Clarice Starling's heart pounded violently in her chest as her trusty Mustang tore down the rural Maryland roads. The winter landscape outside her windows was a blur of gray and white, the trees skeletal against the overcast sky. She had no time, however, to appreciate the stark beauty of the scene. Her mind was laser-focused on her destination—Muskrat Farm.
She had pieced it all together—Mason Verger's sadistic plan to exact his revenge on Hannibal Lecter. The Sardinians, the crude, avaricious men Verger had hired, were undoubtedly preparing to do something unspeakable to Lecter. The thought of Hannibal in their hands made her stomach churn, not out of fear for him, but for what virulent means they would surely employ against him. She couldn't get there soon enough. She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring.
The tires skidded on the icy road as she made the final turn down the access road to the dilapidated barn of Muskrat Farm. She killed the headlights and rolled to a stop about a half mile away, not wanting to give away her position, and pushed open the chain link fence leading to the property. She pulled out her weapon and checked her ammo-sixteen rounds. It would have to be enough.
Quiet as a whisper, she crept towards the barn, the cold biting through her thin, black utility jacket. She heard the muffled sounds of squealing pigs and shouting filtering through the wooden walls of the structure. Her breath was steady, her mind clear. She pressed her back flush against the rough beams of the barn, listening. With slow, deliberate steps, she edged her way around the corner, peering through a gap in the boards.
Inside, she saw Hannibal Lecter, who was bound in a sitting position to a forklift, barefoot and bloodied; his arms attached to a singletree, his shirt charred and torn. The Sards circled him like vultures, brandishing knives and jeering in their native tongue. Mason Verger and his dullard henchmen had underestimated him, Starling realized. They had no idea what he was capable of-but they would soon find out.
Clarice took a deep breath, steadying herself before bursting through the door. "FBI! Drop your weapons!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the cold and cavernous space.
The Sards turned toward the sound, momentarily stunned into a state of inert silence. It was all the opening Starling needed, and she took full advantage, firing at and taking down the nearest man, his body crumpling to the ground. The second man lunged at her, but she smoothly dropped to one knee, firing twice into his chest.
With the two most immediate threats accounted for, Starling turned her attention to the Doctor.
"Good evening, Clarice. So nice to see you." He said with an incongruous pleasantness.
"Dr. Lecter, I'm gonna cut you loose," She said with an authority she didn't necessarily feel, picking up one of the discarded knives on the ground. "But if you fuck with me, I'll shoot you dead. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly."
To Starling, it felt like the whole affair had been over in the space of a mere few heartbeats. The barn was silent save for the quiet breathing of its two remaining occupants and the occasional grunting of the boars.
Clarice turned to Hannibal, her gun still in her hand but lowered, finger resting along the outside of the trigger. "We need to go, now."
He nodded, wiping some of the blood from his face with the back of his hand. "Indeed. But first—" He stopped short, swiftly grabbing her arm and pulling her aside, out of harm's way. He leapt forward at a third assailant who was quietly creeping up behind Starling, intent on taking her hostage at knifepoint. With predatory grace, Hannibal brandished his own knife. He wrapped one arm around the attacker's chest and shoulders, pulling him back against his own body. With practiced efficiency, his other hand drove the blade into the man's throat, slicing deep. Hannibal let the lifeless body drop to the ground and turned to Clarice.
"Ready when you are, Agent Starling." He said, tossing the bloody weapon aside.
"You first," Starling said with both hands wrapped around her gun, nodding her head toward the open barn door.
With a small, amused smile, Hannibal followed her orders.
As they exited the barn, the cold December air whipped against their faces. They stood outside the barn in a thick silence broken only by the faint rustling of leaves. Clarice Starling, her breath visible in the frigid night, looked over at Dr. Hannibal Lecter, in a tattered T-shirt and bare feet.
She couldn't help but notice that even in his disheveled and beaten-up state, the dim moonlight highlighted his striking features, the only indication of the violence that had just transpired being the faint smear of blood on his cheek. He surveyed his surroundings carefully, sniffing the air for anything suspect.
Satisfied there were no additional threats in the immediate vicinity, he allowed his eyes to alight on Clarice's, and he heard her breath hitch, almost imperceptibly. He smiled.
"Well, Agent Starling, what shall we do now?"
"Doctor Lecter," She began, projecting a false bravado, not fooling even herself. "You know as well as I do that I have to take you in."
"Is that so?" He said in the same cheeky tone. "Hmm…No, I don't think I'll take you up on that offer. Rain check?"
Starling shivered. But was it from the cold or something else? She decided this probably wasn't the best time for introspection.
"Yes, Doctor. It's my job to turn you over to the authorities."
Hannibal's lips curled into a slight smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, Clarice, you didn't earnestly believe I would simply hand myself over." A brief pause, and with a quirk of his head. "And furthermore, I don't believe you want to."
Clarice licked her lips, glanced at the barn, and then back to the man stood before her. "Doctor, please—don't make this any harder than it needs to be," she said, her voice steady but uncertain.
He took a step closer, never averting his eyes."Hmm... Yes, I suppose you have your obligations. But tell me, Clarice, what of your desires?" Hannibal's voice was calm, almost gentle, despite the chaos that had just unfolded around them.
She hesitated. He could see the conflicting emotions swirling in her eyes, the war between duty and something far more profound and personal. Clarice knew the answer, of course, even if she was loath to admit it. The idea of turning him in set off a faint roiling in her stomach. It felt wrong. She tried to reason with herself about her motives, but she knew, deep down, why she had come after him.
"I…" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
He took another step closer, all but closing the gap between them. Through all that he'd endured, his carefully crafted, sweet musk still emanated from his skin. Starling held her breath. She had to.
"Let's not be tedious now, Clarice. It's quite cold, and we both know you have no intention of turning me over to the authorities. So, I ask again, what shall it be?" His voice was firm but gentle. They couldn't stand here all night. They had to get moving— he had to get moving.
She let out a ragged sigh, the weight of her decision heavy on her shoulders. "What do you propose?"
Hannibal's smile grew warmer, more genuine. "I'd like you to accompany me back to my house on the Chesapeake. We can discuss this…unusual situation in which we find ourselves, and perhaps arrive at a compromise of sorts."
She looked at him warily, the logical part of her brain screaming against the idea. But her heart, her instincts pushed her toward him. "Fine," she said after a moment, barely above a whisper. "But don't think I'm letting my guard down. Not for a second."
"Of course not," he replied smoothly as they turned and began the brisk walk to her Mustang. "But if it's all the same to you, I'll be doing the driving. We don't need to be making any unscheduled detours." He gave her a wink.
When they arrived at the car, Clarice reluctantly handed him her keys. Despite the circumstances, Hannibal, ever the gentleman, insisted on opening the door for Clarice before sliding into the driver's seat. She watched as he adjusted the mirrors and seat, evidently entirely at ease. She settled into the passenger seat, her hand resting lightly on her gun, a gesture that made one corner of his mouth curl. As they drove through the night, the tension between them palpable, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of calm enveloping her. It seemed to her, despite everything, that this was somehow where she was meant to be.
They reached the house a few hours before dawn. The home's outward appearance was large but modest, and it was nestled among tall trees that provided a sense of seclusion. Hannibal slowed the car to a stop and turned his head to her, his eyes meeting hers.
"Welcome to my temporary sanctuary," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Clarice nodded, her resolve hardening. She needed answers, needed to understand why she had agreed to accompany him here. This man—her natural enemy, the one she'd spent years learning and tracking down with the singular aim of bringing about his end. She stepped out of the car, her gaze sweeping over the imposing structure. The house was an architectural marvel, with high ceilings and expansive windows that hinted at the luxurious interior. She followed Hannibal inside, her senses on high alert.
The interior was tastefully decorated, a blend of classical and contemporary styles. Not something she would have attributed to Hannibal's particular preferences, but pleasant, notwithstanding. The entryway opened into a spacious living room, filled with elegant furniture, carefully chosen artwork, and a harpsichord in the corner.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," Hannibal said, gesturing towards a plush armchair and couch near the fireplace. "I'll prepare us some tea. I won't be but a moment."
Clarice, not wishing to appear discourteous while at the same time not wanting to put herself at an unnecessary disadvantage, stood by the door and contemplated whether or not to remove her boots.
Making an executive decision, she reached down, unlaced them, and placed them neatly on the rug beside the door. She entered the sitting room and sat on the indicated sofa, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, suddenly feeling chilled.
Hannibal sidled into the room and set the tea service down on the coffee table in front of them. Taking note of her demeanor, he wordlessly went to the fireplace and assembled in the hearth a few logs and lit a fire.
"Thanks." Clarice said quietly, placing her hands between her knees.
He inquired as to whether or not she would like a blanket for some extra warmth. When she politely declined, he excused himself once more to change his clothing and freshen up.
When he returned, she was anxiously nursing a cup of tea, eyes slowly scanning her surroundings. He took his seat in the armchair adjacent her, taking his own teacup in hand and crossing his legs.
Clarice Starling watched him, and he watched her, watching him. This man, who had been both her greatest enemy and her most intriguing mystery, sitting casually sipping his tea, as if all was right with the world.
"Alright, Doctor Lecter. Let's talk."
"Shall I start, or would you like to do the honors?" He looked at her over the rim of his cup.
Exhaling deeply, "To be honest, I have no idea where to begin. What would you do, if you were in my position?"
He flashed a Mephistophelian smile, "I think that would be rather obvious, Agent Starling."
She nodded. "Yeah, I know."
"If I may offer a more helpful suggestion, Clarice," he began, "you could very well leave this place, go back home, and pretend you had no part in the events that transpired tonight."
Clarice thought it over for a moment. She shook her head. "No. No, they would know I was there."
"And how would they know that?"
"Because I told them what I saw, I told them where to find you and they weren't gonna do a damn thing about it. They know I would've gone after you."
Doctor Lecter mulled over her statement, swirling the contents of his cup. "I see. However, if I'm not mistaken, you're an FBI agent who is on suspension."
Clarice narrowed her eyes. "What's your point?"
"My point is, they never gave a damn about you, or your wellbeing when you were fully instated, did they? What makes you think that they would start now?"
Clarice was quiet. His statement was true, she couldn't deny it. She had given her life to the bureau, had fallen in love with it, but it hadn't loved her back. It hadn't even liked her . No, at best, it tolerated her.
Hannibal reinforced his point, "You've seen the tabloids, Clarice. You know what the way say about us. Bride of Frankenstein , Forbidden love between cannibal and federal agent. " He took in the sight of her—downtrodden, beaten. He felt a smarting pain in his chest. "If they determine you were at the scene, they will say you either helped me escape or that I abducted you for my own nefarious purposes. They will tell the media they are doing everything in their power to locate you, to locate us. But it will be a lie, Clarice. No one is coming for you."
Again, his words rang true. She placed her cup on the coffee table, refusing to make eye contact and instead fixing her gaze on the fire crackling in the hearth.
"Clarice," His voice was calm, level.
Still, she did not look at him.
Again he attempted to gain her attention. "Clarice, look at me."
Slowly, reluctantly, she complied.
"What are you thinking?"
She tucked her hair behind her ear and furiously rubbed a hand up and down her thigh. "I'm thinking…hell, Doctor, I'm thinking that every word you said is true." She dropped her gaze momentarily before returning it to him. "So, what the hell am I supposed to do? It's not like I can just waltz back in like nothing happened." She sniffled, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
Hannibal leaned forward, placing his cup on the coffee table and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. "If you stay here, just for a few days, I have the ability to help you forge a new identity. I can produce all the necessary documentation for you to start a new life, away from here. None would be the wiser."
She let out a ragged breath. "I…I don't know where I would even go. What I would do."
"You need not decide now. Think it over."
The night had been a long one, and Starling couldn't suppress her yawn.
Hannibal stood then, smoothing the fabric of his grey, woolen trousers. "Sleep on your decision, Clarice. You'll be able to better think when you've rested and your mind is clear."
She fought among herself, not sure she should stay, but equally unsure as to where else she would— could go.
He extended a hand to her, which she accepted, and stood in front of him. She decided she would stay, if only for the night. "Okay." She said simply, weakly.
He guided her to the spare bedroom upstairs, located two doors down from his own quarters. Once inside, he went to the wardrobe and procured a set of blush pink silk pyjamas. Handing them to her, he informed, "You have a private bathroom just through there. You'll find within all the necessary toiletries you should need. Fresh towels are on the warmer. Shower, get some rest, and we'll further discuss this matter in the morning."
She took the pyjamas. "You had all this ready? Did…were you planning on me coming back here with you? Or were you…" she trailed off, not wanting to voice the alternative.
He smiled, one that almost reached his eyes, and spoke softly. "I hadn't expected it, but I had hoped for it."
Clarice had no response.
Taking it as a cue to leave her, Doctor Lecter bid her goodnight and retreated to the sitting room to tidy up before turning in for the night himself.
Yes, tomorrow she would come to a decision. Knowing the strength of her resolve, he was certain of it. He only hoped her decision would be in line with his own desires.