Author's note:  Here we are, the end of the story.  Never quite expected this one to be as popular as it got, but all good things come to an end.  And no, Charlene didn't die.

THREE YEARS LATER:

                The offices of the Mansfield Children's Psychiatric Center were quieting down.  Charlene headed back to her office.  She'd just finished a session with a young boy whose father had died a few months.  It was sad, but he was making progress. 

                Her boss caught up with her as she was getting ready to head out.  Thank God she didn't have to work as late as she had.  She was happier in this job than she had been before.  Her work was challenging, but she had plenty to do. 

                She'd just finished her dissertation, and it was with no small pride that Charlene eyed the nameplate on her door: Charlene S. Stenson, PhD. 

                "How was Billy?" her boss asked. 

                She nodded as if to indicate things were coming along.  "Billy's upset about his dad," she said.  "But he's coming along.  He's afraid that he'll have to be the daddy of the house now.  I've been working with him, and it's going along." 

                "That's a lot for an eight-year-old." 

                "It's a lot for anybody." 

                "Must be different for you, here," her boss said.  "I mean, before you were working in the FBI, Behavioral Sciences and all that." 

                Charlene shrugged.  "It really wasn't what I wanted to do," she said.  "Besides, reading all those horrors, seeing all those horrible things…you get tired of it.  I did.  I'm happier here with the kids.  At least most of them are normal.  They just need a little help." 

                He didn't need to know about the days just after Dr. Lecter's escape. Criminal charges had not really been an option.  Charlene had been found throttled unconscious in the jail hallway with bruises from the monster's very hands on her throat.  No DA in the world wanted to argue that Charlene had been the accomplice of the man who had kidnapped her, drugged her, and finally strangled her. 

                Her future in the Bureau would have been murkier.  Eventually, she might have been forgiven, but she had already made up her mind.  Why spend five years waiting for it to blow over?  She'd resigned from the Bureau a month after Dr. Lecter and Clarice had vanished into the night. 

                The hunt for them went on and always would.  But it was fruitless.  They'd found Clarice's cell door open, with Dr. Lecter's fingerprints on the cell door.  The jail guard they had found in Dr. Lecter's cell kept his car keys on his uniform belt.  They'd found the car dumped outside the Wheeling airport.  And that was all that anyone had ever seen of Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling. 

                Charlene pondered that on the drive home.  She still had Aunt Clarice's Mustang.  She'd needed it – after going back for her PhD, she'd been pretty damn poor for a while.  The money was better now that she had her degree.  But she'd never needed too much. 

                Bowman occasionally had tried to wheedle her back.  He'd promised her that none of the uproar from the Lecter/Starling escape would mean anything.  So far, she had refused.  Child psychology suited her.  She loved dealing with the kids, loved helping the kids.  In Behavioral Sciences she'd never gotten to see any of that. 

                It was better for her, too.  She didn't feel angry anymore.  Occasionally, an email from a hotmail or yahoo account would arrive in her email.  Other times, a letter or package would arrive.  Sometimes, her phone would ring at night.  In each case, greetings from both of them.  Occasionally it was a chatty letter; other times her aunt's glad voice on the phone.  Then his, calm and avuncular. 

                They were perfectly happy.  Sometimes Charlene found herself jealous.  Postmarks from their letters were from Rome one time, Paris the next, Buenos Aires after that.  Then again, she'd built herself a little life here and she liked it.  No man in her life, at least not yet, but there was time for that.  She had a career and that was more important to her right now. 

                Charlene drove up to the trim, neat condo she lived in and headed for her door.  Her eyes narrowed.  Something was different.  The instincts she had cultivated as an FBI agent were still there.  The light was off in the kitchen, and she usually left it on. 

                She still had a concealed weapon permit, and she put her hand on her gun now.  Never knew when some criminal she'd put away might come back seeking revenge.  Then again, most of her time had been spent seeking out Dr. Lecter, and he'd agreed to leave her alone. 

                Or had he? 

                She opened the door and crept into the house, her gun out and at the ready.  Hopefully it wasn't the meter reader or something.  As she entered the house, she could tell something was definitely different.  Her kitchen table now sported a silk tablecloth.  A chafing dish sat atop her table.  A few candles glittered.

                Charlene felt herself more at ease, seeing that.  But then again, it could be a psychotic French chef invading her home.  She advanced into the living room, her gun held high. 

                There were two figures in standing in it.  One in a dress, the other in a long overcoat and fedora.  When she entered, both figures stood. 

                "You needn't be afraid, Charlene," the one figure said.  "I apologize for not letting you know we were here, but as you know we must travel incognito." 

                Charlene sighed and lowered the pistol.  "You didn't have to scare me," she said, and lowered the pistol.  "You could have called." 

                "It wasn't possible," the figure said.  "I apologize for any inconvenience.  But we have brought you dinner.  I trust that will make up for that." 

                Charlene eyed the figure with some suspicion. 

                "Nothing…exotic." 

                Dr. Hannibal Lecter turned on the light to reveal himself and Clarice.  "We have a bit of news," he said.  "Something we wanted to tell you personally.  Secrecy was vital, Charlene." 

                Charlene tilted her head and stared at the couple in front of her. 

                "Okay," she said uncertainly.  "What is it?"  It occurred to her how odd this was.  She had spent a year trying to see this man in prison.  When that had happened, she'd been afraid that he would seek his revenge.  Now here he was.  He'd broken into her home.  He was sitting right in her living room.  And she felt not a twinge of fear. 

                Clarice Starling smiled with a pure, rosy joy she had not known since Argentina. 

                "I'm pregnant," she said softly. 

                Charlene took a moment to stare at her aunt in surprise. 

                "That's…that's great, Aunt Clarice," she managed.  "Congratulations.   What are you…what are you going to do?" 

                "We've arranged for a nice little hidey-hole," Clarice said.  "Little low-profile place where we can live in peace.  We'll tell you all the details.  How are you?" 

                "Fine," Charlene said.  "Work's busy, but I like it." 

                "Ah yes.  A psychologist."  Considerately, Dr. Lecter did not mention his thoughts on a PhD.  "I can say, I much prefer you working with children to where you were previously.  But come, let's eat." 

                The dinner proved to be excellent. 

                FIN