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Turning the Tables

copyright 2002, by Steel

Disclaimer:    These characters 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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One time F.B.I. Special Agent Clarice M. Starling and reformed serial killer Hannibal Lecter, M.D. sat together on the park bench, under a beautiful moonlit sky as he made his final plea for her to join him in a new life.

“This the kind of thing you were thinking of?” She remarked, throwing a copy of Good Housekeeping at him. “I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge Doc.”

“Clarice, as I’ve told you before, that part of my life is over, it’s dead and buried. Why must you continue dredging it up again and again? It’s becoming quite tedious.”

“I’m just not the housewife type Doctor. I was hoping for a little action, not endless dinner parties with a bunch of old cronies. I need more than that. I need excitement, danger, head games, you know, the fun stuff.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way Clarice, but I have no intentions on returning to my previous activities. I have hung up my harpy once and for all.”

“I’m sorry, too, Hannibal.”

They both stared into the night sky as if searching for another option. When it didn’t come, Hannibal rose from the bench and began to walk away. Stopping after a few steps, he turned to Clarice and seeing that there was to be no sudden change of heart on her behalf he simply said,
“Goodbye Clarice,” turned, and walked away.

Clarice, for the very last time, watched as Hannibal Lecter disappeared into the night.


Clarice awoke in a cold sweat. Sitting up in bed, trying to catch her breath, she reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and drained it. As she leaned over to replace the glass, she felt a hand snake around her waist. She covered the hand with hers as she reclaimed her place in the queen-size bed.

“Bad dream my dear?”

“Yes, horrible.”

He pulled her to him and she settled next to his warm body, resting her head on his chest.

“Was it the lambs?” he asked as he stoked her hair.

“No, worse.” Raising her head from his chest she looked at him and asked, “H, where’s your harpy?”

“It’s on the nightstand, where it always is. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” she said as she lowered her head to his chest once more. “Remind me to cancel my subscription to Good Housekeeping in the morning.” She mumbled into his chest before sleep overtook her.


copyright 2002, by Steel

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