Stages of Love

Chapter Six: Anger
She spent two weeks in Rome, soaking it in as she had done Florence. She did not know how she could ever go back to America, back to her life, after seeing this place. Not that she could anyway; she’d left the country while she was under investigation. It was a sham investigation, but somehow she didn’t think Pearcell would see it that way. No, any way she looked at it, she was in deep shit if she ever returned to the US.
She set the birdcage on her bedside table and, at night, would look at it. She wanted nothing more than to fly away from this life, to find Lecter and to fly…
Whoa, girl! What the hell was that you just thought? Her mind’s voice brought her up short. She pushed it away.
Why not? Why couldn’t she leave one life behind, exchange it for another?
But there was sure to be a cost.
There was the quandary. It was clear that he wanted her, but whether to possess her or to partner her was uncertain. One thing was sure though. She has to take the game back from him. Up to this point the had led her around, stalking her like a cat stalks a mouse, leaving a breadcrumb trail of clue for her to follow. She had doggedly pursued him, across a continent, across all her internal boundaries, across all the reasons why she shouldn’t do it. Now it was her turn to come halfway across the world to watch him run.
She knew that if she let him control her actions she would always be a pupil to him. She could not bear that, could not have him so close and not believe her to be an equal. Almost anything was better than being patronized.
Clarice considered her options as she rode on the train to Paris. By the time she checked into her hotel she had a pretty good idea of what she should do. Now, she just had to have the right outfit.
Shopping in Paris is like drinking fine wine after swilling cheap vodka your whole life. There was literally nothing you could not buy on the Rue Bologne, and do it with style. The very first shop she entered displayed a myriad of possibilities and she spent the afternoon trying on dresses, letting the girlish part of her, the part that wanted to look pretty and be the center of attention, out for a while.
There were two dresses she strongly considered but she finally went with a deep emerald green dress that covered her one sutured shoulder but plunged wickedly, leaving the other bare. It dropped in shimmering graceful folds to the floor, adorned only by a single line of satin trim around the bust. Tasteful, flirtatious, elegant…she imagined Doctor Lecter being pleased and wondered if he too imagined scenarios and exchanges.


She was soon to find out.
Upon arriving at her hotel, on the banks of the Seine, she received a note.
Clarice~
Good choice on the dress. But where are you going to hide the cuffs this time, hmmm?
~H


She grinned. He knew her too well. In fact, along with the dress, she had purchased a matching bag, just large enough to hold a gun. She loaded it now, placing it into the purse before going into the bathroom for a quick shower. The Opera would start in two hours and she needed to be early.
She spent the first half of the opera scanning the crowd at the Palace Garnier from her box seat, looking for him. Perhaps she was wrong; perhaps he did not plan to attend. But somehow she doubted that. She sighed, fingering the libretto that she had been given by one of the box master’s. She cracked it open, reading the synopsis.
Hmmm Doctor, did you mean for this to be a message? The slave girl that loves her enemy and, torn between desire and duty, chooses to flee with him, only to end up dying with him instead? Am I supposed to be Aida or Radames?
The house lights went down and Clarice began to watch the opera in earnest, rapt by the self-destructive passion playing itself out before her. Voices soared and swooped over each other and she felt tears come to her eyes as she realized that, like Aida, she had already betrayed herself. She was here now, willing to fly with him. But how would it end? Would he send her back to her life, as Radames tried to do? Would they be caught and condemned to live forever apart? Would she defy all she knew to go to him at the last moment, willing to die with him rather than live without him?
Yes.

A tear spilled down her cheek as she, at last, realized the truth.
A whisper of movement to her right brought her eyes up and there he was, in the darkness of Box Five, almost directly opposite her own. She held his gaze for a moment, wondering if he could read the realization on her face, not caring that he did.
Clarice stood up, leaving her box and walking down the winding marble staircase to the mirrored grand foyer. Someone opened the door for her and she went outside, walking around the squat, ungraceful building. The wind had turned sharp and she clutched her purse close, wishing she had thought to bring a coat. She shivered in the shadows for a few minutes before she heard a step behind her.
He had done it deliberately, of course. She knew she would not have heard him unless he wanted her to.
She turned.
“Hello, Clarice.,” he said. She slowly raked her gaze over him, taking in the black suit, the fedora that covered his longer-than-usual hair, his hand, almost healed, and finally his midnight eyes. She did not look into them, knowing that she could lose herself forever there and not willing to slip now that she was so close.
“Hello, Doctor Lecter,” she replied, glad that her voice sounded even and self- assured. She felt far from it.
He stepped closer and she felt overwhelmed at his nearness.
Focus, she thought.
She calmly reached into her bag and pulled out the gun.
Lecter halted mid-step and lifted an eyebrow.
“My dear Clarice, didn’t anyone ever tell you that it is rude to point guns at people?” His tone was playful but there was very real menace behind it.
Already threatening each other, Clarice reflected. How quickly we fall into old patterns.
She allowed herself to look into his face for a moment.
“You’re right,” she said finally. She reversed the gun, holding it by the barrel. She held it out to him, and after a tentative moment he accepted the offering. She met his eyes then and spoke low,
“I’m tired of playing Hannibal.”
It was the first time she had ever used his given name and she saw it had the desired effect; he looked completely surprised.
Deliberately she turned her back on him and walked away into the night.