Unraveling

indreams

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Summary:     Clarice makes plans to vacation with Jack Crawford.

Timeline:       After Hannibal. 

Rating:          PG 

Copy:           Part 1 of 1

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Clarice Starling had read somewhere that if a person has an arm or leg amputated, they will often wake in the middle of the night with severe pain where the appendage should be.  A phantom limb unhealed with no means to comfort it.  Although Clarice still had both arms and legs, and all her fingers and toes, a piece of her was missing.  A part of her soul had been severed four years ago, and the pain of that absence is what awoke her from a fitful sleep terribly early this morning.  The morning of the fourth anniversary of Hannibal Lecter’s escape from a makeshift Memphis jail cell.

Clarice had felt a constant twinge of anxiety in the pit of her stomach since that fateful night when the monster’s finger had grazed her own, and he had later slaughtered his captors, escaping under the mask of one of their faces.  Clarice was aware that this feeling did not arise from fear.  Somehow she understood that it was not necessary to fear Dr. Lecter.  Yet she wasn’t willing to explore the reason for the tightening of her chest and the burning deep inside of her that grew stronger with each passing day.  She just knew that it made her feel sick and she wished it would go away. 

She had not heard from Hannibal Lecter since his escape, save for the first and only letter he’d written her.  The one that said some of their stars were the same.  She thought about him now as she stood looking out her bedroom window and wondered what time his sunrise was and if he too was seeing the same fading stars of dawn. 

Clarice dressed and drove herself to the park where mist rose off the fields of grass, frail and ghostlike in the first beams of the rising sun.  She stepped out of her car and took a deep breath, forcing air into her constricted lungs.  After stretching, she took off down the path, through the trees where she was surrounded by the morning sounds of birds.  She ran purposefully, marking each step, concentrating on her breathing.  Along the continuous anxiety, Clarice often had a feeling that someone was watching her.  It was not a nervous feeling, but almost comforting at times.  She wondered if it was a product of her imagination, or if Dr. Lecter was frequently not more than a few steps away from her, or if the piece of her soul he held gave him the knowledge of her every move from thousands of miles away. 

The pain in her gut grew stronger as she explored these ideas.  The comprehension of the things that Lecter had done, the things he’d been locked up for, had for some reason never bothered her.  Never drew a rise out of her like the sins of Jame Gumb.  What affected Clarice Starling about Hannibal Lecter was the familiarity that passed between them with the touch of their fingers. What was it that she wanted from him?  A friend?  A mentor?  Father figure?  A lover?  She shuddered with the thought and tried, as she so often did, to put him out of her mind.  She sang a song to herself that she’d heard on the radio on the way over.

It wasn’t until she was passing the pond that doubt crept back into her consciousness, like a mocking raven.  What if she hadn’t heard from him in four years because he felt nothing for her?  What if he was with another woman?  She stumbled off the path and sank to her knees in the mud at the edge of the pond, retching into the water, her stomach buckling with the spasms.  She clutched at the ground, the mud oozing between her fingers, and cursed Hannibal Lecter.  She had sold her soul to the devil, but gotten nothing in return.

Lunch with Jack Crawford had become a weekly ritual, as often as their schedules allowed.  He’d begun to ask her shortly after she first realized she wouldn’t be coming to work for him in Behavioral Sciences any time soon.  Paul Krendler would see to that.  Clarice thought that Crawford was probably trying to make amends for her unfortunate fate and she let him.

She often wondered what Crawford had been like during his early days in the FBI.  Had he tried to climb his way up the ladder through hard work and dedication like she had?  If that was so, she doubted it’d lasted long.  After taking her first trophy for the service almost single handedly, and then being systematically farmed out as a mere hired hand to other agencies, it became clear that the only way to get ahead in the FBI was by kissing ass.  Although she knew Jack Crawford wasn’t beyond a little groveling, she didn’t see him starting out that way.  But like all the people of integrity in this organization, he would have soon found that the only choices were to play by the unspoken rules, or get out.  Why then had he stayed?  Was it because he had a wife to support and paying the bills became a priority, or was it that he still held out a candle of hope for the FBI and thought that one day, just maybe, he could make a difference?

Clarice allowed herself to think of these things only briefly, as she did so many others, for contemplation of any duration only forced her to turn her gaze to the proverbial mirror.  Why had she stayed with the FBI?  She had no family to feed and enough savings to get by for several months.  Ambition no longer existed for her as it did when she was a trainee.  Dreams were futile without the willingness to crawl.  The FBI had become to her no more than a bothersome bed partner that snored a lot.  The bureau did fill a void, though only as well as the square block fits into the round hole of a child’s toy.

Starling still felt queasy from the morning, and the anxiety hadn’t dissipated.  She hoped that some food would settle her stomach.  She smiled at Jack Crawford as she approached his table near the window, the sun glinting off his glasses and illuminating the thinning hairs of his head like a halo.  He looked up from the menu as she reached the table and stood to greet her.

“Hey there Starling.  Have a seat.  I ordered you some iced tea.”

She would have preferred a Jack Daniels, but settled for the tea.  They comfortably sunk into their routine chitchat about cases they each were working on and idle, water cooler type gossip as they ate.  When the bill came, Crawford took it.

“Hey, it’s my turn this week, Jack.” 

“I got it Starling.  My treat.”

Perhaps it was the almost imperceptible softening of his voice, or the way he turned his eyes down slightly, but Clarice knew the tone of the conversation had changed.  He waited for the waitress to take his credit card, then looked up into her eyes.  His stare was not captivating, penetrating, or enthralling in the least, but she met it just the same.

“Starling, I’ve been worried about you.”

Oh Jesus, here it comes, she thought.  Just what I need, another lecture from daddy Jack.  She pointedly left her face expressionless.

“You’ve seemed preoccupied these last few months, like there’s somewhere else you’d rather be. Are you anxious about anything?”

She fought the urge to chuckle, feeling the knot in her stomach twist a little tighter.  “No.” 

“When was the last time you took a vacation…Clarice.”

She raised her eyebrow at him.  He never called her by her given name, even though she’d said he could.  “It’s been a while.”

“I think that’s what you need.  A little time away from all this to relax and unwind.  Get your mind off things.”

Yeah right.  You can’t exactly get HIM off your mind.

“Jack I don’t need a vacation.  I’m fine.  Besides, where would I go?”  Images of Hannibal Lecter’s drawings came to mind.  Florence would be near the top of the list if she had a choice.

“To the Bahamas.  With me.”  He reached across the table and put his hand over hers.  She looked down at it, curious as to how it had gotten there, as if it were disembodied and crawled to hers of its own volition.  He waited for her to look back up at him.  “Take a vacation with me Starling…Clarice.”

It must have taken a lot of balls for him to ask her to take a vacation with him.  She’d give him that.  But why she’d decided to say yes, was for the moment beyond her.  In the restaurant bathroom, after she’d thrown up again, she washed her face and looked in the mirror.  What the fuck are you doing?  She asked, but no answer came.  But she’d made her decision and she was determined to see it through.  She had no ties, she reminded herself, and no physical evidence that anyone was waiting for her.  Half a soul or not, if this wouldn’t exorcise her demons, nothing would.

Clarice rubbed her temples as rain pelted sharply against the bedroom window, much like the incessant tap tap tapping of a woodpecker searching for bugs in a decaying tree.  In perfect rhythm with the careful, relentless unraveling of the entangled threads of her very quintessence.

She stood in front of the closet, contemplating her clothes, an open suitcase lying on the bed.  Ardelia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of her, head cocked to one side.

“You’re going where with who?”

“I’m going to the Bahamas with Jack Crawford.”
“And what fugitive are you chasing there?”
“We’re not.  This is for pleasure.”

“Excuse me?”  Ardelia stood up straight and walked a few steps into the bedroom.  “Clarice what the hell do you think you’re doing?  This is Jack “the guru” Crawford we’re talking about.”

“Yeah.  So.”

“So what?  Are you going to sleep with him?”

Clarice glared at her friend.  “No.  Maybe.  I don’t know.”

“Are you nuts, Clarice?  What the hell are you thinking?”

“Come on Ardelia.  I’ve heard you plenty of times calling old boyfriends at three in the morning, all drunked up, begging them to come over and fuck you, so what makes this so bad.”

She shook her head.  “That’s a low damn blow girlfriend.  But this is different.  For one thing, he’s a supervisor.” She pointed a slim, brown finger at her, as a mother does when scolding.

“He’s not my supervisor.  He’s not in my chain of command, remember?  Thanks to that asshole Paul Krendler, I’m just a whore that gets tricked out to other agencies.”

“He’s still a superior officer.”

“Ardelia, this isn’t the Marines.  This is the F. B. fucking I., winner of the Daytime Emmy for best soap opera of the year.  Everyone’s sleeping together in this place.  Look around.”

“Fine.  They’ll just say you’re sleeping your way to the top.”

“You should know by now I don’t give a rat’s ass about what people think of me.  If I’d wanted to do that, I could have been at the top a long time ago.  Krendler’s given me plenty of opportunities.  Besides, Crawford’s on his way out.  He’s going to be retired soon.  He can’t do anything for my career.”  She turned back to her closet.  “Do you think I should bring this blue bathing suit, or the red one with the flowers?”

“Jesus, Clarice.  You’re as dense as a goddamn bowling ball.  Go on your little trip.  Have fun.  Just bring me back a friggin’ T-shirt.”

Ardelia spun and stormed out of the bedroom.  Clarice could hear the kitchen door slamming behind her.

 She calmly went back to the closet and sorted through the clothes hanging there, biting her lower lip.  “Don’t you cry Clarice.  Don’t do it.”

Clarice had thrown up once and had the dry heaves twice before she left for the airport to meet Jack Crawford.  She told herself she was just nervous about flying, though deep down she knew better.  She’d told Ardelia once before that if she ever came face to face with Dr. Lecter, she’d have no problem dropping him.  She hoped for her own sanity that she’d never see him again, for though she was a woman of her word, she knew she couldn’t keep that one.

She parked her car in the long-term lot and checked her bags with the sky cab.  She and Jack had agreed to meet at the gate forty-five minutes before take off, which Clarice was glad for.  The less time they’d have waiting for the plane to board, the less time she would have to change her mind.  She was resolute in her plan to go on this vacation, no matter how it made her feel.  As she neared the gate, she could see Jack, wearing khaki pants and a vibrant blue shirt with palm trees, sitting with his back turned to her, reading the paper.  She paused and took a few deep breaths.  The gate was at the far end of the concourse and apparently the only one nearby with any activity.

“Hi Jack.”

He hurriedly crumpled the paper together and threw it in the seat next to him as he stood up.

“Hey Starling…Clarice.  Good to see you.”  He leaned down and kissed her cheek.  “I thought you might have had second thoughts.”

“No, I’m fine.  I’m ready to go.”

“Good.  Did you have any problems checking in?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Good, good.  Here, have a seat.”  He gathered the paper up and motioned for her to sit down. 

She sat, smoothing her white linen skirt out and adjusting the matching jacket, thinking she was way overdressed next to him.  She hoped he didn’t plan to wear flip-flops and a straw hat for the whole vacation.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to worry about conversation for the moment.  The lady at the counter spoke into the microphone, beginning the boarding call.

Jack stood up again.  “Might as well stretch our legs while we wait for our row to be called. It’s going to be a long flight.”

Clarice stood up next to him.  “Yeah, might as well.”

“You don’t have to pee, do you?”

“Uh, no.  I took care of that already.”

“Good.  That’s good.”  Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot, rocking back and forth.  “Heh, heh.  Listen Clarice, I’m sorry I’m acting like and idiot.  I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”

“That’s ok, Jack.”  She took his hand and squeezed it.  “We’ll be alright.”

When their row was called, Clarice fished her boarding pass out of her purse and they walked toward the gate.  They strode down the long tunnel to the plane, the air holding the close sweaty smell of bodies confined.  Clarice felt sick again as she followed Jack aboard the aircraft. Small beads of perspiration began to form at her temples and her chest tightened.  She felt as if she’d entered a big silver coffin and was closing the lid on any hope she’d ever held of being whole.  They passed through the first class section and pushed their way around people lifting carry on bags into the overhead compartments, as they worked their way towards their seats.

“You want the window or the aisle, Clarice?”

Her chest was constricted more than it had ever been, and she found it increasingly difficult to make any sound at all.  Finally after concentrating on her breathing, like she’d been taught at the shooting range, she spoke.

“I can’t do this Jack.  I can’t go with you.  I’m sorry.”

She turned and rudely pushed her way passed the line of boarding passengers and made her way out of the plane, leaving Jack standing next to their seats and the flight attendant yelling at her, “Miss, miss, you can’t leave the plane now.  We’re taking off.  We won’t be able to wait for you.  Miss…”

Clarice jogged through the tunnel away from the plane and burst back into the relative openness of the gate area.  A few stragglers were still boarding and the woman checking their passes glared at Clarice as she ran past her.

“Ma’am, if you don’t get back on the plane now, you’re going to miss it.  We won’t hold it for you.”

“That’s fine.  I don’t want to be on the plane.”  Clarice paced around, head turned down, trying to catch her breath and calm down.  She looked up and saw the chair with the pile of cluttered newspapers where Jack had left them.  Next to the papers, sat a man in a handsomely tailored dark suit with a fedora pulled low over his face.

“Good afternoon, Clarice.”

She stopped in her tracks and stared at the man, who hadn’t raised his head.  The voice was unmistakable.

“Dr. Lecter?”

“Yes Clarice.  It’s so nice to see you again.  You are looking well.”  He stood up gracefully and took a few light steps toward her.

She breathed in sharply.  “What are you doing here, Dr.?”

“Just waiting for you to come to your senses my dear.  Honestly, I don’t know why you strung poor Jackie boy along this far when you had no intention of going anywhere with him.”

Clarice took a few steps toward him, incensed by his remark.  “How the hell do you know what my intentions are?”

Dr. Lecter sighed.  “Dear, dear Clarice.  I thought you were farther along than this.”  He put his finger to his chin and cocked his head to one side, smiling at her coyly.   “Maybe I should have waited a few more years.”

“Farther along?”  She closed the distance between them.  “I’d be farther along in my career if it weren’t for you.  I wouldn’t be some dumping ground for the FBI if I hadn’t been marked as the damn ‘bride of Frankenstein’, Lecter’s little pet, and all that happy horse shit.   And for that matter, I’d be farther along in my social life too.  I’d be on my way to the damn beach by now if it weren’t for you.”  She tapped him on the chest, driving her point home.

“Please Clarice.  You know better than to try and blame me for your falling out with the FBI.  The bureau is no place for a warrior.  And that is what you are.”  He fixed his stare at her.   “You’re the one who chose to stay with them and to continually beat the tar out of a dead horse, so to speak.  You might as well buy yourself a nice ball peen hammer and bash your own head with it all day long.”

Clarice had fire in her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s just like you.  Mr. high-powered perception.  Well don’t you just know everything about me?  You haven’t even seen me in four years.”

“Ahh… on the contrary.”

They were close, inches between them.  Clarice stared into his penetrating maroon eyes.  “You’re a son of a bitch.” 

Lesser words had gotten others killed, but Clarice stood her ground and stared him down, unafraid and uncaring.

“Are you quite finished, Clarice?”  Dr. Lecter sighed, his expression unchanged.

“Finished?  Yeah.  I’m finished.  Finished with you.”  Clarice spun around and started to walk away.  In a flash, Dr. Lecter grabbed her wrist.

They stood like that for a moment, unhampered by time.  Clarice with her back to him, her arm stretched out behind her, with her wrist in his grip.  Then Dr. Lecter spun her back around until she crashed into his chest.  He wrapped her arm back behind her, still firmly holding her wrist.  He grabbed her face with his free hand.  “That’s not what I meant,” he snarled at her.  He pulled her face close to his and kissed her hard on the lips.

Jack Crawford came walking back through the tunnel away from the plane with his head down, like a dog that had been swatted on the rump with a newspaper after getting into something where it didn’t belong. As he reached the end of the tunnel, he lifted his head up and saw Clarice Starling in the embrace of the man he instantly recognized to be Hannibal Lecter. 

Crawford’s mouth fell open. “Jesus Mary Mother of God.”

Dr. Lecter had seen Jack Crawford coming through the tunnel.  He continued to kiss Clarice, his tongue insisting its way into her mouth as the walls between them began to crack and her body relaxed into his.

The last threads of her being had come unwound.  With Dr. Lecter’s kiss, Clarice felt herself falling, being led past a state of incoherence to a world where only one, completely illogical thing made sense.  The pain in her shoulder from her arm being twisted behind her back didn’t register.  Her ever-resisting will had failed her and she was no longer sure of who she was.

As Crawford rose his head up and realized what was before him, Dr. Lecter released Clarice, taking a few steps back, leaving her struggling to maintain her balance.

Jack Crawford had left his weapon in his suitcase, which was now deep in the belly of the plane that was backing away from the gate.  He caught the glint of the Harpy peeking from Dr. Lecter’s hand, and he contemplated for a moment what action to take.

Clarice was within Dr. Lecter’s reach, but Crawford doubted the Doctor would hurt her, unless perhaps his freedom depended on it. 

Crawford had his cell phone clipped to his belt and thought if he could call 911, the dispatcher could alert airport security and Dr. Lecter’s capture would be accomplished with minimal bloodshed.  He slowly moved his hand to his phone and pulled it from his waist.

Dr. Lecter stood still, as a whisper hangs in the dank air of darkened catacombs.  Crawford pushed the button to speed dial 911 and brought the phone to his ear.

“Yes, this is Jack Crawford with the FBI.”

As soon as Dr. Lecter had released her, Clarice knew by the look in his eyes that something was wrong.  She looked back to see Crawford just as he was speaking into the phone.  “Jack!” she shouted at him.

He stopped talking.

 “Jack stop!  If you love me you’ll stop.”

Crawford stared at her for a moment, not saying anything, the voice of the dispatcher echoing in his ear.

Clarice turned and looked at Dr. Lecter. His face was expressionless but deep in the red pinpoints of light in his eyes, she could see the fabric of her life being swiftly, meticulously knitted back together.

“Stop, Jack,” she said, still staring at Dr. Lecter.

All was silent where the three of them stood, Crawford staring at Clarice, Clarice staring at Dr. Lecter, and now, Dr. Lecter’s gaze fixed on Clarice.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Crawford said into the phone.  “I thought I had a situation where I would require some assistance, but I was mistaken.”  He turned off the phone and returned it to his belt clip.

Dr. Lecter’s face remained blank.  Clarice looked back at Crawford, but stayed standing in her place, steps away from Dr. Lecter.

“Go on now, Clarice,” Crawford said.  “You made your choice.  Go with him now before I decide to call this in.”

Clarice looked again at Dr. Lecter.  He raised his arm up, holding his hand out to her.  She stared at it for a moment, then reached out and took it.  Dr. Lecter pulled her into him, put his arm around her, titled his fedora low over his eyes, and they left, walking swiftly down the concourse.

Jack Crawford stood and watched them go until they turned the corner onto the next concourse.  He went to the chair where his scattered newspaper lay, picked it up and slowly, methodically began to fold it over and over again.

Dr. Lecter and Clarice Starling quickly reached another gate and another plane, where he produced two boarding passes.  They were the last to board and did so quickly, so that Clarice hadn’t a chance to see their destination.  Their accommodations were in first class, and Clarice sunk into the leather seat next to the window.  Dr. Lecter whispered something to the flight attendant and sat down next to her.

Clarice expected to be crying, mourning the hurried loss of the life she’d grown accustomed to, but no tears came.  She watched through the window at the ground crew waving orange batons as the plane backed away from the gate.

She turned to Dr. Lecter, who was staring at her with a calm, contented look on his face.  She gave him a half smile and took his thumb in her hand and held it, resting her head against the seat and closing her eyes.

She stayed that way through the flight attendant’s safety briefing, knowing full well that the seat cushion could be used as a floatation device, and almost hoping for a loss in cabin pressure.  Perhaps a good hit of oxygen would knock some rationale into her head, not that it mattered now.  As the plane made its way to a comfortable cruising altitude, the Captain’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“Welcome to United Airlines flight 101 to Montego Bay, Jamaica…”

Clarice opened one eye and looked at Dr. Lecter.  “Jamaica?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Then to Cuba for a while.  I’ve rented us a quaint little flat just outside of the Naval base at Guantanamo Bay.  If poor Jack decides to try to find us, I believe that’s the last place he’d think to look.”

“Hmmm.”  She nodded her head and leaned back against the seat, wondering if Fidel was an old friend of the Doctor’s.  She wouldn’t be surprised.

The flight attendant appeared with a Jack Daniels on the rocks for Clarice and a glass of wine for Dr. Lecter.

Clarice smiled again at Dr. Lecter.  “Thanks.  I needed that.”

“I thought as much.”

She let go of his thumb and turned his hand over, laying her palm over his, entwining their fingers together.  “How do you know me so well?” she asked, looking at their hands.

“Whether you’d like to admit it to yourself or not Clarice, we are very much alike, you and I.”

She looked him in the eyes.  “How did you know I’d come with you today.”

“I wasn’t certain of how today’s events would play out.  I simply know that you have been and always will be mine.”  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as he stared into her eyes.  “Get some rest now.  We still have a long day ahead of us.”

She smiled at him and leaned back into her seat, bringing their interlocked hands to her lap.

After another, smaller plane and a dusty cab ride in a vintage Chevy, the couple arrived at their flat on the dry, brown southeast coast of Cuba.  From the balcony of their second floor bedroom, Clarice could see the fence line surrounding the U.S. Naval base at Guantanamo Bay.  The flat was clean and airy yet stark, not what Clarice had expected for a private residence of Dr. Lecter.  He’d assured her the accommodations were only temporary and soon they would be moving to a more genteel location in central Italy.

Dr. Lecter busied himself with unpacking and stowing their clothes, giving Clarice a little space.  He’d taken the liberty to pack some things for her.  She was glad, since her own luggage now sat at an airport in the Bahamas with no one to claim it.  Much like her former life.

Clarice stood at the balcony, the sea breeze blowing through her hair, looking out at the lights of the little village, twinkling against the fading evening sky.  Dr. Lecter walked up behind her and put his hand in the small of her back.  He had taken his suit coat and tie off and his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up; relaxed and informal, yet still impeccable, unruffled by the weary hours of travel.

“What are you thinking my dear?” he asked her softly, his lips near her ear.

She turned to him.  “I’m thinking that I’m tired of trying to figure out what’s wrong and what’s right.”

“Clarice…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for what you did for me today in the airport.”

She put her hand to his face and ran her finger down his cheek, a single tear leaking from the corner of her eye.

He held her face in his hands and kissed her softly, gently.

Clarice felt as if she were in a dream and when he walked her inside to the bed, that she’d been floating on a small cloud.  He slowly undressed her, his touch as light as a breath of wind.  She pulled his shirt off, putting her hands to his naked chest, her fingertips crackling with electricity. The promise of an unbridled passion she’d never known.

 He laid her on the bed, and covered her body with velvety kisses.  She felt his heat envelope them and as he entered her.  Time no longer mattered.  Their pasts no longer mattered.  She looked into his eyes across the wide plain of her soul and found that it was at last whole.

Fin

Copyright 2001, indreams

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