The Silence of the Lambs (Hannibal Lecter 2)

“Yep.”

“We’re already into Lent. Valentine’s Day is only a week away, hmmmm, are you expecting some?”

“You never know.”

“No, you never do.… I’ve been thinking about Valentine’s Day. It reminds me of something funny. Now that I think of it, I could make you very happy on Valentine’s Day, Clarice Starling.”

“How, Doctor Lecter?”

“By sending you a wonderful Valentine. I’ll have to think about it. Now please excuse me. Good-bye, Officer Starling.”

“And the study?”

“A census taker tried to quantify me once. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a big Amarone. Go back to school, little Starling.”

Hannibal Lecter, polite to the last, did not give her his back. He stepped backward from the barrier before he turned to his cot again, and lying on it, became as remote from her as a stone crusader lying on a tomb.

Starling felt suddenly empty, as though she had given blood. She took longer than necessary to put the papers back in her briefcase because she didn’t immediately trust her legs. Starling was soaked with the failure she detested. She folded her chair and leaned it against the utility closet door. She would have to pass Miggs again. Barney in the distance appeared to be reading. She could call him to come for her. Damn Miggs. It was no worse than passing construction crews or delivery louts every day in the city. She started back down the corridor.

Close beside her, Miggs’ voice hissed, “I bit my wrist so I can diiiieeeeeeeee—see how it bleeds?”

She should have called Barney but, startled, she looked into the cell, saw Miggs flick his fingers and felt the warm spatter on her cheek and shoulder before she could turn away.

She got away from him, registered that it was semen, not blood, and Lecter was calling to her, she could hear him. Dr. Lecter’s voice behind her, the cutting rasp in it more pronounced.

“Officer Starling.”

He was up and calling after her as she walked. She rummaged in her purse for tissues.

Behind her, “Officer Starling.”

She was on the cold rails of her control now, making steady progress toward the gate.

“Officer Starling.” A new note in Lecter’s voice.

She stopped. What in God’s name do I want this bad? Miggs hissed something she didn’t listen to.

She stood again in front of Lecter’s cell and saw the rare spectacle of the doctor agitated. She knew that he could smell it on her. He could smell everything.

“I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.”

It was as though committing murders had purged him of lesser rudeness. Or perhaps, Starling thought, it excited him to see her marked in this particular way. She couldn’t tell. The sparks in his eyes flew into his darkness like fireflies down a cave.

Whatever it is, use it, Jesus! She held up her briefcase. “Please do this for me.”

Maybe she was too late; he was calm again.

“No. But I’ll make you happy that you came. I’ll give you something else. I’ll give you what you love the most, Clarice Starling.”

“What’s that, Dr. Lecter?”

“Advancement, of course. It works out perfectly—I’m so glad. Valentine’s Day made me think of it.” The smile over his small white teeth could have come for any reason. He spoke so softly she could barely hear. “Look in Raspail’s car for your Valentines. Did you hear me? Look in Raspail’s car for your Valentines. You’d better go now; I don’t think Miggs could manage again so soon, even if he is crazy, do you?”

CHAPTER 4

Clarice Starling was excited, depleted, running on her will. Some of the things Lecter had said about her were true, and some only clanged on the truth. For a few seconds she had felt an alien consciousness loose in her head, slapping things off the shelves like a bear in a camper.

She hated what he’d said about her mother and she had to get rid of the anger. This was business.