Extended Vacation

copyright 2001, by DianaLecter

Disclaimer:    The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling were created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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Little more than a breath passed before Mapp’s relief poured into her eyes. Smiling profoundly, Mapp let out a cry that made her flinch for the shrill sound behind it.

Not knowing how to react, she turned to basic instinct. That, of course, was to haul ass out of there. Starling didn’t even realize she was running until she nearly tripped over her very unathletic shoes, but continued anyway. The sidewalk was treacherous to someone wearing anything but tennis shoes. Behind her, she heard Mapp calling her name outlandishly.

“Starling! It’s me! It’s Ardelia!”

Her thoughts drifted to Dr. Lecter, and she knew what he would do in this situation. The .45 suddenly felt heavy against her hip, and Starling had to shake her head to banish that thought.

Still, Starling found herself darting into an alleyway, knowing something had to be done, no matter what it was. She ran as far as she could before bringing herself to a halt, turning slowly as Mapp’s jogging figure approached. Starling braced herself, reaching for the gun and keeping it concealed by her garments at her side.

Breathless, Mapp stopped, her eyes imploring her friend’s. “Clarice?” she asked in an airy whisper. “Girl, it’s me. It’s Ardelia.”

Bringing the .45 directly into view, Starling nodded, likewise breathless. “I know, girl. I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

Mapp’s eyes widened. “Starling!” she screamed.

However, Starling did not pull the trigger. Instead, she drew the gun far behind her before bringing it down on her best-friend’s skull. A look of shock came over Mapp as she collapsed at her feet.

“I’m sorry, Ardelia,” she said, looking down at her briefly. Thinking quickly, she knew she couldn’t leave her here, a single female in a strange foreign town. However, she couldn’t risk staying around, either. Suppose Crawford was near? She would much more difficulty knocking him senseless than Mapp. Maintaining a controlled composure, she strolled leisurely out of the alley and attached the .45 to her waist once again. She informed the clerk at the nearest store, and was gone before they could inquire her for a name.

***

Crawford was forced to resort to the slowest form of pursuing. Traveling at a loathsomely slow pace, he went from hotel to hotel, flashing a picture he had faxed over of Dr. Lecter and another of Clarice Starling, and inquired each clerk if they had seen either. He felt like a boy scout trying to sell popcorn but without luck. The job was tiring and the side of his mind that wasn’t lost yet was begging him to give up. There were many hotels in this town and almost twice as many motels. Knowing Dr. Lecter hated to sacrifice taste, he safely discarded questioning the staff at those resorts until the option of luxury was taken away.

But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t pick up and go home. The reason was simple, and had been stated the day before at the café.

He closed his eyes and heard himself say the dreaded words. “I wanted her.” The first and hopefully last time he would have to admit his infatuation openly. He did indeed want her, and for a long time. This was a personal mission; no different than if Bella had been abducted in life.

Two hours later, and he was restless. As the cab pulled up to the Windsor Hotel, he promised himself that if he hadn’t found anything in three more houses, he would give up and call it a night. Handing the driver a few bills without registering the total, he drew in a breath and headed up the steps and through the entrance.

Smiling as though it were mandatory, he approached the front desk and flashed his badge into view. “Jack Crawford,” he said, “American FBI. I’m here investigating the disappearance of one Clarice Starling. Does the name ring a bell?”

The clerk looked at him thoughtfully, and a shot of hope attacked his spine and nearly made his knees buckle. It was the first sign of recognition he had experienced all day.

“Hmm,” the clerk said after a minute. “Sounds familiar.” His voice was doused in a thick French accent, though he struggled little with English. “Is there a photo?”

“Yes, of course.” Nearly stumbling over himself, Crawford reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the photo he had of her, the only one his office assistant could fine. It was his luck that it was the best one he owned, not to mention the clarity it offered on her defined features.

The clerk studied it for a number of seconds before emitting a positive sound. “Mmm, yes, Ms. Starling. She checked in here about a month ago.”

“Has she checked out?” He hoped against hope that she hadn’t, that she was located on the very floors above him. It would be all he could do to prevent himself from not hopping on her and smothering her with kisses when he saw her again.

“Yes, a day after she checked in, as a matter of fact. She was with a monsieur, I’m sorry, a very distinguished gentleman.”

“Did they mention other plans? Any other resorts? Anything? Please, anything you can remember; this is very urgent!” Crawford felt his breath tightening in his throat. This couldn’t happen, it couldn’t be allowed. He couldn’t get this damn close to have the rug taken from under his feet.

The clerk gave an honest attempt to recall, but shook his head. “I’m sorry, monsieur. I don’t remember anything.”

Crawford snatched the photo off the desk and nodded. “Thank you.” He didn’t wait for a reply before bolting out of the hotel and sliding into the seat of his waiting cab.

The next stop was the Auberge de Châteaux. He decided it would be the last for the day.

***

Precisely one hour before Crawford interviewed the clerk at the Windsor Hotel, Dr. Lecter listened intently as Starling gave him a quick overview of her adventure that afternoon. She was shaking and very stressed, sure that Mapp would have recovered, found Crawford, and spilled the whole story by now. With a sigh, she supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised; it was only a matter of time before her new love life was made public.

Still, that thought did little to soothe her. She was angry with herself for going out, for making her susceptible to a Mapp or Crawford sighting. Dr. Lecter was very supportive, and was doing an incredible job of containing his glee that she was able to enforce such harshness on her former best friend.

When she declined to calm herself, Dr. Lecter stroked her hair gently and said, “There now, Clarice. It’s over with now.”

“Yes, but-”

“Don’t allow it ruin our last night here. After all, I have quite an evening planned.”

At that, she looked up, her eyes meeting his and reflecting confusion. “Hmm?”

“My dear, I felt that you were over-working yourself on this matter. It really is an unhealthy habit you have, obsessing over the little things.” With that, he winked. “I thought a night on the town might do you good. As it is, we’ll be putting this behind us tomorrow.”

“We’re going out? They might see us…they might…”

Dr. Lecter raised a finger to his lips, closed his eyes and shook his head. “Let them, if they dare.” His eyes had a seductive twinkle in them, and her clothes suddenly felt itchy and uncomfortable. “I’m not ashamed to be with you, Clarice. I would hate to think you’re ashamed of me.”

That was what she was afraid of. Why wasn’t she ashamed? Shouldn’t she be?

“No, Hannibal. I’m not ashamed to be with you.” She stood from the chair, the same one located by the dresser, and smiled. “Dinner sounds lovely.”

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to prepare, Clarice. Might I suggest that burgundy outfit you purchased at the first of the month? It is quite becoming, and perfect for the bistro at which I made our reservations.”

He had loved that dress, and she enjoyed knowing it. Her taste was improving, had been improving steadily over the month. With that, she retreated into the bathroom with all the necessary items - including the .45, which she intended never to be without again - and began to ready for the night.

***

A little over an hour later, Dr. Lecter and Clarice Starling were standing at the elevators, waiting patiently for it to arrive on their floor. A small chime rang through the air as the doors slid open, and they seemed equally grateful for an empty car. Once outside, Dr. Lecter hailed a cab, much to Starling’s disappointment as she was hoping for another carriage ride, and they stepped inside.

Five minutes later, a different cab pulled up to the Auberge de Châteaux, and Jack Crawford stepped out. He repeated the procedure; handing the cab driver the expected amount so far in case he was longer than expected and the cabbie grew restless.

He walked calmly up to the registration desk and flashed his badge. “Jack Crawford, American FBI. I’m investigating the disappearance of Clarice Starling. Does the name sound familiar?”

The clerk didn’t think as much as the first and shook his head shortly. “No, I’m sorry.” His accent was very much audible, yet not as thick as the prior informant’s.

“How about Hannibal Lecter?” It was a long shot, he knew, as Dr. Lecter would never use his true name while he remained a very popular member of the Ten Most Wanted list.

“Non. Je suis désolé, Monsieur.” The French slipped out by accident, he knew, but he didn’t feel the need to ask for a translation, having had a few classes in the language, and knowing well enough to accept it as an apology.

“Quite all right. Here; look at these.” He withdrew the picture of Starling, and then another of Dr. Lecter, the one used from the website.

A shiver of hope surged through him. The clerk’s eyes widened and he began to nod enthusiastically. “Ah, oui, oui, Monsieur. He’s been staying here for about two months. I recognize the woman, too. Lovely girl, I must say.”

Crawford felt faint but shoved it aside. “I need their room number. Now.”

“Monsieur, it is confidential…”

“Listen. This man is very dangerous. He’s killed at least thirteen people, maybe more. I need the room key now, or you face charges.”

The man handed over the key, needing no further persuasion. Without saying another word, Crawford bolted the appropriate floor. He breathlessly shoved the key into the lock and turned.

To his immense disappointment, the room was empty. It was pleasant smelling and had several articles of women’s clothing. There were several sweet-smelling lotions and perfumes, things that screamed Lecterism. Crawford’s pulse exhilarated. He was here, he was here, and they had to come back sometime.

It was then his cell phone vibrated from within the pouch of his jacket. He drew it out quickly and answered, hoping perhaps it was Starling, but knew better. “Crawford,” he said.

“Hey, Mr. Crawford,” a weak voice said. “This is Mapp.”

She didn’t sound good. “Mapp? What’s wrong?”

“Starling. I saw her. She attacked me and left. God, where are you?”

“I’m in their hotel room.”

“What?!”

“She attacked you?”

“Yeah, she apologized for it, too. Jack, something’s happened to her. Either she was drugged or…or…”

Crawford had never let his mind travel there before and now was at a loss for words, fearing it was the truth. However, he found it easy to shrug off, for the idea itself was ridiculous. This was Starling, his Starling. Starling, Clarice M. She wouldn’t do this. He knew better than that.

“She must have been drugged,” Crawford said quickly. “I’ll call you back later; I’m not sure how long they’ve been gone.”

“Let me come-”

“No, no, no…too dangerous.” At that, Crawford hung up and replaced the phone in his jacket pouch. He drew out his back-up .45 and placed it on the dresser, taking a seat in the empty beside it.

All he could do now was wait.

Fin

Part 4 of 5

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