Epilogue
Finally, finally they were letting her out of the hospital. Clarice learned anew how painstakingly slow time went when you were confined to one of those tiny little rooms, with their tiny little beds. They would have liked to keep her longer, but the long cut along her side was healing up nicely, and they had no reason to hold her prisoner any longer.
Not to mention she wanted out. More than that, she needed to get out. To be alone, to reflect, and remember. Everything.
They were going to let her go home rather than remain in protective custody. They felt certain that, after this latest scare, Lecter would not be hanging around these parts, and would particularly not care to get to close to Starling. After all, he'd already done his damage to her.
The newspapers were splashed with the horrific story. An F.B.I. agent, kidnapped from safe custody. Drugged up, and tied helplessly by a vicious monster. Barely saved from death and consumption, by the local police. That's the story they all knew, the story that Clarice had related to them.
Clarice was met outside the hospital by Ardelia, who had come to drive her home, and protect her from the press that had gathered outside, waiting for her release. They were like sharks. Once they smelled the slightest hint of Lecter, they swarmed and went into a veritable feeding frenzy. But Ardelia managed to smuggle her out without the reporters getting too much in her face, and into the car.
For the first time since it happened, Clarice began to relax.
**********
That night, long after Mapp had gone to bed, Clarice was sitting up in her room. She'd just taken a shower, and her reflection had caught her eye as she passed by the mirror. Her scar, to be precise, had caught her eye as she passed naked by the mirror. It was barely noticeable now, there on her shoulder, Dr. Lecter had done such an expert job of it. Comparing her old scar to her newly stitched wound, even with her amateur eye, she had a feeling that the newer one would not heal so neatly as the first. The one on her shoulder was scarcely a thread of discolored flesh, now.
She gave a soft sigh, and turned from the mirror to rummage through her drawer, to get her largest T-shirt from the bottom of the stack. The nightie she had that was the least elegant, the least like the one she'd worn to Hannibal's dinner.
Her hand first happened upon a lovely silk nightdress, teal in color, and trimmed in the finest ivory lace. Exquisite. She'd never worn it before.
She'd also never seen it before, in her life.
She was strangely unsurprised when she found the note pinned just inside the neck of the garment. Addressed, of course, in an elegant copperplate handwriting, simply to 'Clarice'. She unpinned the small square piece of paper, and slid the nightdress over her head. She began to open the note to read what was written, but stopped before the first word was read to consider, truly consider.
"I need wine," she decided after a moment.
**********
Dear Clarice,
I trust the doctors have taken good care of you in my absence. I'd have patched you up myself but, as I'm sure you understand, I was somewhat pressed for time. My deepest apologies.
I'm afraid I ruined your last nightgown, Clarice, and as it seemed to be the finest nightgown you owned, I felt obliged to replace it. Hope it fits. I thought it would look lovely with your hair, am I right?
It was lovely seeing you again, Clarice.
Until next time,
Yours truly,
Hannibal Lecter, M.D.
That is how the letter read. Each of the five times Clarice read it. The line about the nightgown she found faintly insulting. Reminiscent of the stab her took at her shoes, the first time they met. But now, as then, it was true. She had never owned a nightgown so fine as the one she wore now... and it was unsettling, the knowledge.
"Gucci shoes, silk nightgown, fine wine," she mused, tipping the last few drops of her own, far cheaper wine, down her throat. "All I need is a nice car, Dr. Lecter, and I'll be perfectly outfitted." Dry humor, used in the hopes that it would hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill over since her admittance to the hospital.
See you soon. Ta-ta.
His farewell that night flashed through her mind, momentarily. See you soon. The doctor never said anything he didn't mean. That thought made her distinctly uncomfortable as she looked towards the windows, and she swiftly set her wine glass on the counter to go back to her room. To sleep, and hopefully not dream.
As she crossed the living room again, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, again a reflection caught her eye. Not her own this time, but the reflection of light against the cover of a book. That flower book of Ardelia's, it was still in the living room, set directly in the middle of the coffee table, with the moonlight glinting of its plastic cover.
"Just leave it Starling," Clarice commanded of herself, even as she started walking towards where the book lay. "Leave it."
She knew it was hopeless, however, when she reached to pick it up. She never had gotten to look up that final flower to see if its meaning differed from its name. She had decided that she didn't really want to know, even. But something was pulling her to leaf through those pristine white pages, through the As, and the Bs, and the Cs... Ds... Es... to the Fs. The Fs, to the F-os. There it was again.
Forget-Me-Not.
Her finger followed along the same line as those three words, to the meaning. What she read forced her breath to catch in her throat... and the first tear to mark a damp trail alongside her nose.
Would you ever say to me stop? If you loved me, you'd stop?
You have very shapely feet
You are the honey in the lion
They resent you because you're not like them
All you'd need for that is a mirror
You're looking well
You please me... please me... if you loved me you'd stop... see you soon, Clarice
Forget-Me-Not: Traditionally meaning True Love.
**********
He watched from the darkness of the street, inside his darkened car, a camera equipped with a telephoto lens held up to his eye. Through this he watched as Clarice sunk to the couch and flipped through the book, the book he'd placed so strategically to catch the light.
He was correct, she looked absolutely stunning in teal.
The first tear freed itself from her lashes to roll down her cheek, and calmly he depressed the button. The droplet on her cheek was frozen in time, forever his. Perhaps he'd draw it, and send it to her.
After all, the game wasn't over.
**********
The next morning, on the message machine, was a call from her superiors. Starling was to be back on the Lecter case ASAP.
Clarice, upon hearing that, spent the next ten minutes staring at the pressed Forget-Me-Not that she had left on her nightstand. Then she raised the phone to reply, and confirm that she would be in to work the next day, after resting for a little longer.
It was all just beginning.
**********
Author's Note: The End! Well. Wow. I had no idea that this would go so quickly. I loved writing it, every second of it, and I hope you all enjoyed it too! Thanks go to Steel, clevergirl, SJ, ZechsMerquise, and... Nanci! Thank you to everyone who reviewed multiple times, so I could refer in conversation to my 'loyal fans' ^.^ I already have an idea brewing for another Hannibal story. Hopefully I'll get such great response to that, as well.
Finally, finally they were letting her out of the hospital. Clarice learned anew how painstakingly slow time went when you were confined to one of those tiny little rooms, with their tiny little beds. They would have liked to keep her longer, but the long cut along her side was healing up nicely, and they had no reason to hold her prisoner any longer.
Not to mention she wanted out. More than that, she needed to get out. To be alone, to reflect, and remember. Everything.
They were going to let her go home rather than remain in protective custody. They felt certain that, after this latest scare, Lecter would not be hanging around these parts, and would particularly not care to get to close to Starling. After all, he'd already done his damage to her.
The newspapers were splashed with the horrific story. An F.B.I. agent, kidnapped from safe custody. Drugged up, and tied helplessly by a vicious monster. Barely saved from death and consumption, by the local police. That's the story they all knew, the story that Clarice had related to them.
Clarice was met outside the hospital by Ardelia, who had come to drive her home, and protect her from the press that had gathered outside, waiting for her release. They were like sharks. Once they smelled the slightest hint of Lecter, they swarmed and went into a veritable feeding frenzy. But Ardelia managed to smuggle her out without the reporters getting too much in her face, and into the car.
For the first time since it happened, Clarice began to relax.
**********
That night, long after Mapp had gone to bed, Clarice was sitting up in her room. She'd just taken a shower, and her reflection had caught her eye as she passed by the mirror. Her scar, to be precise, had caught her eye as she passed naked by the mirror. It was barely noticeable now, there on her shoulder, Dr. Lecter had done such an expert job of it. Comparing her old scar to her newly stitched wound, even with her amateur eye, she had a feeling that the newer one would not heal so neatly as the first. The one on her shoulder was scarcely a thread of discolored flesh, now.
She gave a soft sigh, and turned from the mirror to rummage through her drawer, to get her largest T-shirt from the bottom of the stack. The nightie she had that was the least elegant, the least like the one she'd worn to Hannibal's dinner.
Her hand first happened upon a lovely silk nightdress, teal in color, and trimmed in the finest ivory lace. Exquisite. She'd never worn it before.
She'd also never seen it before, in her life.
She was strangely unsurprised when she found the note pinned just inside the neck of the garment. Addressed, of course, in an elegant copperplate handwriting, simply to 'Clarice'. She unpinned the small square piece of paper, and slid the nightdress over her head. She began to open the note to read what was written, but stopped before the first word was read to consider, truly consider.
"I need wine," she decided after a moment.
**********
Dear Clarice,
I trust the doctors have taken good care of you in my absence. I'd have patched you up myself but, as I'm sure you understand, I was somewhat pressed for time. My deepest apologies.
I'm afraid I ruined your last nightgown, Clarice, and as it seemed to be the finest nightgown you owned, I felt obliged to replace it. Hope it fits. I thought it would look lovely with your hair, am I right?
It was lovely seeing you again, Clarice.
Until next time,
Yours truly,
Hannibal Lecter, M.D.
That is how the letter read. Each of the five times Clarice read it. The line about the nightgown she found faintly insulting. Reminiscent of the stab her took at her shoes, the first time they met. But now, as then, it was true. She had never owned a nightgown so fine as the one she wore now... and it was unsettling, the knowledge.
"Gucci shoes, silk nightgown, fine wine," she mused, tipping the last few drops of her own, far cheaper wine, down her throat. "All I need is a nice car, Dr. Lecter, and I'll be perfectly outfitted." Dry humor, used in the hopes that it would hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill over since her admittance to the hospital.
See you soon. Ta-ta.
His farewell that night flashed through her mind, momentarily. See you soon. The doctor never said anything he didn't mean. That thought made her distinctly uncomfortable as she looked towards the windows, and she swiftly set her wine glass on the counter to go back to her room. To sleep, and hopefully not dream.
As she crossed the living room again, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, again a reflection caught her eye. Not her own this time, but the reflection of light against the cover of a book. That flower book of Ardelia's, it was still in the living room, set directly in the middle of the coffee table, with the moonlight glinting of its plastic cover.
"Just leave it Starling," Clarice commanded of herself, even as she started walking towards where the book lay. "Leave it."
She knew it was hopeless, however, when she reached to pick it up. She never had gotten to look up that final flower to see if its meaning differed from its name. She had decided that she didn't really want to know, even. But something was pulling her to leaf through those pristine white pages, through the As, and the Bs, and the Cs... Ds... Es... to the Fs. The Fs, to the F-os. There it was again.
Forget-Me-Not.
Her finger followed along the same line as those three words, to the meaning. What she read forced her breath to catch in her throat... and the first tear to mark a damp trail alongside her nose.
Would you ever say to me stop? If you loved me, you'd stop?
You have very shapely feet
You are the honey in the lion
They resent you because you're not like them
All you'd need for that is a mirror
You're looking well
You please me... please me... if you loved me you'd stop... see you soon, Clarice
Forget-Me-Not: Traditionally meaning True Love.
**********
He watched from the darkness of the street, inside his darkened car, a camera equipped with a telephoto lens held up to his eye. Through this he watched as Clarice sunk to the couch and flipped through the book, the book he'd placed so strategically to catch the light.
He was correct, she looked absolutely stunning in teal.
The first tear freed itself from her lashes to roll down her cheek, and calmly he depressed the button. The droplet on her cheek was frozen in time, forever his. Perhaps he'd draw it, and send it to her.
After all, the game wasn't over.
**********
The next morning, on the message machine, was a call from her superiors. Starling was to be back on the Lecter case ASAP.
Clarice, upon hearing that, spent the next ten minutes staring at the pressed Forget-Me-Not that she had left on her nightstand. Then she raised the phone to reply, and confirm that she would be in to work the next day, after resting for a little longer.
It was all just beginning.
**********
Author's Note: The End! Well. Wow. I had no idea that this would go so quickly. I loved writing it, every second of it, and I hope you all enjoyed it too! Thanks go to Steel, clevergirl, SJ, ZechsMerquise, and... Nanci! Thank you to everyone who reviewed multiple times, so I could refer in conversation to my 'loyal fans' ^.^ I already have an idea brewing for another Hannibal story. Hopefully I'll get such great response to that, as well.