DAMAGE CONTROL

Ardelia sat in what had been Clarice's basement office. The boards now held the crime scene photos of another serial killer, the Chesapeake Ripper Reincarnate. Headlines from The Tattler surrounded the large lighted board.

We held them back as long as we could. Ardelia mused, certain the Ripper would not be happy with the current headline. There in bold print for the world to see was: C.R.R.! New killer copies Buffalo Bill and the Tooth Fairy! Can't handle Hannibal!

The article wasn't any more flattering, going into great detail that even his name was a rip off of Lecter.

Bowman entered the office they were sharing, circled the room and looked around. "Doesn't it kind of creep you out that Starling isn't here. I mean this is her Lecter Museum. It seems almost sacrilegious to be down here."

Ardelia smiled, imagining Clarice at the desk with her boots propped up, listening to the tapes of Hannibal's interviews with her for hours at a time.

"I don't think it's sacrilegious at all, she would want me to be here."

"It doesn't make you sad?" Lloyd questioned with a true air of concern. "It depresses the hell out of me and I wasn't anywhere near as close to Clarice as you were."

"No, I can feel her presence every time I sit at the desk. She inspires me."

Ardelia had an orgy of evidence spread out over the large conference table where they were organizing the material for their UNSUB profile. "That being said, I wish she was here right now 'cuz this guy baffles me…I just don't get this Lecter fixation. I can't tell if he admires him or hates him or envies him…I don't get his motivation."

"He is definitely driven by something connected to Lecter. When we find out what that is, we will find him." Lloyd looked over the letters. He focused on one in particular. "He's scrawled names in obscure places in very tiny print on all of the letters. Look at this one, it says Stanley I. Stelio. I'm sure this guy isn't dumb enough to identify himself so there must be another reason he places the names on the letters he leaves with the victims."

"He's an attention whore, plain and simple." Ardelia gave the note a cursory glance then immediately shifted her attention to the photos. She had already shipped copies of the evidence to Clarice, hoping that either she or Hannibal would have some insight. She also shipped copies of the press releases from the Post, the Times and the Tattler certain that Hannibal would be amused.

Lloyd reviewed the press clippings. "An attention whore…I like that, and there's definitely something to be said for that or he wouldn't be leaving notes all over the place. He did go out of his way to contact the Tattler."

Ardelia reached for another letter. "Lecter would have never left evidence like this at the scene of any crime."

Lloyd nodded as he looked over Ardelia's shoulder. "Lecter did love to correspond, though. He wrote to Will Graham and to Clarice."

Ardelia disagreed. "He wrote to Will Graham to taunt him. He wrote to Clarice because…"

Lloyd was frustrated. He placed his palms flat on the table, leaned over and looked at Ardelia until she made eye contact with him. His voice was low as if he didn't wish to be overheard.

"Why do you refuse to say it Ardelia? He wrote to Clarice because he loved her…he still loves her and whether or not you want to admit it…she loves him. You saw the video. You saw that kiss. They are living somewhere and they are in love with each other and you don't want to admit that it's true."

"Yeah Lloyd, they're living happily ever after. They just bought a house in Las Vegas next to Elvis and Tupac Shakur. I hear Michael Jackson might be moving in across the street." Ardelia tried to throw him off with her sarcasm but where that video was concerned Bowman was like a freaking dog with a bone, making damage control almost impossible.

Ardelia pushed through the notes and searched for more names to confirm whether or not Lloyd was correct. She found the note connected to the very first victim. He was right. There on the back of the letter scrawled in elementary cursive, was the name Chanel B. Ciarlina.

Lloyd looked over another letter. This one required much closer inspection. The letters to this name were not scrawled proudly, as they were on the first letter. The name is written in almost unreadable print, miniscule writing as if the scribe had utilized a brush with a single hair dipped in ink. One could easily have over looked the markings.

"He went to a lot of trouble to hide them after that first note but every one of them has a single name."

Ardelia's interest was definitely heightened. "Do the names have anything in common?"

Lloyd looked over his list. "No, not really… they aren't connected to the victims. Some of the names have been what you would consider traditionally male and some female. They appear to be from a variety of ethnic backgrounds. No, they have nothing in common at all."

"How long do you think we have before he kills the girl? She's been missing for what…a week now?"

"The longest girl he kept was the first one. He had her more than three weeks. The last one he grabbed…only one week. Pearsall is meeting with members of the Justice Department and the White House as well as the representatives from the girl's family. The pressure's on to find her soon. He won't keep her alive forever."

Ardelia checked her notes. "I went over the varied lengths of time he held the girls…there is no pattern to the timing of the captivity, or the duration of it."

She searched for the autopsy reports and continued.

"What the hell does he do with them while he has them? The physical damage to the women is for the most part post mortem. The only evidence of any bodily injury could be considered self-inflicted possibly occurring in an attempt to escape, pulling against whatever material he is using to bind them. There is extensive evidence of bondage; very intricate ligature scarring that suggests he ties them up in a variety of positions. This may include suspension of the body due to the sizes and the position of the bruises."

Bowman tapped his pen to his teeth. "I wish Clarice still sat at that desk. This is where she excelled. I mean she was brilliant but it was much more than that…she was so intuitive."

"That's why she intrigued Lecter. He knew she was his only true threat." Ardelia walked over to the lighted board where Clarice had kept so many images of Hannibal. She ran a hand across the new images as if willing them to change back, willing time itself to change back.

"It wasn't only intuition…she cared. Clarice was the only one who could have caught Lecter because this was all she did…he was all she thought about. It was an obsession… tracking him… finding him. She had so many photos of him here. His eyes staring back at her in the darkness. It was as if he watched over her. As if he demanded her attention. All those months she lived here with the images of him…they became a part of her."

Bowman conceded. "He became a part of her, Ardelia."

THE PROFILE

Clarice was excited when the package arrived from Ardelia. She had been expecting it. Hannibal didn't seem as enthusiastic about the process.

"Come on, H. Have a look with me." She urged with an excited tone to her voice. "It'll be just like old times!"

Hannibal glanced at the material quickly, his eyes showing no emotion. "Have your fun, Clarice. I have no interest in participating. I will be at the piano if you have need of me."

Clarice watched Hannibal turn to leave the room. She was confused. He had always been so willing to look over case files and was eager to assist in investigations. His aloof behavior was disconcerting. She called after him. "Are you ill, Hannibal? Can I get you anything?"

Hannibal stopped and quickly turned toward her. His eyes showed a flash of what almost appeared to be anger, but it was more than that. Clarice could not determine what it was, just behind his eyes…it burned. Whatever it was he was obviously highly agitated by it.

"Clarice, what would make you assume that I was ill? Is it because I do not wish to look at an amateur's crime scene photos and review autopsies? One would think the refusal to look at such things might be a sign of sanity, not of illness."

"You're angry? Why?"

"Angry? So now I'm angry? Why are you attempting to ascribe emotions to me? I wish to play the piano. I do not wish to play Junior Special Agent with you little Starling." He answered with a sharp edge to his chilling metallic rasp.

Clarice was enraged at the diminutive and slammed the large envelope on the kitchen table.

"Little Starling? Fuck you, Doctor."

Hannibal stared at her for a moment. She believed she saw a flash of regret before his expression turned to stone. Without another word he turned his back to her and left the room.

Clarice waited for a moment and listened for the piano but instead of Hannibal's playing she heard the beeping of the security system being deactivated and the front door very quietly open and close.

He's gone out…where? She immediately regretted her anger. She wanted to go after him but assumed he had already reached the car by now. Clarice walked to the foyer and looked at the large table beside the front door, just under the large gilded mirror. She glanced into the crystal dish where he kept his wallet and keys, both were still present. No car? Already dark and he is on foot…why?

Clarice immediately ran to the bedroom and searched the table on Hannibal's side of the bed.

The Harpy…it's gone.

Hannibal walked quietly across his property waiting for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight. He could hear movement and considered what might be nearby. A puma was a possibility. A boar more likely, they were intelligent and unafraid. Hannibal Lecter found a quiet spot in a clearing just behind his home, sat cross legged on the ground and closed his eyes, now upwind he waited deeply breathing in the night air, searched the breeze and readied himself for what may come.

Predator now awakened, whatever found him was going to die.

Clarice paced around their home. She was afraid for him. The animals native to the area were dangerous and aggressive and all he had with him was the knife. There were large cats and wild boars, any animal with that kind of speed and power could do a lot of damage in a very short amount of time, Harpy or not.

Clarice was afraid for her husband's safety. She went to the bedroom, slid open the drawer of her nightstand and reached for the .45 Hannibal purchased for her. She tucked the weapon behind her in the waistband of her jeans, quickly put on a pair of boots and a jacket, grabbed a flashlight, locked the home and ventured out to find her husband.

Hannibal could hear the panther rustle in the underbrush. The smell was distinctive, as was the pattern of its breathing. He could feel the rhythm of the animal…its heartbeat pulsing in his ears. Suddenly, Hannibal's eyes shot open, his heart pounded as he jumped to his feet.

Danger!

Clarice had her weapon extended, the flashlight balanced on top of the .45 illuminating her sight line.

Hannibal detected her scent before he could see her. He also caught the scent of the panther.

"Clarice!" Hannibal sprinted toward her. He could smell the animal, he could hear it moving. He was certain Clarice could not. "Clarice!" He continued to call out, his muscles burning from the overexertion as he ran full out in her direction.

Clarice spun around, extending the flashlight but lowering her weapon. "H, I'm sorry. Please, come back in the house and we'll talk about it."

"Clarice listen to me…don't make any sudden movements. Stay perfectly still."

He's afraid…something is near me.

"Hannibal you're scaring me."

As soon as the words left Clarice's mouth, the animal left the ground.