Disclaimer: Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of 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 whatsoever. Anything you recognize belongs to Thomas Harris, anything else is CloseEncounters©2004.
I loved the books, and "Hannibal", in particular as I love Clarice Starling and am fascinated with the Clarice – Hannibal rapport.
However, I am convinced that being the villain he is Mason Verger would not be satisfied with just a physical torture of Dr Lecter. In Verger's state of mind only the ultimate revenge will do – a psychological torture that would without doubt involve the acute and immediate suffering of Clarice Starling.
Therefore, I conceived the idea that Mason Verger planned to kidnap and kill not only Dr Lecter, but also Clarice Starling.
Expanding on that notion, I tried to interweave my story into the cannon of the book. For this purpose, I used bold italics as a reference points within the book.
I hope you will enjoy reading the piece.
Discourage
By CloseEncounters
... The Mustang's big pipes blew the dead grass flat as she pulled out of her driveway to call on Mason Verger.
There was a thud, then a clanking and jolting. The screeching of metal prompted Starling to slam the brakes. She got out and crouched to examine the damage. A wooden plank was wedged between the rear tire and the fender. She noted a large dent on the Mustang's body.
"Damnit," Starling stood up.
She heard it. Instantly coiled towards the sound of the air rifle, hand going for .45 behind the hip, neck arching instinctively, squeezing around the piercing intruder. With her vision failing, she saw men running out of the grey van. The pistol made it out of the holster and into the stubby grass of the sidewalk as she went on all four straining to get up. Then her body finally gave in and Starling slid onto her side. As her vision betrayed her the last thing she registered was brown scoffed boots, a strong smell of swill, somebody grasping the car keys out of her hand.
Tommaso sits in a cane chair, the tranquilizer rifle propped against the wall beside him. His dark prist's eyes never leave Dr Lecter's face.
As the farrier's furnace flares up in the tack room of the old barn, the grey van is reversing into the view. Tommaso jumps up, picks the rifle and, still keeping his eyes on the prisoner, backs to the barrier, he calls out and cranes his neck to see the back doors of the van open and a woman's body lying motionless on the floor.
Deputy Sheriff Mogli with the set of Starling's guns tucked behind the belt gets out of the driver's seat and walks to the rear of the van.
From the darkness of the winter evening Piero appears and hands the Mustang's keys to Mogli who is clearly in charge. The car keys join Starling's boot knife in his front trouser pocket. Mogli orders Piero to bring a steel frame trolley from the tack room over to the van and turns to watch Carlo to unshackle their unconscious captive.
Tommaso glances again at the hanging figure of Dr Lecter and reports that the dottore is still out.
"Good." Mogli said. "Then we have plenty of time for a little fun of our own."
They transfer Starling to the trolley and roll her into the barn.
The rustle from the speakers attracts their attention.
"I see you have her." Mason said. "How was it?"
"Perfect, sir," Mogli said. "Nobody saw anything. It took less then three minutes. She had a set of guns," Mogli pointed at the guns around his waist, "and cuffs."
"I'm sure you'll put them to good use." Mason said.
"Also, in her car there was a fresh printout of your estate and its road connections, and someone's badge." Mogli continued. "Looks to me that she was on her way here, Mr Verger."
"Was she, was she indeed..." Mason contemplated the significance of this information. As such, it presented a possibility of turning a kidnapping into an unlawful entry and a trespass. Then, if required, anything that happened to her here, say, her unfortunate death, the least, could be blamed on Starling herself, an out of control interfering bitch, an embarrassment to such a fine institution as FBI.
"Excellent. We can set her up if necessary... Keep her stuff close by, Mogli, and leave her car away from the barn... We'll play it by ear."
"It's already done." Mogli grasped the chance to demonstrate his professionalism. "Can we get now to our little arrangement, Mr Verger? She is not going to live to tell the tail, is she?"
"No, no, she goes first, the antipasti of a sort," Mason giggled, "then the Doctor in two sittings, so he can watch her and delight himself in thinking of the joys to come."
"Make sure that whatever you are doing is in full view of the Doctor," Mason's voice enriched by the speakers floated around the barn, "should he wake up while you are pleasuring yourselves with Ms Starling, he gets to see all the action."
"And, Mogli, when you are done, get your ass up here, I'll need to brief you." Mason said before switching off. "Cordell, get me Paul Krendler on the phone."
"Get to it, boys. Leave nothing on." Mogli said, popped Starling's shirt open and licked his lips.
As the men went about undressing Starling, the air of urgent anticipation hung around them. When she lay naked before them, her things piled beside the wall, the men paused a moment to admire her beautiful forms. Then Johnny Mogli pulled her left knee up, cuffed her left ankle to her left wrist and clipped it to a ring on the bottom left corner of the table, the same he repeated for the other side. Starling was ready.
Deputy Sheriff Mogli as an officer of the law was well aware of his responsibilities regarding the firearms. Before he dropped his gun belt to the ground he considered Starling's guns, propping his belly. He put Starling's ankle holster on his leg and transferred short .45 in. Then he felt the weight of the M1911A1 Colt .45 pistol in his hand, grinned and pushed it in between Starling's legs, sensing the growing excitement below his abdomen.
As men took turns in gratifying their sexual fantasies and urges, nobody was there to notice red sparks flying in the darkness behind Dr Lecter's eyes. It was sometime before Tommaso slumped back into his cane chair, and, exhausted, raised his gaze to the silent figure on the wall. Then, finally, he detected a change in the stillness of the bound man.
It is a subtle change, from unconsciousness to unnatural self-control, perhaps no more than a difference in the sound of his breathing.
Tommaso gets up from his chair and call out into the barn.
"Si sta svegliando."
Back to the Book until Chapter 86
Paul Krendler locked the front door and stood on the steps of his Georgetown house, sniffing the frisky air, flexing his narrow shoulders, readying for the evening jog when he heard the phone ring. He swore, flipped the key in the lock and went back in.
"Krendler's here." He said into the handset and winced when heard the respirator machine and a breath intake.
"Good evening, Mr Krendler." Mason paused for another breath. "I am sending the helicopter for you."
"What? Now? Starling is off your back, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is. I have just added Ms Starling to my list of the dinner guests." Mason Verger produced a sound resembling a chuckle. "I want you here too, Krendler. Trust me, you will enjoy what I have in mind for you..."
"You've got Starling? When?"
"She has just been delivered – warm, inviting and very obliging, boys here are licking their lips and dropping their pants."
"Are you out of your mind? The Bureau will come looking for her – one thing is to snatch Lecter, the other the federal agent..."
"Come, come, Mr Krendler, she is damaged goods, thanks to your very competent efforts," another chuckle used the next breath, "as you so brilliantly pointed to the US Attorney today, she is just a hysterical bitch with an unhealthy obsession. Nobody would care... Come here and we all have so much fun. Be on that helicopter, Krendler. All work and no play make Paul a du-u-ull boy... "
"Yeah, okay," Krendler calculated the measure of threat in Mason's voice.
"Fucking son of a bitch," he said replacing the receiver.
to be continued
Please, bear with me should you come across some grammatical mistakes, particularly, an incorrect use of "a" and "the".
I would greatly welcome your comments regarding my piece.
Thank you very much for your time,
CE