Starling’s foot had already begun to fly when she realized two things.  First of all, the door was not locked or even latched, as evidenced by the fact that it stood open just a crack; and a blow of the force that was currently aimed at it would create a ricochet that would probably knock her down.  Secondly, she noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes and that this was really going to hurt.

            She was at least able to catch the swinging door with her elbow, preventing it from either maiming her or waking up the entire hotel, but she was left with a stinging, throbbing foot.  Her impetus carried her through the antechamber and into the main room of the suite, hobbling drunkenly into the center of the room.

            So much for grace, she thought as she automatically brought her gun up and made a quick sweep.  What she saw very nearly stopped her heart.

            Entwined almost like lovers on the bed were dark shadows of the two living men she loved best, stopped and motionless in the pale light.

            Which made her instinctive command of “Freeze!” rather pointless, but the habits of ten years were not about to be broken in that instant.  She moved swiftly forward, and saw why they were not about to move any time soon.

            Blade and gun.  Jesus Christ, they were going to kill each other.  Neither so much as looked in her direction.

            That was it.  The proverbial last straw.  Clarice Starling had not worked, packed, traveled, and travailed so long and so hard to let it all end here.  It was time for her to take control.

            She knew that, inside her, something new had been born in this last month.  It was time to put it to the test.  She gave herself over to instinct.

            “Dr. Lecter,” she said softly, the sounds rounded and gentled by her West Virginia drawl.  “I believe it is customary to at least offer a tap on the shoulder when you are going to cut in.”

            Even in the dimness, she could see him stiffen, and yet he did not move.  Point one for Starling’s side.

            “Well, hello, Agent Starling,” he said, his eyes never leaving Cooper’s.  “How nice to see you again.”

            “Dr. Lecter, I would be pleased to go through the formalities some other time, but right now I would like for you to put your knife down at the bottom of the bed, and put your back against the wall.  Keep your hands where I can see them.”

            “And why would I do that, Agent Starling?  Have you no concern for my welfare?  I’m hurt,” he said, and the coldness in his voice prickled her spine.

            “Cooper is not going to hurt you, Doctor.  In fact, Cooper is going to put his gun down at the bottom of the bed just after you put down the knife.  He is also going to put his back against the wall.”

            “Oh, Clarice, you’ve got a gun.  How droll.  Do you think you can command me with that blunt little tool?  Do you think you’ll even be able to use it?”

            The words brought up all the echoes he’d intended, she was sure, but she maintained her composure.

            “No, Doctor, I don’t think I can command you with a gun.  But if you’re so sure that I won’t use it, why did tonight matter so very much to you that you came here, engaging in such rude behavior?”

            He blinked.  Starling could never before, in any of her confrontations with him, remember him blinking.  Point two for her side.

             In one fluid motion, he broke the stalemate, folded the knife, and placed the Harpy at the foot of the bed, then retreated to the head, sitting straight up against the wall, legs ramrod straight in front of him.  His hands were laid, open, in his lap.  She felt his eyes on her for the first time, and repressed a shiver.

            She did not even allow herself a sigh of relief.  “Now you, Coop.”

            Wordlessly, Cooper uncocked his weapon, flipped the safety on, put the .45 next to the knife, and assumed much the same position as Dr. Lecter had.

            Gun still trained on Lecter, she went forward and scooped up the array of deadliness from the end of the bed with her free hand.  It was an awkward bundle, and she backed up until she could feel the dresser behind her.  She reached her hand behind her back and deposited the gun on the top.  The Harpy she kept curled in the palm of her hand.

            “Now, Dr. Lecter, I am going to ask you to go and sit over in that chair.  I want you to give me your word that you will not move from that spot, no matter what, until I tell you.  I guarantee that you will not be hurt in any way.”

            “It’s perhaps a little late for that, Clarice,” he said in the mocking voice that had haunted her dreams for so long.  Only this time, she sensed, it was not her that he mocked.

            “Just do it, Doctor.”

            “As you wish,” he said, and began to get up.

            “Stop!” she barked.  “Give me your word, Doctor.”

            He looked at her as if he were looking at a child.  “I give you my word,” he said slowly, tonelessly.

            She caught his eye as he stood.  She felt like she would drown in the moist shine she saw there.  “I trust you, Dr. Lecter.”  There was nothing more she could say.

            He took his place in the appointed chair and looked away.  He looked away.  She could scarcely credit her eyes.  Score three for Starling’s side, but suddenly it had stopped feeling good.

            She stood there for a moment, then put her gun down next to Cooper’s on the dresser.  He just sat there, staring blankly ahead.  He would not meet her eyes.

            She went to him, and sat at the edge of the bed.  “How many times have you tried this?”

            “Too many,” he whispered.  “And no matter what I do, it won’t let me go.  It stops me every single time.”  His face looked like an egg about to meet the side of a bowl.

            She put her arms around him and pulled him into her.  She recognized the broken sobs that issued from his shaking body.  So many times, they had been her own.

            “Oh, Coop.  Oh, Coop.  Why?” she breathed into his ear as she stroked his hair.

            He pulled away from her embrace and looked up at her.  Gently, he took her hand, got up, and led her into the bathroom.  Shutting the door behind them, he turned with her to face the mirror.  The puzzled look on her face dissolved into horror as he pushed his mind out, as hard as he could, to make her see what he saw.

            She could not tear her eyes away.  Superimposed over Cooper’s reflection was a snarling, grinning, greasy wretch of a man with long straggly hair and the cruelest eyes she’d ever seen.  It was repellent.  Horrific.

            And then she understood what she had not before.  The evil in Cooper was the kind of evil that raped and tortured little girls, the kind that devoured and defiled everything it touched.  This was no gourmet of pain, no aesthete of darkness.  This was raw filth and decay.  The stench of it filled her nostrils and made her eyes water.

            She did not, could not stop to ponder why the difference was important.  She knew only that it was.  And Cooper had been living with this infection inside of him for ten years.

            She felt him shake beside her, his hand quivering in her own.  As he turned away, the image disappeared, and she was able to look at him again.

            “There is no cure for this, is there?” she whispered.

            He shook his head.  “I have no hope of one.  I don’t know how much longer I can control it.  And when I can’t…” his words trailed off into silence.

            She put herself between him and the mirror, resting her head on his broad chest.  She sagged forward into him, and the unexpected weight of her forced him back a few steps until he actually had to step over the bathtub rim to keep from falling.

            She threw her arms up and rested them on his shoulders.  Brimming eyes upturned to his, and she said, “Coop, I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry.  But you shouldn’t have tried to use Dr. Lecter.  After all, you made me the keeper of your courage.  Let me give it back to you.”

            He started to give her a wan smile but was stopped by the sensation of hot wetness on his chest.  For a ridiculous instant he thought that perhaps he’d bumped the shower knob.  It wasn’t until he looked down to see the crimson gush flowing over the silver blade and felt the pain that he realized what had happened.

            The world grew gray, and the last thing he saw was Starling’s face tracked with tears.  He heard her whisper, “Laura, help him now.”  He tried to say something, but only a fountain of blood came out.

 

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            A howl and a heat, a scream and a sigh, and the pressure of lips on his own.  And then he was there, in the room with the black and white floor and the red velvet curtains.  He looked down.  He was dressed in a black suit with immaculate white shirt.  As his awareness returned, he saw a tall mirror standing in the corner.  He walked over to it.  And there, nestled in the silver, cradled by the elaborate carving of the frame, was his own reflection.

            A sound jerked him from his reverie.  A phonograph across the room was playing an old 78, and the sound of screaming lambs filled the air.  He crossed the room, smiled, and took the needle off the record.

            When he turned around, Laura was there.  She made a heavenly armful as they waltzed to the music of a ghostly orchestra.

 

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            Starling held his body up, locked in her arms, until the last ragged gasp emerged from his lungs.  She lowered him down into the tub, pulled the curtain, and turned on the shower.  The harsh spray of cold water stung her skin as she rinsed most of the blood from her body and his.  Tears fell and mingled with the other rain as she braced herself against the wall.  Her stomach heaved but nothing came up.

            She did not know how long she stood there, eyes closed and shivering, until she realized that she had lost something.  At first she thought it was Cooper’s absence that she felt, but she knew that wasn’t it.  Slowly, it dawned on her.

            The lambs had stopped screaming.

            She stripped out of the soaking dress and laid it at Cooper’s feet.  Stockings, too, came off and she was left naked under the chilling stream.  She rinsed her hair, plunging her head into the spray.  When at last she finally felt clean, she shut the water off and carefully stepped, dripping, out of the bath.

            She did not notice the luxurious feel of the soft white towels on her frozen skin.  She dried off and pulled on the terrycloth robe that hung behind the door.  It smelled of pine, fresh and aromatic.  She stifled a sob with a sharp gasp and pulled open the door.

            Hannibal Lecter was still sitting in the chair.  He looked as if not one muscle had betrayed his promise.  Only his eyes moved to observe her entrance.

            She had never seen him like this.  The crackling, surging energy of his presence was subdued into a small trickle, and she could not read his eyes at all.  Her knees began to tingle and threatened to abandon her entirely.  She had had enough of control.

            She dropped weakly into the chair next to his.  She searched her mind for words adequate to the situation and found none.  Finally, she said, “I think I’m going to need your help in there.”

            He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.  The expression on his face was eloquent.  It stated clearly that he had absolutely no idea what she could be talking about.

            Her aching brain simultaneously registered two amazing facts.  The whole interlude had been quiet enough to escape notice, and there was something in this world that Dr. Hannibal Lecter did not know.  It was too much.  It was all so very much too much.  Her elbow went on the arm of the chair, her face went into her hand, and her other arm waved for Lecter to go into the bathroom.  “Just… just go,” she muttered.

            He got up and walked into the bathroom.  She drew her legs up and curled herself into a ball, her head between her knees.  When at last she felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder, she sat back.

            “I confess that you have surprised me, Clarice,” Lecter said simply.

            And then he knelt, wrapping his strong arms around her, and she clung to him as if he were the last rung of a fire escape.  That this moment should come now, like this… hysterical laughter warred with tears and she just shook, letting every emotion pour out of her body until she could be still.

            She raised her head and met his eyes.  His face was grave but full of compassion.  “There are some things I need to know,” he said quietly.

            And so she told him.  The whole story.

 

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            She looked in the mirror one last time, making sure that everything was in place.  Her hair, her makeup, were all in order.  The strapless silk sheath was that shade of forest green that suited her best.  Or so Hannibal had said, and she was inclined to agree.  It certainly went nicely with the cabochon emeralds that now graced her ears, wrists, and throat.

            She reached out a manicured hand to touch her reflection in the glass.  She would never think of mirrors in quite the same way again.  A part of her felt guilty at the joy that bubbled up inside her, but she set that aside as foolish.  Cooper’s death was a victory, in its own way.  He would not begrudge her the happiness she felt.

            Hannibal had listened to her story, and had brushed the tears from her eyes with deft fingers.  If he was skeptical of some of the more unbelievable elements, he did not show it.  When she pressed him about it, he met her question with another question.  He wanted to see the picture of Laura.

            She found it in Cooper’s wallet.  He took it and stared at it for a long time.  Then he told her about his dream.

            He had not told her how he had taken care of the body and she had not asked.  They had enough other things, more important things, to discuss.  It was enough for her that he felt it safe to remain at the Hotel Praia Plata for one more night.  A special surprise, he had said.  And then they would be moving on.

            One last look at her reflection and she was ready.

            He stood on the balcony, watching the dusk creep up the sky.  The ocean breeze was cool against his skin.  A small noise behind him made him turn, and he caught his breath as he saw her, elegant and beautiful, backed by the fluttering white wave of the curtain.  He congratulated himself on his choice of dress, and on the jewels that sparkled against her alabaster skin.  He offered he his arm, and she took it.  The smell of her could make him giddy.  The knowledge of her could frighten him.  The combination was utterly irresistible.

            They enjoyed a fine meal at the hotel’s restaurant.  The salty, steaming, dripping rare beef, roasted over Brazilian hardwoods, was excellent, as was the accompanying farinha and feijoada.  The hotel unfortunately did not have a bottle of Pétrus in the cellar, but the 1981 le Pin was more than adequate… much more, in fact.  He ordered quindão for dessert, and ignored the brief shadow that crossed her face as she tasted the coconut sweet.

            “Did you enjoy your meal?” he asked when she had finished, catching her hand and bestowing a kiss upon it.

            “It was marvelous,” she said, enjoying the thrill that was running up her arm.  Her head tilted just a shade back and her lips parted.  “A lovely surprise.”

            “But that was not the surprise, Clarice,” he responded, his voice carrying a hint of mystery.

            She arched an eyebrow and looked at him.

            “All good things to those who wait,” he said, enjoying her curiosity immensely.  “I find that a little exercise is soothing to the digestion after a meal.  Would you care to take a walk with me?”

            She nodded, still unused to him making requests instead of commands.  He led her out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby.  Putting a hand in his pocket, he withdrew a silk handkerchief and neatly folded in into a long strip.  “If you’ll permit me?” he asked, and tied the blindfold around her eyes when she assented.

            They walked and walked, and he spun her around several times to ensure her complete lack of direction.  He amused her along the way with anecdotes from his time in Florence, and she responded with tales of her and Ardelia at the Academy.  She was beginning to be glad he had selected marginally more sensible shoes for her when she heard a bell and felt the unmistakable stomach lurch of an elevator.

            She was surprised to feel a strong breeze when they emerged, but knew better by now than to question it.  He led her a few steps further and moved behind her.  She shivered as the warmth of his body pressed into her and she leaned back into him.  His breath was delicious against the skin of her neck as he whispered in her ear.  “My Leda, my Lyra, my beauty crowned,” he said, removing the blindfold.

            As if his words were not enough to set her aflame, she opened her eyes to see the vast expanse of the night sky stretched out above them, and the constellations that had once been only pixels on a screen burned in the velvet black of the heavens.  Strains of music wafted past her ears and she tore her gaze away from the stars.  They were on the roof of the hotel, and a string quartet was laboring in a soft circle of torchlight.

            “May I have this dance?” asked the voice that had both singed and soothed her soul.  She turned around and settled gracefully into his arms.  They moved together as if they had been made for each other.

            She lost herself in the rhythm of the dance, her mind reeling at random over the events of the past month.  She looked up and found it strange that the North Star was absent from the view.  Something of her thoughts must have showed in her face, for he said, “You know, Clarice, the full cycle of the precession of the equinoxes takes twenty-six thousand years.  For the pole star to change from Polaris to its opposite takes thirteen thousand years.  You have taken exactly one month.  You shame the very stars in their courses.”

            He brought his face to hers, and their lips met.  Starling felt an explosion of light in her chest, like a sun gone supernova.  She felt the compass of her heart shift, and she knew he was right.

 

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            Maria Velasquez was shaking as she tiptoed her way out of the house.  She had forgotten her purse, and had been faced with a real rock-and-a-hard-place dilemma:  would it be better to risk returning for it, or to risk a beating from José when she came home without the money she knew would go towards paying his gambling debts.  The clear and present danger overcame the threats of her employer in her mind, and she had snuck quietly back into the servants’ hall of the grand mansion.  Her heart hammering, she retrieved her purse and began to make her way out again.  Not that the Doctor and his wife were bad people to work for, she told herself.  It was a good job, a very good job, and she would be a fool to chance getting fired.  So it was better to follow their strange directions.

            She dared a glance back over her shoulder as she slipped through the manicured garden into the alleyway.  For one frozen moment she thought she was done for, as she spied the Doctor and his beautiful wife on the terrace.  The dying sunlight seemed to catch them in its glow, and the lady’s platinum hair gleamed only a little brighter that the gentleman’s splendid white tie ensemble.  But they were wrapped up in each other, dancing to inaudible music, and Maria breathed a sigh of relief as she made her getaway.