave or a bloodbath will ensue. Too many murders at one time will cause a hysteria. So, naturally, the murders will either have to decrease, cease, or one of the killers will have to move on.

Carol Richardson was an exceptional woman. She was smart, beautiful, and too dangerous to live. When she came into my office for the first time, I was surprised to see a calm collected brunette. She wore a dark Versace red suit with black high heels. Female serial killers are still so rare now a days. She was courteous and observed all the necessities in greeting a host. Her voice was rich with a deep purr to it.

"Dr. Lecter, it's a pleasure to meet you."

I shook her hand and gestured that she should be seated. Gracefully she sat down and crossed her long, lean legs. She had the air of a queen sitting on her thrown.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Richardson?"

"Forgive me, Dr. Lecter. It is only Ms. Richardson, now."

"No need to apologize; my mistake."

"To get on with matters, Doctor, I've been sent by the Virginian courts for therapy and a new psychological evaluation."

"Tell me why you were ordered here."

"I killed my husband."

Her face betrayed no emotion. No remorse was in that room. Her dark eyes never left my face. A red gleam seemed to be in them.

"How did you kill your husband?" I asked.

"Would you like all the details or just in general?"

"All the details."

"Your brave."

"I have nothing to fear."

At this she smirked. It was the first sign of her arrogance. Her eyes said everything. You do have something to fear... You just don't know it yet. She nodded her head and started her gruesome tale.

"My husband, Nathan, was a criminal lawyer, working in Virginia. He was starting to get good at it, too." She paused for a moment here. "He was too damn good at everything... I hated him for that. He was always caring and good natured. He was sleeping when I tied him up. He woke up only when I tightened the knots to the bed posts. At first he didn't know what I was doing. Then he tried a little seduction, thinking I tied him up for sexual purposes. Sweat begin to form on his forehead when I pulled out the hand gun he owned from the dresser. I placed it over the dresser, knowing I was going to need it later. I walked from the bedroom into the kitchen. I could hear his yells from the room. I picked up the butcher knife I had used for dinner that very same night and walked back. His eyes widened when he saw me again. He screamed himself horse when I started cutting off the tips of his fingers. I then cut the middle of his fingers and then the last stumps. He didn't have a voice by then and blood was trickling from his mouth. His hands were white from the tension he was placing on the ropes, trying to get free, and red from the blood of his fingers. I started on his toes, next. I literally cut my husband into little pieces. The police have yet to find his upper torso and left leg."

"Why aren't you here with a police escort?"

"Scared, now, Doctor?"

"No. I was just wondering whether you had a police officer waiting in the foyer."

"I have not been tried yet, Doctor. They still don't have enough evidence to bring me in."

"Why did you tell me this then?"

"Because I know you won't speak of it or write about it in my evaluation..."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, I saw the Garcia case and noted how you were able to get them off on an insanity plea. That is not an easy task, Doctor Lecter."

I nodded, thinking of my predicament. This woman expected me to help her.

"I believe I am under court order to assess a truthful evaluation, Ms. Richardson."

"Then do a truthful evaluation and add your take on my crimes."

"Crimes. That is a plural word. How many more murders did you commit?"

"I killed my parents when I was 16 and an elderly neighbor when I was 21. I was arrested and tried for patricide but since I was still I minor I was given parol at the age of 20. They didn't catch me for my neighbor."

She stood up abruptly and walked to my side of the desk.

"I saw you when you killed the hispanic kid..."

In a very uncharacteristic lapse of concentration, I startled.

"What did you say?"

"I saw you gut that hispanic kid. I can see you remember, doctor..."

I did remember. I did it out in the open night air. I did not notice anyone there at the time.

"I see."

"I can tell the courts that you are the Chesapeake Ripper and they will have to investigate. Those arrows over there, Doctor, are they new?"

I didn't have to look to see what she was pointing at. There was a quiver of arrows now hanging proudly on one of my bookcases.

"Yes, I just purchased them. You know you are the only person to figure out that I am the Chesapeake Ripper. Ghastly name isn't it?"

"Yes, I agree. The papers have no respect for our art."

"Our art? I think you are solely mistaken, Ms. Richardson. You have been caught twice. I haven't. While you have no real reasoning behind your actions, I do. Do I need to clarify anything else for you?"

For the first time that evening she sneered at me. Her face contorted into an ugly grimace and her eyes flashed. Her right hand strayed slowly to the pocket of her jacket. Her left hand was tightly fisted.

"I'll kill you where you stand before you pull that meager weapon out, Ms. Richardson."

She paused her hand. I stood up quickly and was at her side, clutching both her hands. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched at the close proximity.

"Do you really think you are in the same league as me?"

She gulped.

"Yes."

Defiance was in her voice and poise. I nodded. With a flick of my wrist I had my harpy in my left hand. She struggled and was able to free her right hand. We both struck at the same time. She slumped to the floor immediately blood flowing from her jugular. A small military knife stuck out of my left shoulder. I pulled it out, hissing at the pain. She gave me a scar as a memento. Carol was still writhing on the floor. Two minutes later she was dead. I ruined another rug but had the foresight of previous events to have placed in old one under her. I quickly disposed of the rug and dumped her body on the steps of the Chesapeake court house. It was a fitting punishment I think...

Funnily enough my next "victim" was a court ordered patient also. He was overly aggressive, arrogant, and a spoiled beast. His family was the owners of one of the largest and most successful meat-packing companies in the industry. They owned a large estate in Virginia. Their daughter was also a patient of mine. You see, her brother raped her. That wasn't what Mason Verger was charged for though. He was a leader at one of the "Christian" camps his father owned. His father took in all the disadvantaged and abused children of the Eastern United States. Mason saw them the children as his own "amusements." Margot Verger was the only person with any sense in the whole bloody family.

I know Mason Verger will always regret the day he stepped into my office. He was a tall man with shoulder length dark brown hair. He had high cheek bones and deep set dark eyes. He was a handsome fellow. Too bad. When he spoke, he spoke with a heavy Virginian accent.

"Dr. Lecter," he said in greeting when we first met. It sounded more like "Doc-tah Lek-tah." He threw himself into one of my seats and sat cockily. He had a sneer placed firmly on his face.

"Well, Mason, do you know why you are here?"

"Yes, I do, Doctor."

"Elaborate, please."

"The judge ordered me here. Said you were the best."

"Why did he order you here?"

"She. The bitch thinks I'm insane."

"Why is that?"

"Because I fucked my sister and had fun with a couple of brats. She has it in her fuckin' head that I'm a so-called 'sexual deviant.' The old spinster has probably not been properly fucked."

The way he spoke about other people disgusted me. He was a repulsive human being but fascinating.

"How do you view women, Mason?"

"As life-support systems for a cunt."

"Even your own sister?"

"Even that whore. She took a bite out of the chocolate and didn't like it!"

I gave him a small smile to hide my loathing. There were probably countless others he had used in this way and paid off. A man like this is rare but due to society's lax standards, they are appearing more frequently. Hedonists are always the dregs and expendables of society. Mason was clearly a hedonist.

He described in detail all of his habits. He was heavily into hypnotic and illusionary drugs. He was an alcoholic. He told me that bragging about his "conquests" had made him feel superior to other people. He knew he was superior. Each of his visits brought him closer to death. Or so I thought at the time.

Margot Verger was the opposite of her brother. A perfect foil of him. When she was young, she was a thin young woman, very attractive. Not the heavily muscled lesbian you see her as today. She was a caring sweet person. She had ambitions and dreams. After the encounter with her brother, I found out she had an intense hatred for men. She swore to me she would never be comfortable with any man again. When I first met her, she had a black eye and her skin was very pale. She cried softly. She showed all the signs of a terrified person. I did not ask her to sit down. She still had stitches in very uncomfortable places. Instead I asked her to walk with me in the garden. I tended a small garden in the back of my home. Flowers bloomed all year long. The roses were large that time of year. Irises, lilies, and lavender perfumed the air.

"How are you feeling, Margot?"

"Okay," she said in a small, shaky voice.

"No, you are not. But you will be."

She looked at me, suddenly curious.

"How do you know?"

"I know because I am going to tell you how to get better. But first tell me how you feel about your brother."

"I hate him. He–he told me to not scream, Doctor... He told me to bite the pillow and said it would be over in a couple of minutes. It felt like a lifetime."

She started to sob quietly. I handed her a handkerchief and waited until she composed herself. When she could breathe properly again, I spoke again.

"This is what you have to do, Margot. One day you will kill Mason. Not today and not in the near future. But you will kill him. It will be very therapeutic for you. Just with the knowledge that you will, should be comforting. There is no wrong in it."

"Nobody has ever said anything like that to me before..."

She looked almost awed by my words. Her eyes cleared and had a sparkle to them. I can tell she was now comfortable with me. in other meetings we discussed her sexuality and her urge to become stronger. She grew stronger everyday. Mason on the other hand was as much a deviant as ever. One night when the moon was full, he made his mistake.

He had been "eye-ing" me through several appointments when he finally asked me to his apartment for some "fun." Seeing my opportunity, I agreed. I took a small bottle of "poppers" with me. "Poppers" are highly addictive and highly hallucinogenic. They would work perfectly. Soft gothic music was already playing in the background of the apartment.

He showed me some of his "toys" and asked if "I'd like a go". Politely I declined. I was abhorred at the very suggestion. He was hanging from one of his toys when I offered him a popper. He immediately knew what it was and swallowed it greedily. In five minutes, he was totally under the effects of the drug. His whole body was jerking on the rope. He shattered a mirror next to him. I picked up a piece of glass and recommended that he cut his own face off. In a corner of the apartment were two caged and starving dogs. I knew he thought he could scare me. Funny isn't it?

With each piece of flesh dropping to the floor, I picked them up and handed them to the dogs. About five minutes later, Mason's body hung limp. I took his head in both hands and snapped his neck. It was a very clean break if I may say so. After washing my hands, I exited the apartment.

My dear Clarice, I must tell you how astonished I was when I found out he survived. Lucky for me though he was in a coma and could not tell them about me. I didn't bother to finish him off. The doctor had told a reporter that Mason would never walk again much less move much at all. A camera man from the National Tattler was able to get a picture of his face. It was the same monstrous face he had when he died.

We are so near the end of my tale, Agent Starling, but I need to clarify some things that concern the Flutist...