Lambs Stop Screaming

Clarice, racking her brain over the quote Dr. Lecter had used, stared at the stack of books on the history of Poland from 1677 to 1766, and pulled a map out. Before she could look it over, however, her doorbell rang.

"Package for Clarice Starling," the postal worker said when Clarice opened the door.

She signed for the package and closed the door. She sat down on the sofa and checked the postmark to find that it had been mailed out from the post office down the street. She opened the long tube carefully and pulled out its contents.

The drawing was one she'd seen before…so long ago…when Dr. Lecter had been transferred to Brushy Mountain State Prison, Maximum Security, in Tennessee. He'd been given more freedom there, held in a large cage rather than behind glass, and he was given a cassette player, classical music, and books. He'd continued his drawings as well, and had drawn the picture shortly before escaping. It was done in pencil, and Clarice grimaced at her own likeness staring back at her. In the drawing, she looked peaceful, her arm around a lamb, and she sighed.

"'The things we remember best are those better forgotten,'---Baltasar Gracian," it read at the bottom. Underneath the drawing was the letter "H" for Hannibal.

Clarice turned onto left onto Wisconsin Avenue. In all her life, she never thought she'd return there. Of course, Hannibal Lecter knew this. For some reason unknown to her, he was intent on making her face her fears (if they could be called that), and despite this fact, she would do everything in her power to catch him.

She entered Maryland, and thought it funny that less than an hour ago, she had planned her day around cleaning her house. She smiled to herself as she turned onto Washington Memorial Pike.

It was after two-thirty in the morning when she'd settled into the hotel room, and although she was tired, she found that sleep did not welcome her. She stared out the small hotel room window at the stars outside and wondered where Dr. Lecter was, and if he, too, was perhaps looking up at the same stars. In an unexplainable way, this comforted Clarice, and she drifted into sleep, a faint sound of screams echoing through her mind.

The next day she drove through North Dakota, stopped to eat, and then continued on through Montana. A swell of regret overcame her as she drove along the familiar streets, and as night fell, an incessant coldness surrounded her. In an eerie way, she respected Dr. Lecter for making her go back to the place that had haunted her in her dreams, and in another way, she was grateful.

She turned from the main road onto a dirt road and thought as she continued on her way. She wondered where Dr. Lecter was now, if he was in the same place or if he was moving, and the thought of him following her, watching her, made chills run down her spine. She had agreed to his game of cat and mouse, and remembered his words, "No. It pleases me, Clarice." It truly had never been a matter of sexual excitement for Dr. Lecter: he simply seemed to be fulfilled by his thoughts of Clarice in private. He was intrigued, fascinated, with her, and Clarice never stopped wondering why. She wondered what his intentions where, after the game was played, and a half-frightened, half-calm feeling came over her.

Continuing on her path, Clarice turned left up the long driveway and drove up the hill towards where the barn had once been.

Clarice stood on the hill. She was forced back to the time of being ten years old, alone and afraid, and she didn't like it. The wind blew and she closed her eyes, and she thought she smelled the sticky, bitter smell of blood on the wind. She grimaced and opened her eyes, and when her cell phone rang, she jumped.

"Having fun, Clarice?" she heard when she answered.

"What is all this, Dr. Lecter?" she asked as she paced back and forth in the dark.

"You question me, Clarice, without offering anything in return. Quid pro quo, yes or no?"

She sighed angrily.

"Yes."

"As I told you once before, I think it would be quite something to know you in private life, Clarice." He paused, and then changed the subject. "You ran a long way, didn't you, Clarice, with Hannah, the heavy lamb? You can still smell it, can't you? The smell of the bitter, stomach turning blood in the barn; you get ill at the memory, don't you?"

Clarice swallowed. "Yes."

"This, Clarice, is where you have to face your past. You must come to terms with it. You must silence your lambs."

She scoffed. "Dr. Lecter, I'm beginning to think, now, that the only way I can do that is to catch you."

He laughed, a rasp in his voice. "That is incidental. You mustn't place false blame, Clarice. It won't do."

A beat. "Quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter. What does my 'coming to terms with my past' have to do with your apprehension?"

"When you've dealt with it, Clarice," he said sternly, "then, and only then, will you be free to live your life in consolation."

Clarice laughed. "I will always be wary of you, Dr. Lecter. Never will I see peace until you are back where you belong."

"Tell me, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said solemnly, "and don't lie, for I'll know." His voice quieted. "Will you stay with me in my cell and hold my hand?" He paused for a moment. "We could have some fun," he added brazenly.

Clarice shook her head in anger as she continued to pace.

"Do you honestly wish me back there, in a cage without a view…without a tree…for the rest of my life?" he said finally.

Silence, and Clarice stopped pacing. She wanted to say yes more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life, but it would have been a lie, and he would have known. He'd caught her off guard with his question, and she felt cornered. She was angry with herself for not being able to say yes when she so desperately wanted to, but she wasn't sure if the lie would find its way to cross her lips anyway.

"You know you don't really want that Clarice."

Her breathing heavy, and at a loss for words, Clarice hung up the phone. She then realized that with the barn having been torn down, she had no idea of where to look for the next drawing.

She pounded her fist on the steering wheel as she sped onto the main road. She had had enough of Dr. Lecter's mind games. Why the hell had she ever let him talk her into this? She was no longer an agent, so why did she care so much about catching him? What could she do even if she did? He'd cut off his own hand the last time she had tried, so what was the point?

Angry and confused, Clarice let her thoughts drift back to her seven months spent on the ranch. She'd loved riding the horses, although they were sick, and a part of her regretted that. Why was it that human beings felt they had to destroy ill things? She then remembered the night she had left. She'd been sound asleep until she heard the screaming. It had been so cold and so dark…and Hannah had been heavy…she wondered then if the farmer had killed the lamb on purpose, just for spite. It would have been slaughtered, yes, but did he feel a morbid sense of satisfaction when he'd killed Hannah, simply because Clarice had tried to save him and had failed? She had stopped to rest, and that's when she saw the lights: bright blue and red flashing lights. Under different circumstances, they might have been rather pleasant, lighting the darkness the way they had.

"Shit House Mouse!" Clarice exclaimed suddenly. She made a u-turn in the road and headed back toward the ranch, now aware of the next drawing's whereabouts.

She crossed the old fence carefully and pulled a flashlight from her pocket. She looked around, and when she saw the fresh dirt a few feet in front of her she smiled. She knelt down and began digging, and it wasn't long before she found it. She removed the painting from its plastic casing and shone the light on it.

It was painted in acrylics, in bold colors, and showed a figure inside of a cage. It held its arms out toward another figure, a woman, who stood out of reach with her back turned away from the cage. At the bottom it read: "I'm waiting for you, Clarice. H."

She sat down and stared at the painting. There was no clue this time. She rolled the painting up and returned it to its casing and stood up. Holding her breath to keep the imaginary scents away, Clarice went back to her car.