Hallo, everybody! Thanks for all the nice reviews you took the time to write me! Here I come with the new chapter, again from Clarice's POW. Dear FantaC! Clarice is 12 and a half at least! I looked closer at the 1st chapter and found that the Headmaster mentioned Clarice had been staying in the orphanage for two years before the events. If I did something wrong somewhere else (and that could possibly be...) – do tell me and I'll edit the chapter!

Wanna get as many reviews next time...! (And who's the blackmailer? /devilish grin/).

Chapter 5. The Piano.

I could actually run away from the window.

It was the first thought that came into her mind when the headmaster closed the door. Nobody closed the window. And this is the ground floor. Piece of cake.

But!... It would be against the rules.

Clarice suddenly remembered her father. She was six years old. They were eating breakfast, and Clarice suddenly asked:

"Daddy, why do you work at nights?"

"Because bad guys are always awake at nights," he explained.

"And who are those bad guys? Why can't everyone be good?"

"Because bad guys don't want to obey the rules, my sweety.."

Clarice blinked. What happened to her at that terrible moment? Why did she bit her teacher? It was certainly against the rules. It is easier to escape...

No, never would she do such a thing again. The moment her father was lying in the coffin she swore she would serve the law as he did. She was born to fight crime. To protect innocent people. Not to let the bad guys kill someone else's fathers...

And she won't break the rules for the good guys. If they placed her here for punishment, so let it be. Let it be, let it be, whisper words of wisdom, let it be...

Knock-knock. Someone's knocking on the door. No, not the door, the window! Didn't she tell ebryone clearly enough she's not in the mood? Knock-knock again. O'K, she thought. I'll just look – and then ask them to leave.

But when she looked through the window she couldn't hold a laugh. It was really funny to see gracious Good Doctor balansing on one foot, standing on the trash bin, one hand was free to knock again, the other one was holding huge amount of papers, and the rope which was only a bit longer than the carton box it was winding? Was being held by his litle white teeth. That was a rare entertainment for Clarice. She couldn't help to give another laugh when she saw his face becoming extremely serious. She opened a case-window.

"Hello, Doctor! Whatcha doing down there?"

Another ten seconds passed as he took the carton box in another hand and tried to make a bow.

"You see, Clarice, when I was going to pay you a visit, I was told you're in bed, feeling unwell. So what could a doctor possibly do in such a situation?"

"Anything but that," oops, why can't I hold my tongue, she thought.

But he remained calm. "Well, young lady, I am starting to think that you're showing your discourtesy while not letting me in."

Will I let him in? What is he doing here?

Okay, I'll let him in, she thought. But only to say I'm in no need of his services. After all he hasn't done anything wrong to me. He's just a doctor.

No, he's not. He's a Doctor.

"And, please, be quiet," he asked. "You do understand what could happen if we're caught."

I do understand, Doc. Let me do my job.

She opened the huge window – with a visible effort, trying to avoid sounds. He passed the the box – and then appeared in the room quite in a cattish way. If I were a cat, she thought... then why would I need rules? And he obviously finds pleasure in breaking them. Thanks God, he's only a Doctor, not a criminal. It wont be easy to catch such a man, who can pretend to be a cat while being a lion.

"I've brought a cake, but I haven't expected the situation as this one. It seems we are not going to have tea."

"Yup," say something, Clarice, say something, don't stare at him like that. Don't forget you are strong. You don't need him doing a charity. "Have a sit, Doctor."

"Thank you," he was still serious.

"Unfortunately, I have no knives and plates here," she said. "So I don't imagine us eating the cake you've so kindly brought.

"Don't worry. We could use the paper, and I have a knife with me," he answered with a devilish grin. Anybody would be already afraid. She wasn't. 'Why am I so sure he won't hurt me whatever the situation might be?"

And then she saw The Weapon. No, it wasn't an axe for an execution. Nor it was a toy. Her skin soon was covered with goose-bumps.

"This is called Harpy," he came closer. No! Not now! What are you going to do with it, knowing I'm alone and the door is closed? Was I so dumb I picked a day for anexecution myslef? And why am I so afraid?

"Will you give me the box?" he asked.

A sigh of relief. What a fool I am. He only wanted to cut the rope.

Watch, how his hand is used to holding this weapon. Why would a Doc need this thing?

"Ya know," he copied her Southern accent, 'the ole nice bud sometimes need a Harpy to protect 'imself."

She turned red. "Oh my, is is so noticeable?"

"What?" he smiled.

"My accent," she admitted. "They try to teach me, but it's still there."

"So what?" he said. "You're – how much – twelve years old? You can't achieve everything in no time. Now, young lady, here's your piece."

"Thank you," don't forget to be courteous, girl.

They sat down on the sofa. She ate and he stared. Soon she discovered she didn't feel nervous. Not at all. The cake was delicious and Clarice felt no pity there was no tea. Sometimes two good things spoil each other when mixing.

"So, let's continue," he said suddenly.

"Continue what?" Her mouth was busy with a little too big piece of cake.

"Continue the therapy, of course," he answered.

Now this is going to be hard for me to say...

"I'm sorry, Doctor..." she began.

"No, it is me, who should be sorry," Doctor stopped her. "You were feeling unwell and I interrupted your rest."

"Where's the logic?" stop it girl, you are no match for him. "I told them I am feeling unwell, but you came anyway."

"So it was you... And I was afraid they won't let me do my job just because I showed your headmaster out..."

"That's when we came to the point," be brave, girl, he is not your friend. "I'm in no need of therapy anymore. Just like I said I needed a physician. And a good rest. I don't need a psyche doctor."

"Tsk, tsk, Clarice..." she was suddenly overflown by a mixture of fear and pity. "Maybe I haven't told you, but I know, when somebody's lying. And I think that lying is unspeakably rude."

And what am I going to do with this? Tell him the truth?

"Of course," he nodded. "Was it some kind of pressure?"

"No, it was my decision. Is that enough?" you're no match for him, don't forget that. But your strong will is all you have. And you should be stronger this time. Stronger than him. He is not your friend, remember.

"No, it's not. Tell me, why have you made such a decision," and I can't be strong anymore. Not now. At least I've tried, Daddy, I've tried hard.

"I don't need charity. Are you satisfied?" he is staring at me with his incredible maroon orbs, quiet, head tilted... No sing of amusement on his face.

"I see," he replied at last. "But, you see, I usually don't work with children. And my services are well paid." He named an astronomic sum. "I can't see you are ready to pay such a sum for me."

"That's why I'm in no need of your services," she repeated. No, I'm not letting a single tear escape my eyes. He is not my friend.

"Let's say, I'm your friend. I came to hear you out, and you tell me everything..."

"No!" she cried. "You're not my friend!"

In a moment she found herself in his strong arms, his hand on her mouth, his voice soothingly whispering in her ear. "Shhh, you don't want them to hear us, do you? Promise not to scream and I'll let you down."

She gave a nod.

He let her down.

She stared at him and he wasn't willing to break their eye contact quickly either.

"I'll come tomorrow," he said. "I understand. But I can't take money from you either. Even if you were rich beyond reason, I couldn't take money from you. I could take your help. Would you help me?"

What could she possibly say to that? Of course, no!

"Yes."

"Then tomorrow? And let it be legal this time." He smiled. "I'm not old enough to forget hor to enter through the window, but I would certainly prefer a door."

She smiled. 'God, when did I last smile? When did I last laugh?'

"I'll take these with me," he said, taking the paper.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Never ask," he winked at her. "It spoils the surprise."

And so he left, and she stood near the window, watching him go away. He once turned and waved his hand to her. And she smiled again.