The length of silence had disquieted the monster to some extent. Though he was honor bound to trust in her loyalty, Agent Starling was nothing if not surprising. So long in the hands of her task master’s might have turned her again; the comforts of the familiar out weighing the thrill of the good. He amused himself with the fact that according to his “peers” no relationship could stand without trust.
But he did trust her he trusted in the fact that he never could predict her. For someone who’s life utterly depended on the calculated pattern of human behavior, he found this sudden contentment with her most dangerous trait thrilling.
Never the less “Vik” transferred from his pediatrician practice and from Turkey. The doctor thought for a moment to go to Japan and cut up a few old touches—but no. There he would stand out, and that was severely counter productive.
So it happened that he sat once again to pen a letter to Clarice in his spacious hotel room in India. He would lay low here for a half or year or so and move west again. Such haphazard travel made no difference to him, being a man of great wealth and little possession. The seemingly random path of his movement would baffle the authorities, especially with the few red herrings placed about the globe.
Obsessing, my dear, is not healthy. I have kept safe long before I met you and long before you agreed to marry me (that agreement still stands, and I always collect if that gives you some comfort). With you as my “guardian agent” I am nearly impervious to discovery. But I am not hubris please keep in mind the only time I was caught, I rather allowed myself to be. The game had to be up sometime, and young Will was as good as any a captor; besides, I knew this accomplishment would haunt him. He is not like you Clarice e he wears them like a pilgrim’s burden, where as your’s shine like a badge of courage, not matter how they try to scratch it out.
Speaking of Will, you seem absolutely determined to put me in a fairy tale light. From wolf to knight now fairy godmother? But, perhaps I may have pushed our friend in a certain direction. Molly is good for him, though anything but the bottle is good for him at this point. She has the singular power to make him happy.
When Agent Graham is happy, Clarice, we are safe.
Clarice sucked in her lips before she slid down against her bed, her cheek hitting the plush cotton of her pillow. She had to admit that the arrival of this letter was something that she was most looking forward to in the recent weeks. For months he waited for her last response and yet his was prompt, given the circumstances. Her eyes closed, allowing the scripted words of his penmanship to soak in. There was comfort in his response. Even a presence that could be felt. That presence was even felt back when she wouldn’t admit her feelings for him.
Rare peaceful thoughts, memories of her time with him in Barcelona, drifted her into a light sleep. After a few turns over her bed sheets and some failure to find a comfortable position in bed, Clarice sat up, squinting as she read her digital clock at 2:43 AM.
Now slumped over at her desk, Clarice brought a pen to her lips as she mentally planned out her next letter to Hannibal.
Careful where you orchestrate I agree Molly is good for Graham. The best for him, in fact. There’s something that draws him to you though. I’m afraid it always will. FBI or not, the man wants you for what Francis Dolarhyde did to him. In some weird way he feels the need to protect me as well. Even with these big girl boots of mine on.
Most of my time is spent working with the DEA and BAFT now. If it wasn’t for my office or Krendler breathing down my neck, I’d say I wasn’t even working for the FBI anymore.