Something tells me I will remember today for the rest of my life.

It doesn’t really hit me until I step outside and look up at the Baltimore Asylum for the Criminally Insane.  When I was first assigned this crazy case, I don’t think it occurred to me that I was actually a drive away from meeting the infamous Hannibal the Cannibal.  I feel flattered to be here.  After all, Jack Crawford could have easily chosen one of the more qualified students.  Yes, my grades are rather good; I won’t sell myself short.  But hell, I’m just a gal from West Virginia.  How on earth did I make it this far?

Whatever doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger.  I’ve seen to that.  Too much, sometimes, I think.

As I step up to the building, I feel myself shiver.  Hot damn, what is it about this place?  I’ve seen lunatics before.  I mean, look at my mother.  But this is different.  Way too different for my liking.  It occurs to me that I really don’t want to go through with this.  Funny.  And two seconds ago, I was flattered.

Damn female hormones.  And I’m not even on my period.

Why was Mr. Crawford doing this?      Shoving me into the face of a madman?  All for the sake of capturing Buffalo Bill?  Okay, I won’t pretend seeing those pictures didn’t shake me.  It shook me.  It really shook me.  I feel goose bumps sprout across my skin simply at the thought.

Well, I’m not really here for Bill, anyway.  At least, I don’t think I am.  It seems sort of fishy that Crawford would send me to interview a serial killer we’ve had for eight years for the sake of a simple evaluation when another threat is stalking American youth.  Nevertheless, I won’t deviate.  I’ve been told my instructions and have every intention of following them. 

I didn’t expect my stomach to churn before I meet the monster, but now I stand before Dr. Chilton.  God, this man is a freak.  He has that greasy smile nailed.  Yeah, yeah, don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking.  How about judging me for my accomplishments and not my bra-size?

Hah.  I wish I could say that out loud, but I figured it wouldn’t do me too much good.  Besides, I don’t think I’m proportioned fairly in that area, anyway.  What woman does?  I settle to look away in distaste. 

Well, at least that shut him up.  I think this is the kind of guy who approves of statutory rape.

Okay…now he’s refusing to cooperate nicely.  Asshole.  Well, hot damn, I’m going to make him brief me.  I don’t care what kind of lunch appointments he has.  I’m here now, aren’t I? 

All right…he’s walking with me now.  Don’t I feel lucky?

Ah.  Alan.  It seems men of all kinds hit me on.   Well, he’s superior to Dr. Chilton, anyway.  I suspect he might be an interesting conversationalist, when he’s not busy studying the process of others bowels, that is.

Bowels.  That reminds me of whom I’m about to face.  I surpass a shudder. 

Dr. Chilton gives me the needed information as we walk.  He seems happy about the overshadowing of Lecter’s crimes by other media-hounds, and a rather displeased that he still receives attention in medical journals.  I decide to rile him up a bit and mention that piece of surgical addiction that impressed me.  In truth, I had read it only the night before in preparation for this meeting.  When you’re about to interview a sociopath, you’d like to know as much about him as possible. 

Hah.  It worked. 

Well, it seems that if Chilton can’t get me himself, he will harass me in other areas.  Honestly, can’t a woman be here because she’s qualified, and not to ‘turn on’ the interviewee?  I wonder how I might reply to that hideous insinuation, and hope my words don’t come out as cold as they are in my head.  With as much as I would love to sock this asshole in the face, I have a job to do.  And I can’t let personal matters interfere with the task at hand, no matter what he says to me.

Or suggests.

And now he’s telling me the rules.  The list seems endless, and knowing so many precautions need to be taken to ensure safety while handling this monster, I find myself shuddering inwardly once more.  Fear creeps up my spine, but I force myself to remember that behind every reputation, there is a story.  There is a reason.  And there will always be a barrier between us, and as long as I remember not to give him anything hard, or approach the bars, I should be fine.

I hope I hope I hope…

Now he’s showing me a picture.  Why?  Is this really necessary?  Couldn’t he have just told me the goddamn story?  I’m sure my mind’s creation would’ve been much worse than any lousy photograph, anyway.

He takes personal satisfaction as I shudder.  I want to rip his tongue out.

Okay, so now I’m free of him.  All in all, dealing with Chilton seems to have relaxed me.  With as much as I still loathe the upcoming meeting, I feel if I survived the briefing, I can get through anything.

No, wait…he seems to want to follow me inside.  I can’t allow this.  I thought he was going away.  In haste, I open my mouth and suggest he take his leave.  I don’t want the distraction, and I’m fairly sure Lecter won’t be too responsive with this arrogant jack-off around.

Chilton twitches at this and grumbles that I should have mentioned that in his office.  Well hot damn, sun of a gun, why didn’t you fucking brief me in there like I asked in the first place?  Think I wanted your company on this trip, anyway.

He’s gone.  I allow myself to utter a sigh of relief.

I’m approached by a frighteningly large man who introduces himself as Barney.  He’s nice and chatty, but also stern and to the point.  I can admire that.  He asks me if I’ve been warned and put through all those precautions, and I assure him I have.  When he tells me to walk down the middle, and that Lecter is at the end of the hall, I feel something creep up my spine unlike anything I’ve experienced before.  Fear?  No, the fear is gone now.  Gone with Dr. Chilton and his greasy smile.  What else is there?

Anticipation?  Is that different than fear?

You’ll do fine you’ll do fine you’ll do fine you’ll do fine…

And then I’m walking…my footsteps heavy and over-pronounced.  I suspect Lecter will know he has a visitor just by that, even if he wasn’t informed in advance that I was coming.  Something tells me, even now before I’ve set eyes on him, that he will have a sixth sense about this sort of thing.

I pass a cell.  A man hisses at me.  “I can smell your cunt.”  Oh really?  How fascinating.

See what I said about getting offers from all types of men?  I refrain from looking at him as I press forward. 

When I know I have arrived at my destination, I turn slowly, in taking the view of Lecter’s cell.  He has books to the wazoo, a table-desk, and several drawings.  All furniture is bolted down.  The monster himself was lying on his bunk, reading Vogue.  I allow myself a small smile at the image, but wipe it away before he can turn his eyes to me.

Seeing this person in the flesh and not on some television or picture from the printing press has an unsettling affect on me.  Something stirs.  A premonition?  Of what?  I don’t know, but I decide to ignore it for now.

I speak. 

“Dr. Lecter?”

His attention is distracted from the magazine and he turns his gaze in my direction.  Our eyes meet for the first time.

First time.  And hold.  For a minute, I forget to speak, forget to blink, breathe, or do anything imperative to human survival.  I am trapped in his eyes.  His maroon eyes.  They sparkle at me, but for whatever reason, I don’t know.

Even if I never see him again, I know I will remember those eyes forever. 

Likewise, I know from this moment, my life will never be the same.