In Profundis

by Downriver

One year after Silence, Clarice Starling is feeling listless, but still driven by duty. Meanwhile, Dr. Lecter finds he thinks of the fledgling agent often, and decides to make contact; it is an encounter which results in an unfathomable covenant, altering their lives for years. Both hope to get some version of what they really want, if they indeed, know what they really want.

16. Chapter 16

Back at the castle, Dr. Lecter set the outdoor table while Starling explored. After awhile, she found herself at his bedroom door again. It was closed. She hesitated with a hand on the handle. She could hear the sounds of dishes at a distance. A moment's pause, and she went in.

Looking through the CDs again, she sighed and looked around. His bed was made. The curtains were closed, as were the closet and bathroom doors. She turned on a lamp at the bedside table and touched the duvet. It was black and grey with a herringbone texture. Then, after reminding herself that only she and God would ever know, Starling lowered her head and sniffed a pillow. It smelled like him. She didn't know she knew his smell. She eyed the strand of hair wedged between the pillow and the duvet. Pinching it between thumb and forefinger, she held it up to the light. After straightening up, she nearly let it fall into the bin behind her. Instead, she took it to the window and moved the curtain back. Holding it up next to her own hair, she saw it was a match. The length was the problem. She'd known that, she realized. She knew it was not her own hair. And how could it be, anyway?

But no feeling came. She put it in the bin with a shrug and left his room, wondering for a moment why she'd gone in, in the first place. She found Dr. Lecter outside. There were opened French doors in the kitchen leading to a covered patio. Dr. Lecter's back was to her as he set out place mats.

"Is there good lighting out there?" Starling wondered.

"Yes, but I've added some candles and lanterns," he said, over his shoulder.

She walked around the kitchen island. The breeze outside was nice, perfumed with heather and roses. The heather grew between some of the posts of the patio and along the house, and had been permitted to grow just a little wild. The roses had climbed up on the lattice work on the enclosed side of the patio. The mix of the woodsy, mossy notes of the heather with the perfume of the roses made Starling feel a sort of flirtatious, distant caress of happiness. Sense of smell was funny that way, she thought.

Lecter turned around. He'd changed into a suit with a dark grey dress shirt and vest. He wasn't wearing the jacket and had very neatly rolled up his sleeves. Starling was reminded of his bed. No need to think of his bed just yet, she reminded herself.

"Come outside and tell me what you think. Is it too many candles?"

Starling joined him outside. The centerpiece seemed a little big, enough to obstruct the view for anyone shorter, and she said so.

"Do you suppose anyone will be wearing long, loose sleeves?" she asked. Dr. Lecter was finishing up removing some of the taller flowers in the centerpiece. Then, they were standing perpendicular to one another, both with a finger to their mouths.

"I thought about that," he agreed. "Mitzy might. She doesn't like showing her arms. The question is, should I move all of the candles to accommodate that one potential problem, or only hers? A bit of asymmetry can bring it together just right, but that sort of thing usually needs to be purposeful, not the result of a sloppy solution."

Starling moved one of the candles, and they looked. She moved it back. "You don't want anyone's sleeve to catch fire for the sake of the aesthetic. What if we moved them all back a little, but added more candles?"

Dr. Lecter nodded. "I was thinking something similar, but adding more flowers instead of candles."

"Really? More flowers? Won't that be too many?"

"Not if it's deliberately too many. Let me show you. Then tell me what you think."

Starling watched him take up a pair of sheers and go out into the garden. After a moment, she followed him. "Do you have another pair? I'd like to go get some of those blue star-shaped flowers by the gate."

Dr. Lecter handed her his own. "Take mine. They're called gentians, I believe. And Clarice? I beg you to wear blue again tonight. You in a blue dress with your hair in the candlelight would be a vision I would not soon forget."

Starling gave one of her polite, tight-lipped smiles, before walking to the gate. Dr. Lecter watched her as she walked, and didn't immediately head back inside until she'd been trimming flowers for a moment. Crouched elegantly in her cornflower blue dress, hair the color of tiger's eye stirring in the breeze, Starling looked to him like a sort of countryside nymph. She looked back at him over her shoulder and he gave a nod. She looked down and back away. He doubted it had been her intention to look so very coy and delicious. He wanted to pluck her from where she knelt, gather her and bring her inside and plant her in his home like the unassuming blue gentians, happy and free in the wild.

About an hour later, when the guests were arriving, Dr. Lecter had a vegetable-beef mixture boiling in a large stockpot. Mitzy Dresler was the first to arrive. She sat down at the table outside and lit a cigarette, talking intermittently to Dr. Lecter about a debate between Valens Acidalius and Simon Gediccus regarding whether a woman was a human being or not.

Starling couldn't help but jump in at a certain point, as she came outside to set down a platter of bread and something Lecter had called 'liptauer'.

"When I hear things like this, I'm always surprised and not at all surprised in equal measure. I'm not sure how to reconcile it," she said.

Mitzy shrugged. "I think we can only understand evil and deep ignorance on a theoretical level. So you can hear about it a thousand times, enough that you know good and well it exists in the world, but in the very same moment not understand at all."

Starling nodded. "I think the only productive thing I can do about it is count my own blessings."

Mitzy scoffed. "That's the same mentality that's kept women in our place for ions. Don't count your blessings. Don't be grateful. Demand more. Rage. Rage, while you still have the power and zeal of youth on your side."

"My youth does not help me. Don't you know that?" Starling said, and Mitzy grinned.

"You can wield it one of two ways, in my experience. You can bat your eyes at the right imbeciles and get your way through the backdoor, or you can piss off all the wrong people and inspire the next generation with the mythos of your nag. One gets you what you want, the other benefits the long-game. Are you a long-game girl or a short-term girl? Most Americans I've met are short-game, if they even notice they're playing one to begin with." Mitzy took a moment to take a drink and Starling took a glass of wine when Dr. Lecter handed her one. Mitzy continued:

"And don't think for a moment that John Boucher is any different." She pointed at Dr. Lecter who gave a little bow before returning to the stove. "He's a man. A charming, intelligent man is the most dangerous kind. You're a pretty thing, of course. A pretty little prairie flower minding your own business in the hills. And he comes along, just like all the rest, and will pluck you from your roots and stick you in a vase to admire until you're not pretty anymore. He'll do it if you let him, just like all the rest."

"That's very insightful, Mitzy," Dr. Lecter commented from the kitchen. He was straining the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve, now. "Just an hour ago I was thinking how lovely she'd be, decorating my home."

Starling frowned. "So you agree, then? That you're like any other man? That all men would use me and discard me without a second thought?"

"Oh, yes. If given the opportunity, I would pluck you and confine you to my microcosm without hesitation. Although, I disagree on the last point," he said, pausing to discard the solids from the mixture. He looked up, first at Mitzy, then at Starling. "I would not ever release you. To discard is to release, in this analogy and it work perfectly. I would never release you."

"There you have it," Mitzy said with a gesture of her hand. Starling's face felt hot.

Someone rang the doorbell and Dr. Lecter gave out a cheery, 'ah', before wiping his hands and tending to the next guest.

"Oh for God's sake, don't blush. That only encourages them," said Mitzy.

"It's not that I'm blushing. It's that I'm angry."

"I think it's both. But good, you should be. Never lose your fury. You'll need it to the end. It may not be your best friend, but it will be a loyal one."

"You're pretty tough."

"Not really. I'm just a discarded, withered flower. Do you think I've spent my life raging? Pfft. I've spent my life batting my eyes to get my way. It's been a life of safety and opulence that I don't regret. But now that I'm old and no one cares to have me in a vase, I am indeed released. Released from my obligation to appear puffy and pink and wet every minute of every day. Free from listening to a man endlessly talk about himself and his stupid friends. Freed from brassieres in the home. And free from being likeable. My God, I was tired of that by the time I was nineteen."

"Me too."

Mitzy eyed her. "Boucher told me a little about you. You're not likeable. Not deliberately, anyway. He told me that if you did play the blushing, eye-batting fawn, you'd be very powerful indeed, by now. And still so young! And I don't see a crown on your head. I see that your dress is decent quality, but other than that and your good genes, you've got nice taste on a budget. You're not powerful at all. Which, in your case, can only mean that you are unlikable. Which means you're tough. Because you'd rather burn than smile at the conceited bitches of the world."

Dr. Lecter appeared with Etienne and David. Starling stood. Mitzy tapped her ashes into the trey Dr. Lecter had provided her.

"Etienne and David, I present Leda Stewart, from New York City. Leda, I present Etienne Alarie from Montendre and David Dresler, Mitzy's scholarly grandson."

"Good evening," they all responded in kind, except Mitzy who coughed.

"Has my grandmother been insulting you?" David asked Starling, and taking a seat.

"She tried to make it seem that way in the beginning," Starling answered. "But after I took it well enough, she showed her soft underbelly."

Mitzy cackled. "I like her. She's not sweet at all."

"I disagree with you, there," Dr. Lecter said, pulling a seat out for Etienne.

"She may have a little sweetness, but she's complex, like a mirepoixe," said Mitzy. "The sweetness is mild from onions, but they're still onions."

"What do you do, Ms. Stewart?" Etienne asked.

"Leda's fine. I work in government." Starling didn't like lying.

"Oh, can you not talk about it, then?" David asked with a cheeky eyebrow raised.

"Better not. And you, Ms. Alarie?"

"Please, Etienne. I'm a student."

"In more than one sense," Dr. Lecter said, handing them each a cocktail.

"I hope that doesn't mean that she's a student of yours," said David.

Me too, thought Starling, choosing to bury her nose in her wine glass instead of comment.

"I would only be so fortunate," Lecter answered. "Etienne, like many intelligent and worldly creatures of her station, is a student of life."

"I would say that includes you as a teacher," Etienne commented.

"Incidentally, yes," Dr. Lecter agreed. The doorbell rang again, and Dr. Lecter smiled. "That will be Frau Martin and her guest." He excused himself. Starling's heart lurched.

"Valarie—Frau Martin, that is—is my cousin," Etienne offered.

Starling nodded.

"Frau Martin is a call girl," Mitzy added.

Starling, with her eyebrows raised, looked from David to Etienne. David shushed his grandmother. Etienne puckered her lips and shrugged.

"Don't shush me," Mitzy said. "I'm glad she's invited. It would only make it better if the Strobls were here. Then, I'd be certain it would be a good time."

Etienne eyed Starling. "Miss Stewart, have you ever been to one of Herr Boucher's parties before?"

"Leda's fine. And no, I haven't," Starling answered.

"Oh, you're in for a treat," Mitzy said, with the trace of a mean note in her voice. "They're always veeery entertaining."

"As I understand, it's a much smaller gathering than last time," said David. "So maybe a bit less drama."

"Oh, there's drama, is there?" Starling asked.

Laughter came from just inside, and everyone looked. When Starling could see the new guests, she stood with the others.

"Everyone, may I introduce Herr Jonas Vogt," announced Lecter. "He's an attorney with DLA Piper Weiss, here in Vienna. Herr Jonas Vogt, may I introduce Etienne Alarie, your lovely companion's cousin. A graduate student working toward her PhD in computational science at Universität Wien. Herr David Dresler, also a graduate student at Wien, studying philology. His grandmother, and a good friend of mine, Frau Mitzy Dresler. Expert in medievel history and womens' studies. And last, may I introduce you both to an old friend of mine, Frau Leda Stewart, visiting from New York City."

"She works in government," said David.

"It's lovely to see you all again," Valarie said. She gave Etienne a smirk. "Etienne," she added.

"Val," replied Etienne.

"And Leda, may I introduce my friend Valarie Martin, a fille de joie, and one of the most intelligent and witty young women I've had the pleasure of knowing."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, even Mitzy.

"What are we having?" asked Valarie. Her companion's eyebrows were raised and his wide eyes looked off into the distance, detached in what Starling could only assume was surprise and dismay at his lady friend having been outed.

"Beef consommé with fish quenelles with endive salad, ciabatta, and shi taki. Champagne and sorbet for dessert."

Mitzy clapped her hands together. "Ausgezeichnet!"

"Indeed," agreed David.

Valarie kissed her cousin, and sat at the end of the table, near Starling and Etienne, forcing Vogt to sit between Mitzy and Starling.

He cleared his throat. "Good evening, Frau Stewart. I hope you're enjoying your visit."

"I am, thank you."

"Move your elbow, you oaf," Mitzy grumbled on his other side. "You see, Leda? They'll take up as much room as you let them."

Starling had noticed the man's spread. She had not noticed how far it had been from her mind to address it.

"Frau Stewart, am I taking up your space, as well?" asked Vogt, a bit haughtily.

"And you notice he's more comfortable being disrespectful with you, due to your age."

"I do, Mitzy. Fascinating." She brought the wine to her lips, her level gaze on Dr. Lecter who was bringing a drink for Valarie and Vogt.

"Valarie, my dear, I know you prefer brandy."

"Yes, John, thank you."

"There is bread and liptauer on the table, please help yourselves while I finish up in the kitchen."

"Oh, John?" asked Valarie.

"Yes?"

"Let's have some music, shall we?"

"Perfect. Shall I choose?"

"You shall not. I brought a little something with me. I left it just there, on the island. Miles Davis."

Dr. Lecter gave an almost theatrical bow, before turning on his heels.

"On a first name basis, are you? My dear?" Mitzy asked, leaning forward to get a look at Valarie.

"Why, yes. Is that alright with you? I wouldn't want to offend a secret admirer."

"She has some bite!" Mitzy smirked. "Good. I have no doubt you need it, in your line of work." She elbowed Herr Vogt.

"Madame, I—"

"So Ms. Stewart," interrupted Valarie. "I'm dying to know. How do you know John?"

"You can call me Leda. We used to work together."

"And you may call me Valarie. Where?"

"Some in Baltimore, a little in Memphis."

"Doing what?"

"Contract work."

"For whom?"

"Different things."

"Anything interesting?"

"Yes."

Dr. Lecter appeared with a big pot and began serving everyone.

"Valarie, Leda is a private young woman. Let's respect that, shall we?"

Valarie's music had started to play and her eyes were closed in pleasure. "Or what?" she responded without opening them.

"Or you will be penalized, of course."

David made a cat sound.

"Shut up, David," Mitzy said. "Or speak up. One or the other."

"I'm intrigued by this penalty," continued Valarie, finally opening her eyes. "Shall I be put in the corner?"

"I think her bedtime should be increased," Etienne said. "She needs better sleep habits anyway."

"I do struggle with insomnia. What about you, Leda? Ever have trouble sleeping?"

"On occasion."

"Do you take anything for it?" asked Vogt. "I prefer diazepam. It's a bit old, but it's good for anxiety too."

"No, no, no. Valium is the best," said Mitzy.

"Really? It doesn't do much for me," said David.

"Or if you want something more gentle and newer, I'd recommend triazolam," said Vogt. While Mitzy, Vogt and David argued over prescriptions, Valarie leaned over to Starling on her elbow.

"Etienne and I have a secret game we like to play, Leda. Whenever l'elite at the table go off on certain topics, we take a drink. One topic is arguing over prescription medication. Another is debating academic journals. What's the other, Etienne?" she said, lowering her voice all the more.

Etienne leaned forward. "Complaining about caterers and other help."

"Do you want to play?" Valarie asked.

"Yes. Yes, I do," Starling nodded.

The three of them leaned back and took sips of their drinks. The others were still talking, and Dr. Lecter had finally taken his seat.

"Everyone, please enjoy," he announced. Everyone took a moment to clap and offer thank you's. Valarie and Etienne eyed one another, then Starling, and leaned forward again.

"I think we should add more topics," said Etienne.

"Etienne, we'll get drunk. Good idea," Valarie said. "What else, then? Leda?"

"The aim is to mock their affluence and class?" Starling asked.

The other two women nodded.

"Ski trips," Starling suggested.

They laughed. "Good one," Etienne said. "What else?"

"Ohm—" Valarie started, "John just brought up an academic journal about theology."

The three of them leaned back and took a drink. Back in the huddle:

"Two more, two more," urged Valarie. "What about charity events?"

"That's not bad," said Etienne.

"Cosmetic surgery," said Starling.

"Yeees," Valarie hissed. "Leda, I'm sorry I grilled you before. It's only because I'm a bitch."

Etienne snorted.

"No, no. Really, it's because I'm dying with curiosity. John has spoken so much of you."

"He...has?"

"Oh, yes."

"He's even mentioned you to me," said Etienne. "Only a few times. And it wasn't anything private or anything. It's just...it struck me as the kind of thing you do when you have someone on your mind. 'That reminds me of Leda, when she did this', or, 'Yes, that's what Leda would say'. That kind of thing."

Starling had brought food to her mouth but had paused, looking away.

"Does that surprise you?" Valarie wondered.

"In a way," she answered. "So he talks to you a lot?"

Valarie puckered her lips. "He has moments of talking a lot. Most of the time he's remote and, I don't know, enigmatic. You know how he is."

"I do. But it's flipped for me. He has his remote moments, but most of the time I can't get him to shut up."

"That's because he likes you," Etienne said.

"You could put it that way," said Valarie. "But more accurately, it's because he finds you interesting."

Starling looked at Valarie for a beat. "I know he does," said Starling. "And it's easy to feel flattered by that, because he's singular. But just because he finds you interesting doesn't mean you should be flattered. Or feel safe and complacent."

Etienne's eyes darkened a bit. "I agree with her, Val. That's exactly how it feels. At first, you feel flattered. That, 'who, me?' reaction. It's dangerous, in and of itself. But I've known him a little longer than you, and I haven't seen a gun, but there's been plenty of smoke. He's a devil."

"Oh, I know," Valarie nodded. "I'm just not sure how much of a devil he is."

The two women looked at Starling. Starling looked down. When she glanced at Dr. Lecter, he was leading a conversation, his face animated. His voice was, as always, modular and cultured. Some of the metallic rasp remained. His eyes landed on Starling. It was casual and short, amidst looking from one guest to another. But the look penetrated her, nonetheless. She swallowed, in spite of herself.

She looked away, ducked her nose in her glass and said, in the quietest, most off-handed way, "Stay away from him."

When the sun was setting, they played a couple rounds of the game Who Am I. Starling was the first to guess her card both times. The first time, she'd been given the name Saint Nick. The second time, she'd been Mitzy Dresler. Mitzy struggled with the game, and finished last both times, to the great amusement of the others.

Inside, Dr. Lecter went with David into the study to show him some books, while Mitzy insulted Herr Vogt at the table. Vogt began to hold his own well enough, and they debated over feudalism for just under an hour. It left Etienne, Valarie, and Starling to themselves and they claimed the favored sitting room. Valarie got the fireplace up and running while Starling flipped through the music.

"Oh, Leda. I left some music here. You might prefer it. It's upstairs in John's bedroom."

Etienne sighed. "Valarie, could you be more obvious?"

"What, I'm supposed to tiptoe? It wasn't asked of me."

"So..." Starling began, but didn't finish. "I—I'll go and get it. I saw it earlier, I know where it is. I'll bring it down with the CD player."

By the time she returned, Starling was beginning to feel mellowed by the wine, and Etienne and Valarie seemed to be arguing.

"Leda, is it bothering you?" Etienne asked. "My cousin knows how to have decorum, she's just choosing not to."

Starling frowned. "Is it—Oh, you mean—I don't know. Apparently, I'm trying to not feel much of anything."

"Apparently? Hum, he's been in your head already, I see," Valarie said, taking the CD case and player when Starling handed it to her.

Starling crashed onto the sofa. "Of course. He wastes no time."

"May I ask the question out loud, if we're all being rude?" Etienne wondered.

Valarie shooed the air behind her with a hand. Starling raised a heavy arm, with the same laissez-faire quality.

"You're both in a romantic or sexual relationship with Dr. Boucher?"

"Are we?" asked Starling, her head lolling to one side to look at Valarie, who had just put on a Leo Sayer album. You Make Me Feel Like Dancing came on, and Valarie began swaying with her back to the other women. Starling was a little surprised at the petulance in her own voice.

"Yes," said Valarie.

Starling found herself sitting up. "We are? You are?"

Valarie had turned around and nodded.

Starling looked into the fire. "Oh."

"Does it bother you?" asked Valarie.

"I—No. Maybe. I'm not sure." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Our relationship is finite. And shouldn't be happening in the first place. It's..." she ran a hand through her hair. "It's completely..."

"Completely what?" wondered Valarie.

Starling sighed. "Wrong."

"Why, because he's a bad man?" Etienne asked with a sardonic smile.

"Yes," Starling said, without the same amusement. She looked at Valarie who was still dancing. Valarie was nodding and mouthing I know, I know in a bawdy sort of way. She beckoned Starling with her hands.

"No, you don't know," Starling said. Valarie took her hands and pulled her up.

"Yes, yes I do. He's such a bad, baaad man," Valarie said, her voice so throaty and sensual that it was absurd and funny. Starling didn't exactly smile, but she looked up at the ceiling, exasperated.

"You think he's just some dark mysterious man, but you don't get it. He's worse—"

"Sexy—"

"Than you could possibly imagine. I'm not—"

"Unimaginable naughtiness..."

Etienne was laughing.

"I'm not some girl who likes bad boys, understand?" Starling tried. "He's not a boy. And he's not bad. He's vicious. And he's—"

"A bad, bad man!" Valarie cried, and threw her head back and forth to look like a fake orgasm.

"Goddammit!" Starling yelled back.

Etienne was laughing.

Valarie pulled and pushed Starling's arms two and fro, by her hands. "Leda, I know you know just how deep his dark streak runs. And I know that my ignorance frees me to be more playful about it, but does being gloomy help? I mean, if you're so ashamed and disgusted, why do this to yourself?"

"Because I..."

"...You what?"

"It's not something I can really talk about. But I made a commitment—an obligation that I cannot back out of."

"There," Etienne said, eyeing Valarie.

Valarie let go of Starling's hands in order to retrieve her drink. Starling took the opportunity to let herself fall back onto the couch again, taking up her own drink.

Drink in hand, Valarie stood in the center of the room in front of the fire, taking on a sort of bureaucratic posture. "John draws boundaries with me exactly the same, and it works out fine. Don't let my blips of interrogation confuse you. I can both keep secrets and stay the hell out of them," she said. She took a drink, as she considered something. "What I want to know is this. Is your relationship consensual? If it's a simple matter of unrequited love but you're getting something out of it, that's one thing. But if you're being blackmailed or threatened, that's another. And that's what I want to know."

"It's what we both want to know," Etienne said.

Starling took a long drink until she finished her wine. She took a moment to consult with her body. She found she was not drunk, but beginning to feel well and truly tipsy.

"Do you want another?" asked Etienne. She stood. "I'm getting another."

"Yeah," Starling conceded with a nod.

"Wine?"

"Whiskey. Here's what I'd like to know," Starling began. "If you think that he may be blackmailing me or threatening me, how could you be physical with him?"

"I've slept with worse. It's...What's the English word, Etienne? Compartimenter?"

"Compartmentalize," Etienne said. She handed Starling a glass.

"Thank you. Okay, but why would you do that?" Starling asked. And then:

"Is he paying you!" she cried out.

Etienne and Valarie laughed, and Starling realized she had stood.

"No, no, no," Valarie said. "It's recreational. For me, it's also served me well to make the right kinds of friends. And you wouldn't believe how much men tell you once you've had your legs around them. What? You think he's different, like that?" Valarie asked. Starling slowly sat back down.

"I think you almost have trouble seeing him as a man," Valarie added.

"Maybe," Starling agreed.

"So?" Etienne asked. "Is he threatening you, got something on you?"

"No, it isn't like that. Not exactly. He just promised me something."

"So he's doing something for you, in exchange."

"Sort of. It sounds... It sounds much more prostitutional without the details."

"It's not like I'm judging you," Valarie said.

"He does seem to have a way of getting you to do things," agreed Etienne. "I can't imagine what the details are and I won't ask, but... I believe you, for whatever that's worth."

"Thanks."

"So... Do you enjoy it?" asked Valarie. "Or is it just this horrible thing you have to do sometimes for the greater good? Or, to rule out the between, is it a loathsome thing that you hate to love or love to hate?"

"That about sums it up."

"Which is it? Love to hate or hate to love?"

"Hate to love."

"No romantic feelings? No... love love?"

"I..." Starling sighed and took a drink. "Last year, I felt...Something. I felt affection, or attachment. Something like infatuation. But not as much now."

"Was the last time not sexy?"

"It could've been sexier, yeah. But that's not it. I was, you know, thinking about him a lot. Like you do..."

They both hummed and nodded.

"And then, I just sort of went numb. I haven't really been enthusiastic, or terrified, or horny or anything. And not entirely without feeling or anything, it's not to a clinical degree, I don't think. Just...Blah."

"You told him about it?" asked Valarie.

Starling nodded.

"What did he say?"

"He suggested that I was disturbed by the feelings I had for him, and it caused me to shut down."

"Do you think that's true?"

Starling sniffed her whiskey for a moment before taking a sip. "Yeah. Probably."

The women fell silent for a few moments, the way mourners do after a eulogy.

"So what are you going to do?" asked Etienne.

"Nothing," Starling shrugged. "I'm going to fulfill my obligation. When it's over, I'll pick up the pieces."

"So you're just going to let yourself be numb for the duration? How long is this contract of yours?"

"Four more years."

"That's a long time to feel nothing. It can't be good for you."

"Neither can letting myself fall to pieces."

Valarie had been thinking with her glass pressed to her lips, but she took a sharp inhale. "That's an insult to yourself."

"What? Why?" asked Starling.

"What, do you think you can't handle it? Are you going to compliment him with the assumption that he can just consume you so easily? Leda, I'm not a scholar, nor is my resume impressive. If I had one. But I do know about navigating strange, contractual relationships of a sexual and romantic persuasion. So consider what I'm about to say.

"You have no idea what you can recover from or cope with. I'm not saying that because I would presume to know you well enough to call you brave or tough or resilient. I'm saying it because it's true of everyone, in varying degrees. Hardly anybody knows themself. People like to say they'd never treat someone with the indignity and callousness of the Nazis, but you know it isn't true of most of them. People like to watch horror movies and critique the panicked choices of the victims. They think a hit to the face is something they could hardly bare. You have no idea. You can take an enormous amount of agony, ecstasy, adventure, and chaos. And you're capable of more love and cruelty than you know. And if you numb yourself to all of it, you're breaking the first covenant you made, the one with humanity. John said you help people. He told me your principles lead you to an absurd level of self-sacrifice, bravery, and benevolence. How do you expect to help people if you're refusing emotions like a petulant child, because the spoonful of honey can sometimes be porridge?"

---

The sun set at 5:53p.m. Dr. Lecter stood a few paces outside his door at six, waving at the guests as they left. Starling leaned against the door and waved too.

"Bonne chance, Leda!" Valarie called.

David was helping his grandmother into the car when she called out:

"Stay mad, Leda! Rage!"

When the last car was heading down the gravel driveway, Dr. Lecter turned to face Starling.

"That wasn't too much of a chore, was it?"

Starling said nothing and headed inside. She didn't say anything after the door was shut. She still didn't speak as she went through the sitting room and grabbed her drink and the bottle of whiskey. She headed down the hall, through the kitchen, and back out to the patio. She sat down in Mitzy's seat. Dr. Lecter appeared after a few minutes. He stood quietly by the door, hands at his sides.

"Was this her idea?" Starling asked.

"Yes."

"And the other guests, just a pretense? So she could meet me?"

"Yes."

"She wanted to meet me. And so you arranged it."

"Yes."

Starling gazed off toward the gardens.

"Clarice, did she say something rude to you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't bother me the way it bothers you. And her intentions weren't rude. They were just...Honest."

"What did she say that upset you?"

She looked at him. "What do you think?"

"You'll have to tell me."

"She told me that the two of you are in a sexual relationship." Starling sipped her drink, and sniffed. "Is it true?"

Dr. Lecter came forward a bit, but his posture didn't change. She could see him better, if she chose to look at him. "Yes."

Starling had become good enough at measuring her own feelings or lack thereof to know she suddenly found herself in an internal battle. There was a vast sky within her that was flat, thick, and grey. But something growled and grunted above. It was the unsettling roar of a distant creature in a quiet jungle. Unseen. Feral. Indeterminable size. Something with teeth.

She didn't want to find that creature. She didn't want to see what lurked above the flat grey sky of her heart. She did not want to look at Dr. Lecter or speak. She recognized the flight or fight response, recognized that in the simplest version of things, she battled between the two. She'd rather run. Why do we run? When do we run? We run when we think there's a chance we'll lose the fight.

"Are you all right, Clarice?" His voice was gentle with caution, and the note of something else. She tried to place it, as she sat looking into the darkening gardens, the rim of the glass pressed to her lips. What was it? Was there a word for that note in his voice? The words dropped into her mind like a coin into an offering plate. It was the hopeful anticipation of something.

"I appear to be," she answered.

"Appearances are deceiving. Is lupus presenting as hives?"

"On the whole, yes."

"Then you're not all right." He took a seat at the end of the table. "How are you feeling, Clarice?"

"I don't want to talk to you, right now."

"So you're angry. Angry with me. That's progress. Now, tell me why you're angry with me."

"For putting me in this position."

"What position?"

"You know what position."

"I don't know how you would describe it. I need you to tell me what's happening to you."

"You have forced me into this covenant. You have held the world hostage, and made me your whore. And not only that, you've made a fool out of me."

"What has made you feel foolish? Don't be offended by my line of questioning. I need to keep you talking, right now."

"Why? Is that best for my therapy?"

"I'm not any more your therapist than you are my savior. Our respective talents will naturally come up from time to time. But I do not consider myself your therapist. If I was, I would've put you into deep hypnosis under the influence of hypnotics years ago to make fast work of it. I am your confidante and friend, regardless of how either of us feels about that."

"Would you deny that you have taken action and influenced me with the goal of making me feel something for you?"

"Have I made an attempt to help you find feelings for me besides loathing, fear, and awe? Yes, Clarice. Of course I have."

"Have you done things to make me have..." She didn't want to say it. "Have you tried to make me have feelings for you. Sexual and romantic feelings."

"Yes. But you already had sexual feelings for me."

"But you wanted more. Once you saw a potential toy, you wanted more."

"Yes, I did. I still do."

"So you've done everything in your power to make me have romantic feelings for you, so that—"

"I have not come close to doing everything in my power."

Starling swallowed, and took a sip of her drink. She was getting very tipsy. "You've done things to make me have romantic feelings for you, and encouraged the sexual ones, for your own pleasure."

"Yes."

"And, so that you could feel a sense of ownership of me, you insisted my celibacy for the duration of this freak show. And now you're fucking someone else to your heart's content."

Lecter noted her misunderstanding of the celibacy clause. She wasn't wrong, but a sense of ownership was only a delicious side dish to his purposes. Her misunderstanding was fortuitous, and he ignored it for the time being. Instead, he asked:

"Are you saying you're jealous?"

Starling's jaw clenched but she didn't say anything.

"Are you jealous, Clarice?"

"Would you be? If I had a relationship with someone else?"

"Of course."

"Really."

"Surely that's not a shock. Yes, I would be jealous. I would be so jealous I could hardly breath."

Starling's eyes flitted to his.

"I would be jealous in ways I'm not sure you could ever be," he went on. "If you were with someone else, it would be because you did so of your own accord. It would be because you chose him." He crossed his leg and leaned back. "I was jealous of a child, last year. A child that has nothing over me, a child I could end without witness in a crowded street without a getting my knife wet. A child you didn't even love and never would have. Because he had the one thing I cannot have."

"Is that why you did it? To get back at me?"

"No. I did it because from time to time, in the right light and the right angle, she looks like you. And she says things that remind me of you. And I can take her in my arms and taste her and touch her and fuck her and listen to her moan and cry and mewl and pretend it's you."

Starling registered that she'd stood. She'd knocked over her chair in the process. Dr. Lecter's hands were braced on the chair arms and he was looking up at her. Looking up at her and rising. Rising very slowly. She'd never seen him look this way. He was not afraid. No, that wasn't it. But with his eyes dilated and fixed on her, rising slowly, she could see he was ready and braced for anything. What must she look like? She couldn't be bothered to wonder long.

"Are...Do you think you're in love with me? Is that it?" she asked.

"I think that I long for you. I think my longing is so extraordinarily acute now, that I've had to learn to control a new emotion. I think that if you asked me, I would do nearly anything if it meant I could have you."

They stood very close now. Dr. Lecter studied Starling's pink face. Something large and hidden was moving behind her eyes.

"That doesn't sound like love. It's too selfish. It sounds like infatuation."

"Well, I'd be the first to contest that I love anyone."

"I'm glad you haven't completely lost your mind. And don't say you'd do anything to have me. We both know that isn't true."

"I quit killing for you."

"Am I supposed to swoon over that?" Starling sneered. "Am I supposed to be impressed? Incredible, he's quit murdering people for me. What a man!"

When he abruptly took her wrists she looked at him outraged. Then she realized she was holding a knife.

Beats of silence.

"When did I..."

"A few moments ago," He answered. He let one of her wrists go. When he put a hand on the knife, she let him take it. "Clarice..." He looked at the knife for a moment, before setting it down. "...I think it might be very prudent to no longer stifle your emotions."

"I didn't think I was that angry. I don't even feel that mad. Not enough to hurt you. I—"

"It's all right, Clarice."

"I didn't think—" she had started crying, but she knew her face had not distorted, nor her voice. She only felt tears, one hot tear from each eye, spill down her cheeks.

"That's all right. It's fine, Clarice." He stroked her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"I've already told you it's all right."

"How can it be all right that I was about to unconsciously attack you with a knife, Dr. Lecter? That's not all right."

"You could do a lot more to me and maintain my favor."

She shook her head. "It shouldn't be all right. I need it to not be all right."

When she gripped his shoulders, he gripped hers.

"Tell me it's not okay. Tell me, please," she said.

"You are not okay. But it's all right to not be okay, Clarice."

"No, it isn't. I need to be okay. I can't be unpredictable and dangerous. People depend on me. My job depends on my stability."

"Yes. But not here. Here, you do not need to be predictable, or safe, or stable. Here, you can be whatever you need to be. There is room for all of you. Miles and miles and miles."

Her forehead pressed into his chest and he embraced her. Her shoulders didn't shake and she didn't hiccup or sob. She only stood still, feeling tears fall one after the other onto her stiff face. She stood there and just felt it leak out of her, and watched herself get weaker. After a few minutes she pulled back.

"Why am I not..." she wiped her tears and shook her head, "I don't know, having a big meltdown or something? If I've just been suppressing all this for a year, shouldn't there be a backlog?"

"Yes, but it doesn't necessarily all come out at once. It will take some time to right yourself. You've built up a habit, and habits are not erased in an instant by willpower, or even a great event."

Starling was thinking. "Dr. Lecter."

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need you to help me. I know there's not much time but we have tonight, all day tomorrow, tomorrow night, and Sunday morning. And we don't, you know...until tomorrow night. I'm not asking for a miracle or anything. But you can get me well enough that I'm safe to do my job? Safe enough to carry a firearm and make hard decisions."

"Yes. It would be my pleasure to help, Clarice. I'm glad you asked."

She smiled a little. "It wasn't easy."

"I didn't expect so."

"Proud?" she said dryly.

"No. To be proud would suggest I take responsibility for your good decisions. I am not responsible."

She looked at him with an expression he found hard to define. He supposed it was an expression of surprised gratitude, but there was something more profound about it than that.

You need to be a different kind of man for her, Valarie had said.

Starling was trying to straighten herself up and she smiled without humor. "I am so tired of crying in front of you."

"Do you think it bothers me?"

She looked at him. His presence was always so vastly calm. And those eyes, always endless. "No. It doesn't, does it?"

"No. Would you come inside? I'll take you back to the fire. You can wait there while I get cleaned up."

"I don't suppose I could help."

"You could, but I'd rather you take a few minutes to relax."

She nodded, and let him lead her back to the sitting room. She hadn't realized she was shivering until she felt the warmth from the fire.

"I didn't realize I was shaking like this," she said.

"Some of it is emotional, but it was getting chilly. Clarice, would you like some music?"

She nodded, feeling like a child. All that was missing was a blanket and a box of animal cookies.

"Dr. Lecter?"

"Yes?"

"Does it not...I don't know, strike you as unattractive to see me in my weakest moments?"

"No. It would strike me as unattractive if you milked pity. I also don't see these moments as weakness. I see them as revelatory, and the privilege to witness them and be a part of it is exciting."

"Hmm."

"Does that make you feel like a specimen?"

"I'm not sure."

"It shouldn't," he said, with a casual dash of his head. "I have found specimens fascinating, but never exciting. It's exciting with you because I care about the outcome. Because I care about you."

Starling looked away and rubbed her shoulders. "I don't know how to feel about that."

"That's all right. You don't have to know. I only ask that you let yourself feel it. And if you want to talk with me about it, we can do that."

Dr. Lecter wanted to touch her. He wanted to touch Clarice Starling and in his mind, thoughts struck at once, fast and sharp as a whip's crack—

Mon Dieu Heiligen Gott Brangus diev My God, I want to touch her!

Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm going to leave you for a few minutes, now. Do you need anything?"

"No. Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

When he returned, she was still nursing her drink and listening to one of Valarie's CDs.

"I like this. Who is this?"

"I'm not sure." He came to stand behind the sofa, where she was curled up with her feet tucked in. She had to turn her neck to its full extent to look up at him.

"You don't know something?"

Dr. Lecter smiled and put out his hand. She looked at it before seeing he was waiting for her hand.

"Did I give the impression I knew everything?" He kissed her knuckles. "There's too much information in the world for me to know everything. And too much information I'm not interested in knowing."

"Like the names of French rock stars?"

Dr. Lecter released her hand and came around the sofa. Starling set down her drink and looked up at him again. She was drunk.

"You are damn imposing."

"Imposing. It wasn't my intention."

"Sure it is. It's just habit now, maybe? Or it's both. It's the habit of being imposing and the nature of it. Your nature. You're like..." She held up her hands in a grand gesture. "One of those towering, stern statues of historical figures."

"You have a certain level of celebrity, yourself."

"I'd say legend is more accurate for you. But it's more than that. You're so...Massive. You're massive and grand and imposing and noble and frightening. I think on some level I'm always amazed when you're looking at me. Amazed that you are looking at me."

"You're drunk."

"Will I be penalized?"

Dr. Lecter gestured with his hand. Starling smiled and held out her hand, and he tapped her knuckles.

"Bad girl," he offered. "Actually, it's quite convenient for me. Let's have a little talk before getting you to bed," he said.

"Bed? I'm not going to bed. It's not even nine-thirty. You gave me a wrist slap. No early curfews." She looked at him. "I need you this time, Dr. Lecter. I need everything you've got, because my head fuckery requires heavy lifting. You have work to do."

"I won't force you to bed, but if you fall asleep in your own saliva down here, don't ask me to carry you up."

Starling turned so she could lean back against the sofa arm and put her feet up.

"Shoes off my sofa, you hayseed. I'm going to change the music, now."

Starling toed off her shoes while he rifled through his records. "You'll carry me," she said, tucking her socks into her shoes before reclining again.

He selected Schumann, and took a moment with his back to Starling, his eyes closed, one relaxed hand in the air to conduct along with Kinderszsen. At length:

"I didn't say I wouldn't. I said, 'don't ask'". He turned around.

"You're doing it again. Imposing."

He came forward, and looked down at her. "And now?"

She nodded, peering up at him. "Don't be intimidating tonight. I'm too tired and drunk to act accordingly."

"I'm not trying to be intimidating."

"You're standing over me and razorblading into my soul with your goddamn Lecter eyes."

"I'm curious what it means to you to 'act accordingly' to intimidation, Clarice."

"Scared proper and cautious."

"Excellent. It's as I said. Convenient." He took her ankles with the care of an eggshell painter. She watched him sit. Her toes grazed his pant leg.

"Convenient that I'm not cautious with you, tonight," she sighed. "Can't be good."

"It is good. I don't want to get started until tomorrow, so tonight I'd just like to do a bit of preliminary talk before I begin a serious session. In a compliant and malleable state, I can make better progress with you. Would that be all right?"

"I wonder when you'll need me for surveillance or firing range practice. A little reciprocated need would be just great."

"You never know."

"No, you never do," she said, and smiled at him. Dr. Lecter let himself be lost for a moment, in her good humor and camaraderie.

"Tell me. Are you still angry with me?"

"For cheatin'? Yeah."

"Cheating would imply an agreed upon exclusive romantic relationship. Was that your expectation?"

"No, of course not."

"When we drew up the contract, I made your exclusivity to me a non-negotiable term. You were not pleased, but you agreed. Did it not occur to you to place the same requirement upon me?"

"No. It really didn't."

"My guess is you did not, because it wasn't something you wanted or thought you'd ever want."

"It's not even that overt, to be honest. There wasn't a trace of the thought in my mind."

"And so it indicates to me that when we created the terms, your feelings for me were rigidly confined to their original form. Loathing, fear, and awe. With only the vaguest, suppressed sexual attraction for me. Beyond that, your only drive, your only motivation of the night was to protect your own rights, and get out of the house and away from me safely. Is that fair?"

"Yes, I think so. The only thing I'd contest is that I've ever loathed you. I've never loathed you."

"Hmm. Never, Clarice? You've given me some very acidic looks. Not that I don't treasure them—they're some of the most passionate ones I've been given."

"Well..." she moved her head back and forth and pursed her lips. "Maybe here and there. It's not a common feeling I have for you. You could say I loathe the crimes you've committed, but I tend to separate peoples' actions from the people."

"You shouldn't. Actions are the best indicator of a persons' character. It isn't a perfect indication, but it's the most reliable. Far more reliable than words and expressions or body language. That's how con men succeed. Of false prophets, Christ tells us, 'You will know them by their fruits'. And quite right. A tree may look healthy, but there's no way to know if the fruit it bares is good until you taste it."

"So then, you would advise me to pay attention to your actions. More than your words."

"Yes, I would."

"Then you are a monster."

"Yes."

"I couldn't have known. Gadzooks."

"So," Lecter continued, giving her knee a pat, "my toothsome hayseed, your feelings about my unfaithfulness are new. I'd like to know if you want to amend the contract. Of course if you did that, it would not only require you to admit feelings for me, but it would require you to put it down in writing. Egad."

"If you want my feelings for you to grow, don't you think you really ought to quit trying to point out your evilness?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't want you to fall in love with a false prophet. I would pluck you, I would confine you to my microcosm. I would adulterate you with my hands and mouth and mind for my own pleasure and never, never release you. I would invade you as much as you would permit me. But what I will not do, is have you falsely."

"Aye me, Romeo."

"Would you like to amend the contract?"

"I don't know. How many women do you plan on fucking?"

"I don't plan it at all."

"Two, twelve, a hundred..."

"Are you rooting your agent's snout around that answer so you can measure the amount of pain you're willing to take? You could amend the contract, and save yourself the pain."

"If I amend the contract, will you quit seeing her?"

"Sexually, yes."

"You would stop."

"Yes, I would. I take our covenant with the utmost seriousness. So do you. We must."

"Would it hurt you to stop?"

"It would displease me intensely. I have found something new in the world that I want, and I want it more feverishly and belligerently by the day. While I cannot have it, I can have the illusion of it. You would be removing the illusion."

"I think the word you're looking for is obsessively. And forgive me for not feeling sorry for you."

"I told you, I have no interest in pity, I never have. Not in giving or receiving it. I answered your question. And is the question of my pain relevant? If it is, I do wonder. Is it because you'd like to save me from pain or because you'd like to inflict it?"

"If I'm honest, I think it's kind of both. Is that possible?"

"What does your intellect tell you? Your experience?"

"That it is possible."

"Then, what will it be? Your pain or mine. We explored that last time. Which would you rather?"

"Yours."

Dr. Lecter smiled with his head to one side. "A quick answer, from my intoxicated beloved. So, shall I get the contract?"

"You shall."

"Excellent. Why don't you come upstairs? It's in my study and we can use the desk, there."

When they were in the study, Starling leaned over Dr. Lecter where he sat at the desk. He held a pen in his hand.

"How shall I write it down? Give me the wording."

Her eyes flitted over the page. "Let me see page two. Yes, right here. Put it here," she tapped the paper. "Just after this part. And put it in the same terms you used for me."

Dr. Lecter, with the pen poised over the paper, took a moment to concede the new term, privately. Then, with a nod, put the pen to the paper. He initialed next to the amendment, then handed her the pen. She put her own initials next to his, then gave him back the pen.

"There," he said, momentarily. "It's done."

He turned in the chair to face her. "An exchange of pain. How does that suit you?"

"It suits me well. I think it's about time."

"I'm glad you see it that way. More and more, I hope you have an understanding of your place in the world, and what it owes you."

"I don't think it owes me a damn thing. But sometimes, I can take things."

Dr. Lecter's smile was wide and Starling smiled in kind without noticing. "Very, very good," he said.

"Dr. Lecter, I'd like to ask you something. You said I should watch your actions. And I try to, but you're very sly. So I have to ask you. Can I trust you to be honest?"

"You can trust me not to lie."

"A great example of your careful choice of wording. An excellent example of the breadcrumbs you leave me to 'stalk some little answer', as you once said."

"Umm."

The way he was looking at her, his eyes passing over her body and face, casual in pace but intense in fixation, made her warm. It made her warm and uncomfortable and tingling. She tried to ignore it.

"Was there purpose in your actions to bring this about?" she asked.

"Help yourself by being more specific."

"My confession of jealousy, amending the contract..."

"No."

"Just no?"

"Just no. But once I saw that you were jealous, I thought it fair to bring up the contract, so that you'd have the opportunity to do something about it besides stab me with a knife."

Starling snorted, then nodded. "Okay, then. Second question. Why do you want to wait until tomorrow for a session with me?"

"Because of the alcohol in your system. It would interfere."

Starling hummed. "Will it be enough time? I cannot go back to work in this state."

"You could always stay with me and never return."

She gave him a look.

"I just want you to know all your options."

"Will it be enough time?"

"Yes, I believe so. More would always be better, but I can help you a good deal in a twenty-four hour period, if—"

"Good."

"...If you trust me."

Starling didn't acknowledge his final words. She was staring forward. "What do we do now? It's..." she looked at her watch, "Still only nine-thirty."

"Would you like any time to yourself? It's been a long day. And a long night, and a long day and night before that."

Starling was nodding, as he spoke. "Yeah, that might be good. Although to be honest, I'm not in much of a 'sit quietly and poetically by a window' mood." She put her hands on her hips. "It'd be nice to just zone out watching a movie, or something."

"I have a television."

She eyed him. "Do you have movies? Like a person?"

Dr. Lecter abruptly captured her wrist in a fast, steely grip. It startled her so much that the sound she made in response was something she only acknowledged in the unhappy seconds afterward. She rolled her eyes when he looked up at her with amusement. When she twisted out of his grip, he seized her side with the other hand, and squeezed, releasing another sound from her.

"Stop it."

"Yes, I own movies. Like a person." He reached for her side again but she moved. Starling, flushed in the face, ran a hand through her hair. Looking at her, Dr. Lecter could that see she was on the verge of doing something to him. Her body language was braced, her hands and eyes shifty. Her expression hinted at playfulness, and he readied himself.

When she lunged for him, he stood and grabbed her wrists. When one of her wrists slipped out of his grip he turned her around fast and hard, and she clapped against his chest. She tried to get at his hair with her loose hand. With the trapped arm he held behind her back, it was hard to turn or reach at the hard angle. He pressed her into him with another arm around her waist and she bent forward, leaned back, stepped on his foot, and finally struck him near the groin. It elicited a small grunt and she pulled. When that wasn't getting her anywhere, she bucked and bucked, in hopes of getting his hand close to her face. When his forearm appeared around her chest, she bit him.

Dr. Lecter closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. The feeling her mouth and teeth on him was wholly charming. He let her bite him for awhile, before releasing her arm and giving her a push. She stumbled forward and when she turned around, she took on an ironically cool and calm mannerism. She fixed her hair.

"Immature," she said, and padded down the hall. Dr. Lecter's laugh made Starling smile with her tongue between her teeth. She returned a few moments later. Still with a self-deprecating sense of humor, she leaned against the wall. In a mock come-hither tone, she said, "I don't know where the television is."

Dr. Lecter was still smiling. "Allow me, Madam," he said, standing.

The TV was in the next room on a cabinet with caster wheels. After a short debate, they decided to bring it into the library where there was a comfortable chesterfield.

'Can I light that fireplace?" Starling asked, while Dr. Lecter busied himself with the wires.

"Be my guest. It's gas. There's a utility lighter inside the wood storage box on top of the mantle."

While Starling was getting the fire started, she asked him what movies he owned. He started listing some, and Starling snorted.

"Do you have anything that isn't a deep foreign film about war-torn something-land?"

"Your ignorance of good films is showing. Fanny and Alexander is not like that. Neither is A Nos Amours, Jean de Florette, or Manon des Sources. If you want something in English, A Room with a View or The African Queen might be to your liking. I, myself, am a particular fan of Manon des Sources, and Fanny and Alexander. The former is in French, the latter is primarily in Swedish and English."

"What's Fanny and Alexander? Why do you like it?"

"I like it because it's cruel and moving. It's about two children who must go to live in the bleak and joyless home of the bishop their mother marries after their father dies. The bishop becomes increasingly controlling and abusive, but relatives make a valiant attempt to help them."

"And Manon des Sources? What is it about and why do you like it?"

"Manon des Sources, umm. It's beautifully shot. And the combination of tragedy and dark eroticism is a delight. It's about a beautiful young shepherdess who plots revenge on two farmers who ruined her father. But it follows Jean de Florette."

"Oh, it's a sequal?"

"Yes." Dr. Lecter was testing the TV. "It's ready. If none of those interest you, you're welcome to peruse what I have. Admittedly, my collection is not extensive."

"Are the two French movies long?"

"Fairly, yes."

"Let's watch them both."

"And if you fall asleep?"

Starling finished with the fire and shrugged.

"Fine. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a blanket?"

"Yes, thank you."

When he returned, and Starling was comfortable with the fire blazing and a blanket, she looked up at him when he handed her the remote. "Are you going?"

"I thought you wanted some time alone."

"What I said was, 'let's watch them.'"

Lecter smiled.

Starling made it through the first film, and an intermission between the two films, which took place in the kitchen, eating stuffed dates and blueberries. She made it all the way to the last forty minutes of the second film, and then she was asleep.

---

Starling woke late. By the time she'd showered, dressed, and made her way downstairs it was nearly noon. She found Dr. Lecter in the kitchen. His back was to her, making sandwiches.

"Good morning," he said, without looking up.

"Good morning." She found a glass in a cabinet and filled it up at the tap. After she'd taken several good swallows, she cleared her throat. "Sorry for sleeping so late."

"Not at all."

Her eyes were drifting around the room absently, and landed on the trash bin. It had food in it. Bread rolls with jam, eggs and ham. She approached the coffee machine. It wasn't on, but a cup was sitting there, full and cold. She suddenly felt one of the slickest, most dirty pits of sad compassion she'd ever felt. He'd made breakfast and coffee for her. He'd waited for her. She did not pity him; it wasn't pity. It was a hard, bare, clammy slap of compassion. She turned to look at him. His back was still to her, making what she could only assume were sandwiches at the gourmet level.

"You made breakfast for me."

"I did. But Cerberus feasted like a king, instead. The rest went in the garbage."

She took a few measured steps closer, until the kitchen island was no longer between them. She knew some of it was the deliberate tenderness of his behavior, words, and touch since she'd come. Watching the movies the night before had endured her to him too. She was vigilant of that. Even still, looking at the clean planes of his back with his crisp collar, the little hairs on his arms lit by the late morning sun, she wanted to hug him. She wanted press her cheek into his back and put her arms around his waist and thank him. Why was such a simple act suddenly so precious to her? Was it that it had been wasted? As she questioned herself, it registered to her that she'd moved in close to him, and he looked at her from over his shoulder.

"What are you up to, back there?" he asked. She could hear a smile in his voice. He turned back to his task, his shoulders moving this way and that from whatever he was doing. "I hope that if you ever decide to cut me after all, that you put it in my heart from the front, Dear."

Starling's hand reached out and touched him. She said, "Oh," and retracted it. Dr. Lecter's head came up, and his shoulders stopped moving. When he turned around, she'd backed away until she met the edge of the island. He glanced at her hand, and back at her face.

Starling opened her mouth, closed it, then scoffed. "I don't know," she said, as though he'd asked what she'd done or why.

Dr. Lecter's lips were pursed. Then he smiled. "Well, at least this time, it was an act of affection, rather than violence."

Starling didn't say anything. She was too bewildered by her body's apparently separate mind to be embarrassed, but she looked away.

Dr. Lecter clapped his hands together. "Now, then. Are you ready for something to eat?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

After he'd set the table and they'd tucked it, Starling looked at Dr. Lecter. When he looked at her, her mouth was full, but she smiled anyway. Dr. Lecter's eyes sparked with either joy or fascination. She swallowed.

"Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

Her words were so earnest, Dr. Lecter set down his sandwich, wiped his face and hands with a cloth napkin, and stood. With a flourish of his hand:

"You're very welcome, Clarice. It's always my pleasure to feed you." Then he offered his hand. She stood and placed her own in his. He brought it to his lips. When they'd sat back down:

"Don't worry about breakfast. It's an occasional hazard of planning and preparation."

"All right."

He looked at her. "I mean it Clarice," he said, with a dash of his head. "Let it go. Whatever heart-warming or wrenching emotion has gripped you, you can discard it now. That is, if it's causing you pain. You've acknowledged it, I've acknowledged it. Now give yourself permission to let it go."

She nodded. "I will."

"And that," he said, eyebrows raised, "is what I can help you learn to do. These feelings you have that you'd prefer not to have, be they rage, fear, affection, or arousal, they need admittance in order to depart. You understand? So, you let the feeling come, say hello, and then goodbye, at the appropriate times. You can do that."

She nodded. "I'd like to. I only..."

Dr. Lecter was chewing and had to wait.

"There's certain feelings that I..." She sighed. "If I can hardly say things out loud, how am I ever going to permit them entry? And anyway, my point is that if I do succeed in giving them admittance, what if I can't get them to leave?"

Dr. Lecter nodded. "That's a reasonable fear. How you arrived there is what's incorrect. Let me put it this way. The feelings are already inside. They've been living in the walls of your house like squatters. What you need to do is offer them a lease. Make it official, get their filth off the walls, and out into the open. Then, and only then, do you have the freedom to set the terms of their eviction."

"I see."

"Do you? These abhorrent feelings—you already have them. What you don't have is control over them. Clarice?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me the feelings that you're most worried about."

"I'm worried about all of them."

"Don't waste time."

She took a steady breath and looked down at her plate. "I'm worried about my feelings for you. If I bring them to the surface, won't I..."

"You're afraid you'll act on them."

She nodded. They focused on eating after that, but when they'd cleaned up and gone out into the garden with Cerberus, the conversation resumed.

"Clarice, when you were angry, what did your body do?"

"It picked up a knife."

"Yes, and then this morning? When you were feeling some swell of your heart? What did it do."

"It touched you."

"And what do you suppose your body had planned, in those instances?"

"Apparently to stab you, in the first. With touching you, I know what it was."

"Ah. You observed yourself in the moment, that's excellent. That's not something most people do. That takes practice. Is that something you've made a habit of?"

"Yes, I have."

"That's very wise. You're very quick, Clarice, I always know," he said. When she glanced at him he gave her a wink. "So what was it?"

"A hug."

"I loath that it was interrupted. So we have an act of violence and an act of tenderness. Those are on opposite ends of the spectrum, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes."

"Their common denominator is intent to action. So it follows that if you are experiencing a repressed emotion—in this instance, a manifestation of a repressed emotion—that your body may act on that intent, regardless of your conscious consent. Do you agree on the pattern?"

"Yes."

"So if you're worried you'll act on your feelings for me, shouldn't you be more worried about a manifestation of the repressed feeling, rather than the alternative?"

Starling came to a stop. He'd led them to a vine-covered arbor, and they sat down on the bench inside. The view was of a pond, chirping with frogs. Cerberus barked. Dr. Lecter took a ball out of a plastic baggie, along with travel size wet wipes. He took the ball out of the baggie and threw it.

"Wait."

Cerberus waited.

It landed in the banks of the pond.

"Retrieve."

Cerberus took off. He hesitated at the bank, whining, and began barking at it.

"So...Do you believe that if I face these feelings, or admit them into my conscious mind, I'll have more control over them?"

"Oh, yes."

"Now, how could you possibly want that?" she joked.

"I not only want it, I require it." He looked at her. There was a piece of a leaf in her hair and he removed it. "I don't want some unwilled, compulsory accident. I want a conscious, deliberate plunge."

Starling ignored the stirring that caused, and where it was currently manifesting. "So you're so confident, that you're going to purposefully make it harder for me to betray myself."

"I wouldn't say confident. I would say optimistic."

Starling shook her head. "God, you really are truly evil. I'm serious. What you're talking about is pure evil. Like the devil wants us to fall. Wants to corrupt us. Deeply and irrevocably."

"You're getting it."

Cerberus had finally splashed into the water and victoriously retrieved the ball.

Starling could only shake her head again, still reeling from what Lecter had said. She needed to change the subject. Her palms were getting clammy. She wondered if some repressed fear or anxiety was gnawing somewhere in her walls. "What are the wet wipes for?"

"Oh, you'll see."

Cerberus came bounding up, ball in his jaws.

"Drop."

He dropped it.

"Sit."

He sat. Dr. Lecter picked it up and threw it.

"Wait."

Thirty seconds passed.

"Retrieve."

And off Cerberus went. Dr. Lecter held up his hand, slimy and covered in blades of grass. Starling smiled.

"Clarice, since you slept in, I'd really like to get started as soon as possible. Really, we're only going to have time for one session."

She sighed. "That doesn't seem like enough."

Dr. Lecter took her chin. When he did that, she always felt so completely speared, and her skin felt too sensitive. Speared as she was, her eyes were locked by his.

"I can do more than you ever knew. However much access you grant me is how much influence I have. So when we do this, you'll need to trust me." He released her chin. "Now. Let's head back. I'll have some things to prepare. Just meet me in my bedroom in no more than fifteen minutes."

---

When Starling entered his bedroom, there was music playing. Dr. Lecter had his back to her once again, facing the desk. She couldn't see what his hands were busy with.

"Is what I'm wearing all right?"

He looked up to see her reflection in the mirror above the desk. "Why don't you get into something more comfortable. And easy to remove."

Starling's arms unconsciously rose to cover herself. She held her elbows. "Why easier to remove? We're not going to be doing anything, ah, intimate, until sundown. Right?"

"Of course. That's part of the covenant. But there will be a seamless transition."

"I see."

She rifled through her closet and picked out one of the tops and bottoms she'd brought for sleep. When she returned, Dr. Lecter was sitting in the corner of the room, a leg crossing the other, his hands folded over his knee. Starling looked down. She wore navy cotton shorts and a matching cotton top with buttons. Beneath, she wore no bra, but she didn't muster the chutzpah to go commando. He'd just have to take them off, when it came time for...That.

"This okay?" she asked.

"Perfect. Please," he said, standing and gesturing to the bed.

"Why the bed?" she wondered, taking a seat on the edge.

"I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I'd like you to begin by lying down. You don't have to stay that way."

Dr. Lecter arranged a few pillows behind her, and helped her lie back. "How is that?"

She folded her hands over her middle. "Fine."

He took a seat in the chair in the corner. "Can you look at me easily enough, from where you are?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't strain your neck or your eyes?"

"Not at all. I'm very comfortable."

"Good." He stood again, and went to the desk. He was doing something with his hands again.

"When we begin, you may have moments of panic. Know that you are not in danger. You are perfectly safe. I'll remind you throughout the session, if necessary. If you do feel panic at the start, it won't last. Remember that."

He turned and approached her with a syringe. She sat up on her elbows.

"Wait," she said, and he put up a calm hand.

"It's all right, Clarice."

"What is that?"

Dr. Lecter sat on the edge of the bed, and Starling pulled her feet up, protectively.

"It's something to help you go deep into a trance state. If you want fast work, Clarice, we have to use unorthodox means."

"Is it illegal?"

"Remember when I told you you'll need to trust me?"

"Dr. Lecter—I'm scared."

"I know you are. I will not harm you in any way."

"Dr. Lecter...Will you only do for me what we agreed on? Help me with the repression problem?"

"Yes. Only that."

"You won't do anything else. No planting little seeds you want to grow. No meddling I haven't consented to."

"Absolutely not."

She was still frowning, when he lifted her arm. When he brought the fine needle close to her arm, he paused, poised over her skin, and looked up at her with his eyes only.

"Do you trust me, Clarice?"

"Kind of. Almost. I don't know."

"Are you willing to allow me the opportunity to earn your trust?"

Starling swallowed. "Yes. Yes, I am."

He smiled. "Thank you, Clarice."

After the faint sting of the needle, Starling watched Dr. Lecter return to his chair. He resumed his original position, clasping his knee. They began talking.

First, they talked about banal things; easy, pleasant things. Some time during this chat, Starling began to feel the effects of whatever he'd given her. She wasn't sure if it was a few minutes or longer. She acknowledged the time distortion, felt her mind trying to maintain control over things. During that fight for control, she began not answering Dr. Lecter's prompts, and getting confused.

Her skin felt different. She couldn't quite put a finger on what it was. Words were not coming easily to her, and it made her anxious.

"Dr. Lecter..." she began, at one point. His voice became so calm, so steady, so soft and measured in cadence. And she knew that voice and what it was for. She thought of his other patients. Thought of the damage he could do, and thought of Miggs. Whispering all night.

"Just breath," he was saying. "Breath through it, Clarice."

And she did. It was all there was to do. Dr. Lecter let her wrestle with the drugs very briefly, before he saw she was not going to stop.

"Clarice, are you listening to me?"

She nodded, somewhere in time. The music was off. She didn't know when that had happened. How long had the music been off? How long had it been since he'd injected her? How long had it been since he'd asked a question? What was that question?

"Now, it's time for you to hear my voice. Only my voice."

Starling's chest was rising and falling, and she felt something cold and hard on her arm. She looked down, saw her hand squeezing it. She looked up at the ceiling, her feet tensed, toes curling.

"My skin..." she said.

"I know. But it's all okay. Your skin is all right. Your body is safe. Your mind is safe. And now, it's time to let go."

Starling looked down at her arm and let go of it.

"Let go, Clarice."

Let go? She felt like there was an endless pit lying beneath the slippery grip of her control. A pit she could never climb back out of. And what would happen to her body? She'd leave her body behind with him.

"Let go."

She let go in pieces. It felt like a long war with many battles. And always, his voice was there in the dark.

"Look up at the light reflecting on the pendant above. That's right. Look at the warm little light, and listen to my voice."

She looked at the light and listened to his voice. She felt that sometimes, bits of her fell away when she was off thinking of something else. It felt as though she'd been gone a long time, and when she returned, something else had been lost. Her mouth felt dry. She brought her attention to it and realized it was because she was breathing with her mouth open. She closed it and swallowed.

"Focus on the light, and my voice, Clarice."

She felt just slightly nauseous and her skin felt wet. Wet beneath the skin.

"Let go. I'll take care of you, Clarice. Let go, and let me care for you now."

By that point, it felt so long ago that they'd been chatting, that the sound of Lecter's voice began to feel like an old friend that had gotten her through such an ordeal. She liked the sound of that voice.

"Let me care for you now, Clarice."

And in time, she wanted him to.

---

Starling couldn't always keep track of what she'd said or what they'd discussed. This was by design, so that what was most important to her came up in intervals which reflected their importance. The topics that came to her most frequently were her father's death, a sense of duty to her job, and her feelings about Dr. Lecter. She had complex feelings about all of these topics, which were voiced from looking at them from different perspectives, different parts of Clarice Starling. Sometimes, the Agent Starling spoke about things. Sometimes, the child Starling did. Other times, it was as Mapp's friend. And there were others.

When she spoke of Mapp from the perspective of Mapp's friend, three things stood out to Dr. Lecter. Mapp was a tool of moral measurement to Starling. What could be tolerated by Mapp was tolerable. What was acceptable, was acceptable. What was silly, was silly. The second thing was that when she looked at memories, she did not get bogged down by intellectual analysis, but came to wisdoms at randomized intervals, as the things she discussed came together in a patchwork. The last thing he noticed was the sense of humor she had. Dr. Lecter enjoyed every side of Starling, for different reasons.

When she spoke in her agent voice, she was very analytical and voracious in her momentum. Realizations came sharply into focus in almost rhythmic bursts, like steam from a locomotive. The agility of this machine she'd built was very admirable, to Dr. Lecter.

The child Starling was naive in the way she perceived things, especially little slights on her part, and wounds inflicted by others. The child Starling was incapable of comprehending much that the rest of her could, nor could she cope. But what was locked inside the child's mind was revelatory, in the way that every other part of her looked at the world. The child Starling was absolutely honest. And she longed for love. When she spoke of her father in this voice, she would beam and hold her feet, or cry and hold the hem of her shirt to her face. And it became apparent to Dr. Lecter that the love the child craved was no longer for the father, long dead and in the ground, but for herself. None of the other parts of Starling perceived the child, nor did they always perceive each other. But, he noted, the child perceived all the parts of her. She was also highly opinionated, with an almost incorrigible confidence one moment, and desperately in need of assurance, the next.

There were times when Starling sat up in bed, when she'd come to some realization. Another point in which she came onto her elbows and knees and screamed into the sheets. Another time when she brought her knees to her chest and cried into her arms.

There was a longer period in which Dr. Lecter talked her through a sequence of events, in her mind. Some were the re-writings of events in her head, written in such a way as to satisfy her rage, or her pain. He was careful to remind her that these were intentional rewrites, and not what really happened. But that she could hold onto these new memories, and keep them medicinally.

The longest event was a new memory. It was still carefully categorized as fictional, but beyond that, he encouraged her to feel everything with absolute reality. And this was how Dr. Lecter led the adult Starling down into a dark, empty void, where she encountered the child Starling, who sat alone and small.

"She's crying," he told her. Starling, who wasn't seeing anything but the vision, groaned as tears fell.

"No..." she choked.

"Yes. She's crying because she's all alone."

"Nooo," she sobbed, her voice breaking.

"All alone. Small and helpless and crying and alone."

Starling's face distorted as she cried, slow deep hiccups.

"There's no one there, is there?"

Starling sniffed and choked. "Me..."

"You? Why, that's true, Clarice."

She nodded, her hands gripping her jaw, wet with tears.

"Could you help her? Could you hold her?"

Starling was quiet for a moment, and then sobs pierced through the walls of the house.

"Are you holding her, Clarice?"

Starling could only nod. She was holding herself, and rolled over on her side. Her red, wet face was wrenched, but then her lips parted and her breathing began to change. The sobs quieted, the rocking stopped, the tears slowed. And in time, a soft smile came over her face.

When it was nearly dark, Dr. Lecter gave her one more half-dose. The remainder of her session would see to her repressed emotions regarding him. It would coexist with their night of intimacy, and worked out perfectly. Dr. Lecter cleaned her face, helped her to the restroom, and gave her water. When the drugs began to bring her back into a deeper place again, he took the glass from her and guided her head into his lap, where he caressed her hair for many long minutes. At length:

"I'm going to go take care of things in another room now. I'll be back shortly." He caressed her cheek before leaving her, and his next words were a whisper. "My little doxie."

She only smiled, lost in her euphoria, by then.

---

Translations:

Mon Dieu, Heiligen Gott, and Brangus diev...My God.