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Clarice Starling was beginning to hate the press. After nearly a week of flashing cameras and news reporters, she had half a mind to boycott all forms of journalism. One bad day forced her to become a prisoner in her own home. Not that she had anywhere to go, mind you, but walking around her house alone for days was driving her insane. Insane. At that word, Clarice started to laugh to herself. How many people thought that she was already?

Part of her could hear the whispers even through the walls. Her name was on the lips of every other person in the country all because of a situation she had no control over. The scene was still fresh in her mind even after a week. The smell of the fish and the sound of "Macarena" blaring from the car both flooded her senses from time to time, but most off all, the sight and feel of Evelda Drumgo's blood on the baby and her own hands came back to her and made her shiver.

Sometimes Clarice wondered what would have happened if she hadn't taken the shot. Would that have made a difference? No. John Brigham would still be dead, and she'd be in a casket next to him. She did, however, find irony in the fact that if she had died she probably would have been hailed as a hero. A woman that had served the bureau well and died in the line of duty. She would have been remembered as a brave agent of the law and nothing more just like her father.

It pained her to to admit those words, but she knew it was true. She'd given them years of faithful service, and now she was likely about to be canned because of bad press. People she'd fought for now branded her a murder. However, there was one person in the world she knew wouldn't judge her, and she couldn't even see him. The press and FBI had her under a microscope. There was no way for Hannibal to get to or contact her without her someone catching wind of it, and as much as she needed to talk to him, she wouldn't risk his capture. Though it would be nice to hear his opinion.

Clarice was broken from her thoughts by a knock on the door. Pushing herself up from her comfortable position on the couch in front of the fire, she headed for the door. Starling hissed as she stood. Some of her bruises still hadn't healed. Carefully, she peeked out of the window to see who was outside before answering.

To her relief, it was only the mailman, but she still spotted the reporter staking out her house in his car across the street. She signed for the letter sent by express mail and stared at the package for a moment. There was no return address. After carefully opening it, she pulled out an envelope with her name written elegantly on the front. Clarice began grinning ear to ear. The feel and smell of the envelope told her exactly who had sent it.

After taking a seat at her kitchen table, Clarice carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the two letters inside. She placed the second one aside and began reading the one on top.

Dear Clarice,

As I am writing this, I can already imagine you reading it. You are probably sitting somewhere comfortable with a small smile upon your face. How I long to see it in person, but alas, fate has dealt us both a cruel hand. You undoubtedly already know the reason I will not be able to come visit this month, and you should know that it pains me as well. I had already picked out the wine I would bring.

At this, Clarice laughed. Leave it to Hannibal to plan things this far ahead.

Though I do have a way to remedy this. You will come visit me. Now you are probably wondering where I am, but I will not tell you. The letter enclosed with this one is a false letter. Burn this one when you are finished reading it and turn the other in to your so called superiors. They will no doubt then give you the task on hunting me down there by saving your job and giving you the resources to track me. I have faith that you will be able to find me without any hints. I'll store the wine until you arrive.

With all my love,
Hannibal Lecter

P.S. Although the second letter is a false one, it does not make some of what is written any less true.

Ta ta,
H

He had to be joking. She read the letter slowly a second time. He was serious. She was here fighting for her job, and he sent her a letter challenging her to a global version of hide and seek. Clarice didn't know whether to laugh or be angry with him. With a sigh, she then read the second letter and found it both reassuring and infuriating. Though false, there was no doubt that he'd written it.

Starling admired the drawing he'd sketched at the bottom of it as she returned to the living room with both letters and their envelope in hand. Setting the envelope and the second letter aside, she threw the first into the crackling fire. She watched the elegant paper slowly burn amongst the logs with a slight smile.

"Alright Hannibal. I'll play your little game. Just know that when I find you I'm not letting go."

FIN