'At The End of the Game'
Epilogue: Their Silence
Jack Crawford was discovered three hours after he had been shot. Three federal sedans and an ambulance lined up outside of the cabin disturbing a peace that no soul knew existed. Crawford rolled about on the stretcher, the elastic strap of the oxygen mask was irritating his skin.
Two paramedics stood over him, attaching a temporary heart monitor to his chest. He couldn't speak, he had forgotten how. His mind was consumed by thoughts of Clarice.
"Tell them he killed me." Her voice replayed itself in the back of his mind. She had asked him to lie for her, to tell the authorities that Former Special Agent Clarice Starling, of the F.B.I, had been kidnapped and slaughtered by Hannibal, the cannibal, Lecter. The image of her dead was more comforting than the truth. Jealousy. He'd prefer identifying her body, cold and blue, at the morgue, than at the side of Hannibal Lecter.
"Lecter attacked her, right after he shot me. God knows where her body is..."
He could barely manage uttering the words he despised. His statement would be logged and recorded by the very men that worked under him, the agents that walked aimlessly shouting out their obtuse theories and leads, oblivious to the real crime.
The look in her eyes when she ran to his rescue had said it all. She must of thought him to be a senile old man. Lecter ignited a spark in her eyes that he'd never before seen, let alone could have hoped to trigger. He heard the monitor increase its mechanical count as his heartbeat thumped in rage. Lecter had taken her from him ten years ago and corrupted every virtue in her. Slowly he gained control over her every thought, and now she expected him, her boss, to cover for her as she walked off into some morbid fairytale, hand-in-hand with a monster.
"Sir. Can you hear me? It's going to be all right".
But he didn't believe them. Nothing feels right. There is an emptiness in his chest, a loss of sorts. Jack is not a greedy man, but in matters of Clarice Starling and another man, namely Lecter, he was inclined to fits of ridiculous territoriality. He loved Bella, and he adored Starling. His infatuation intensified each time she'd pop her lovely head into his office. He knew it was wrong, but no one ever found out, he was only harming himself. Of course, she was innocent to the knowledge of his train of thought and that was what made the act so shameful. He was her mentor and he had abused the respect she had so amply handed over. At first, he blamed himself for their dual fascination. He lad lead her right into the devil's lair, but eventually he came to realise that he never forced her to talk to him. True, he never gave her much of a choice, but he warned her. Or so he liked to convince himself, to keep the demons at rest. She was responsible for allowing his intrusion of her mind and now she would pay the ultimate price. The exact value Lecter had put on her life he could not comfortably predict. Would he kill her? No, not likely. Maybe he'd drug her and keep her by his side like a little toy for ten years and then drop her back on the Bureau's doorstep when the novelty had worn off. Of course, there was the other possibility. She was running willingly by his side. He hated to think her capable of such a thing. The Starling he knew would cuff the son-of-a-bitch and drag his elegant ass back to Quantico. She wouldn't ask her boss to lie for her. She wouldn't fall in-love with a man like that.
He's not a man Jack. And she's not the woman you thought she was.
The door of the ambulance slid abruptly shut. It was the last time he ever saw the cabin; the holiday getaway he and Bella would run-off to in the middle of the year, just to get away, the place where he'd shoot birds for the simple pleasure of feeling a vibrating bullet leaves its barrel, the place where Hannibal Lecter thieved him of his last chance of living for something.
*~*~*~*~*~
* Three years and five months later *
Jasmine Elliot always gave an extra effort on the last fives miles of her jog route. Over the past three years she had become well aquatinted with her new surroundings, sticking with a regular track, mixing it up a little when she felt as though habit was morphing into chore. Her dark hair bounced in a short ponytail as the light wind and momentum worked together with her slight anatomy. The illuminating sunlight betrayed the brunette hair coloring and brought out a bright underlay of auburn. Anyone who passed her would look twice. She was an attractive woman and presented her self with an ease that most would envy. Yes, Clarice Starling, former Special Agent, had finally made her way up again.
He was right. She was a deep-roller. But one of her parents was not.
Changing lives was not quite as simple as changing a name. Disappearing was not an easy task; it took a lot of time, fraudulent papers, and cosmetic products to dupe the US government. Of course, she would have much preferred to move overseas, but that had not been a particularly wise option at the time. Settling in took a great deal of adjusting, but she was not greatly disappointed in the decision she had made. Jasmine Elliot was a success. She worked at a local photographic magazine company as a senior editor and made a collaboration of friends. She was nothing like Clarice Starling, there was only one man in the world who knew who she really was. The person she never entirely stopped being.
She hated leaving Ardelia, she was one of the only elements of her old life that she loved. Occasionally she would check up on her, sometimes she even made the news, but she never sent her another letter. There was only ever one. One enclosed with a beautiful ring which she wore everyday, she noted. There wasn't really anyone else to bid farewell.
Jack Crawford's death never really came as a shock. Two weeks after that night his death was posted in the Tattler. Cardiac arrest. His heart had copped a slugging. He died with their secret and she gave thanks to his loyalty every day. On the day of his funeral, amongst the hundreds of flowers and cards from agents and friends, was a single yellow rose on which a single, unsigned note was attached to the stem. It simply read: Thank you. Goodbye.
On approaching her street her mechanical pace began to decelerate. The key she held tight in her hand was a perfect fit to the lock on the oak door of the large home secluded by a large fence at the end of the street. The roomy two-storey establishment, from the inside, resembles a copy of eighteenth century architecture. Inside, peace would be waiting. She unlocked the gate, but before she made the familiar venture up the long garden footpath, she checked her mail.
Today she was praying for a letter. Today it was her birthday.
She took a deep breath and opened the wire latch.
*~*~*~*~*~
* Nancy, France *
Winter in France was an acrimonious event to say the least. Aloïs Kelt became accustomed to spending a large part of his days indoors. His apartment was situated above a collector's library, so entertainment wasn't far out of reach on his days off.
Today however, was not a day for reading or working, today's task was thinking. Bathing in memoirs and writing to an old friend. That night had opened up an entire floor in his memory palace. So many revelations and so little time.
Perhaps in another life.
Her decision was none less astounding than it was appropriate. He had prepared for both of the possible paths she might elect. Returning to the Bureau was not one of them. He'd rather see her dead than return to that. Her joining him would have been his preference, but the single kiss that she initiated was enough to last him a lifetime. As soon as she broke away from him, he knew what her answer would be. He hated to admit he was disappointed, but here seemed little point in denying it. She would never run with him.
Not in a thousand years. But not because she didn't love him. Because she couldn't love herself enough.
Daddy had his final say on her life and he couldn't compete with that. He was saddened, but not at a complete loss. He could never force her to go with him. She was the one person on the planet whose opinion mattered. Going against her will was not an option.
Her decision simply meant that he would have to give her the passport and ID which held a different surname and history to his own.
Jasmine Elliot.
His mouth formed to whisper the name. Pretty and inconspicuous. It suited her well. It was not common, yet it wasn't the name that you'd question upon hearing.
The postal address and money she'd been reluctant to take at first, however she faced no other choice. She had nothing left in the name of Clarice Starling. Only an old friend that might stand in defence on her trial for aiding and abetting a very well known felon. She didn't have to worry about that, and at least this way, he'd know where she was. He'd never stop watching.
In the three years since they had seen each other, he had refrained from indulging in contacting her. He meant what he had said.
"This will be my last visit."
There are only so many times a man can put his heart on the line and there are limited encountered a monster can participate in without risking his freedom. Given a second chance, he had no idea what her answer would be. He'd never know, he's not one to go back on his word.
As the wind roughly assaulted the darkly tinted windows, Hannibal Lecter sighs and sits down at his roomy mahogany desk. The dimmed light reflects of an empty wine glass, which he considers re-filling.
After.
This year would be different. He could not sever their relationship so completely. Thirteen years was the longest time he had known and wanted to know anyone. In one week it would be her birthday, she will have lived three years longer than Christ. How ironic.
He picked up a fine tip ink pen and began a third letter to his lady, addressed to Jasmine Elliot.
My dearest Clarice,
I've decided to write this year. I hope you don't mind. Thirteen years seems an awful lot to through away wouldn't you agree? I'd like to say you look well, as I'm sure you do, but your recent elevation in life leaves the media without reason to print your beautiful face. They think you are dead, by my hand. My, my, Jack was a good little boy, wasn't he? I wonder if he knew that we were sleeping in separate beds before that solid heart of his gave in. It's a shame really, about the sleeping arrangements.
I can still feel your lips, you know. I often think about what it might have been like if you'd decided to join me. We could've had lot of fun. Do I haunt you as you do me? The end of the game came as a rather terse finale. We we're both built for the game, both hunters unable to give into the concept of being the hunted. Your father would be proud of you, my brave Clarice. Don't ever question that. You we're as loyal to him as I was to my sister in the face of her death. You we're right. She watches me as the nightwatchman looks over you. They are in our stars, and some of those are the same.
I'm considerably happy. Happy but not content. And I fear that you are the opposite. You see we both possess the qualities that will complete each other. No, I'm not talking about romance. No one ever said anything about love. I'll leave that for you to judge.
Your sleeping quite well I presume. You have sentenced yourself to the silence of the lambs, but something still wakes you occasionally in the middle of the night, doesn't it? It's your own screams. The only person you ever failed to save was yourself. You know where the answer to that lies. But alas, the screams will never cease, the warrior in you revels in torment. The same ironclad battler which observes the symmetry of the dungeon scales at Threave.
I wish you all the best, my dear, my butterfly look how far you've flown.
I doubt you'll hear from me again. It'll be easier for the both of us. It was a pleasure, Clarice.
Yours always,
Hannibal Lecter.
P.S. Happy Birthday! You've outdone Christ. I knew you could.
The pen slipped from his hand as single tear fell onto the sweetly scented paper.
A sigh escaped the lips of two people at different ends of the planet. One merely happy, the other simply content. How strange it all seemed; the two loneliest people would not allow themselves to find company in the arms of the other. Cause and effect. Loneliness was their choice, and for that they would pay dearly. This was the end of a game that shaped no winners. In their silence, both screamed into the stars, calling for the other.
Fin.
Well. That's it. It's over. Its been a long ride, and I'm glad to see the end of it. This was my first attempt at writing for a fandom, and I'm glad that I've entered such an elite group. I've made many friends, and I would like to take this opportunity to extend a special to Steel, Kurt and Chameleon, you guys have inspired me more than you know. Also, to the other Lecterphiles; Luna, Sam, Saavik & Tikky, Anouk, Little-Starling, Hanniballover, Nanci, angelofnight, DL and Raven, your all fabulous, thank you a thousand times over for your reviews and support. All those who were kind enough to review my ramblings THANK YOU. Lastly to my mate Clare who printed out every page of this damn story, you are a champ. The drinks are on me ;) I know it all ended a bit angsty, I couldn't help myself. I hope to further some ideas that have popped into my head over the course of writing this piece, but in the meantime, Lecterphiles, your residency at the hospital will commence very shortly. See you then.
Epilogue: Their Silence
Jack Crawford was discovered three hours after he had been shot. Three federal sedans and an ambulance lined up outside of the cabin disturbing a peace that no soul knew existed. Crawford rolled about on the stretcher, the elastic strap of the oxygen mask was irritating his skin.
Two paramedics stood over him, attaching a temporary heart monitor to his chest. He couldn't speak, he had forgotten how. His mind was consumed by thoughts of Clarice.
"Tell them he killed me." Her voice replayed itself in the back of his mind. She had asked him to lie for her, to tell the authorities that Former Special Agent Clarice Starling, of the F.B.I, had been kidnapped and slaughtered by Hannibal, the cannibal, Lecter. The image of her dead was more comforting than the truth. Jealousy. He'd prefer identifying her body, cold and blue, at the morgue, than at the side of Hannibal Lecter.
"Lecter attacked her, right after he shot me. God knows where her body is..."
He could barely manage uttering the words he despised. His statement would be logged and recorded by the very men that worked under him, the agents that walked aimlessly shouting out their obtuse theories and leads, oblivious to the real crime.
The look in her eyes when she ran to his rescue had said it all. She must of thought him to be a senile old man. Lecter ignited a spark in her eyes that he'd never before seen, let alone could have hoped to trigger. He heard the monitor increase its mechanical count as his heartbeat thumped in rage. Lecter had taken her from him ten years ago and corrupted every virtue in her. Slowly he gained control over her every thought, and now she expected him, her boss, to cover for her as she walked off into some morbid fairytale, hand-in-hand with a monster.
"Sir. Can you hear me? It's going to be all right".
But he didn't believe them. Nothing feels right. There is an emptiness in his chest, a loss of sorts. Jack is not a greedy man, but in matters of Clarice Starling and another man, namely Lecter, he was inclined to fits of ridiculous territoriality. He loved Bella, and he adored Starling. His infatuation intensified each time she'd pop her lovely head into his office. He knew it was wrong, but no one ever found out, he was only harming himself. Of course, she was innocent to the knowledge of his train of thought and that was what made the act so shameful. He was her mentor and he had abused the respect she had so amply handed over. At first, he blamed himself for their dual fascination. He lad lead her right into the devil's lair, but eventually he came to realise that he never forced her to talk to him. True, he never gave her much of a choice, but he warned her. Or so he liked to convince himself, to keep the demons at rest. She was responsible for allowing his intrusion of her mind and now she would pay the ultimate price. The exact value Lecter had put on her life he could not comfortably predict. Would he kill her? No, not likely. Maybe he'd drug her and keep her by his side like a little toy for ten years and then drop her back on the Bureau's doorstep when the novelty had worn off. Of course, there was the other possibility. She was running willingly by his side. He hated to think her capable of such a thing. The Starling he knew would cuff the son-of-a-bitch and drag his elegant ass back to Quantico. She wouldn't ask her boss to lie for her. She wouldn't fall in-love with a man like that.
He's not a man Jack. And she's not the woman you thought she was.
The door of the ambulance slid abruptly shut. It was the last time he ever saw the cabin; the holiday getaway he and Bella would run-off to in the middle of the year, just to get away, the place where he'd shoot birds for the simple pleasure of feeling a vibrating bullet leaves its barrel, the place where Hannibal Lecter thieved him of his last chance of living for something.
*~*~*~*~*~
* Three years and five months later *
Jasmine Elliot always gave an extra effort on the last fives miles of her jog route. Over the past three years she had become well aquatinted with her new surroundings, sticking with a regular track, mixing it up a little when she felt as though habit was morphing into chore. Her dark hair bounced in a short ponytail as the light wind and momentum worked together with her slight anatomy. The illuminating sunlight betrayed the brunette hair coloring and brought out a bright underlay of auburn. Anyone who passed her would look twice. She was an attractive woman and presented her self with an ease that most would envy. Yes, Clarice Starling, former Special Agent, had finally made her way up again.
He was right. She was a deep-roller. But one of her parents was not.
Changing lives was not quite as simple as changing a name. Disappearing was not an easy task; it took a lot of time, fraudulent papers, and cosmetic products to dupe the US government. Of course, she would have much preferred to move overseas, but that had not been a particularly wise option at the time. Settling in took a great deal of adjusting, but she was not greatly disappointed in the decision she had made. Jasmine Elliot was a success. She worked at a local photographic magazine company as a senior editor and made a collaboration of friends. She was nothing like Clarice Starling, there was only one man in the world who knew who she really was. The person she never entirely stopped being.
She hated leaving Ardelia, she was one of the only elements of her old life that she loved. Occasionally she would check up on her, sometimes she even made the news, but she never sent her another letter. There was only ever one. One enclosed with a beautiful ring which she wore everyday, she noted. There wasn't really anyone else to bid farewell.
Jack Crawford's death never really came as a shock. Two weeks after that night his death was posted in the Tattler. Cardiac arrest. His heart had copped a slugging. He died with their secret and she gave thanks to his loyalty every day. On the day of his funeral, amongst the hundreds of flowers and cards from agents and friends, was a single yellow rose on which a single, unsigned note was attached to the stem. It simply read: Thank you. Goodbye.
On approaching her street her mechanical pace began to decelerate. The key she held tight in her hand was a perfect fit to the lock on the oak door of the large home secluded by a large fence at the end of the street. The roomy two-storey establishment, from the inside, resembles a copy of eighteenth century architecture. Inside, peace would be waiting. She unlocked the gate, but before she made the familiar venture up the long garden footpath, she checked her mail.
Today she was praying for a letter. Today it was her birthday.
She took a deep breath and opened the wire latch.
*~*~*~*~*~
* Nancy, France *
Winter in France was an acrimonious event to say the least. Aloïs Kelt became accustomed to spending a large part of his days indoors. His apartment was situated above a collector's library, so entertainment wasn't far out of reach on his days off.
Today however, was not a day for reading or working, today's task was thinking. Bathing in memoirs and writing to an old friend. That night had opened up an entire floor in his memory palace. So many revelations and so little time.
Perhaps in another life.
Her decision was none less astounding than it was appropriate. He had prepared for both of the possible paths she might elect. Returning to the Bureau was not one of them. He'd rather see her dead than return to that. Her joining him would have been his preference, but the single kiss that she initiated was enough to last him a lifetime. As soon as she broke away from him, he knew what her answer would be. He hated to admit he was disappointed, but here seemed little point in denying it. She would never run with him.
Not in a thousand years. But not because she didn't love him. Because she couldn't love herself enough.
Daddy had his final say on her life and he couldn't compete with that. He was saddened, but not at a complete loss. He could never force her to go with him. She was the one person on the planet whose opinion mattered. Going against her will was not an option.
Her decision simply meant that he would have to give her the passport and ID which held a different surname and history to his own.
Jasmine Elliot.
His mouth formed to whisper the name. Pretty and inconspicuous. It suited her well. It was not common, yet it wasn't the name that you'd question upon hearing.
The postal address and money she'd been reluctant to take at first, however she faced no other choice. She had nothing left in the name of Clarice Starling. Only an old friend that might stand in defence on her trial for aiding and abetting a very well known felon. She didn't have to worry about that, and at least this way, he'd know where she was. He'd never stop watching.
In the three years since they had seen each other, he had refrained from indulging in contacting her. He meant what he had said.
"This will be my last visit."
There are only so many times a man can put his heart on the line and there are limited encountered a monster can participate in without risking his freedom. Given a second chance, he had no idea what her answer would be. He'd never know, he's not one to go back on his word.
As the wind roughly assaulted the darkly tinted windows, Hannibal Lecter sighs and sits down at his roomy mahogany desk. The dimmed light reflects of an empty wine glass, which he considers re-filling.
After.
This year would be different. He could not sever their relationship so completely. Thirteen years was the longest time he had known and wanted to know anyone. In one week it would be her birthday, she will have lived three years longer than Christ. How ironic.
He picked up a fine tip ink pen and began a third letter to his lady, addressed to Jasmine Elliot.
My dearest Clarice,
I've decided to write this year. I hope you don't mind. Thirteen years seems an awful lot to through away wouldn't you agree? I'd like to say you look well, as I'm sure you do, but your recent elevation in life leaves the media without reason to print your beautiful face. They think you are dead, by my hand. My, my, Jack was a good little boy, wasn't he? I wonder if he knew that we were sleeping in separate beds before that solid heart of his gave in. It's a shame really, about the sleeping arrangements.
I can still feel your lips, you know. I often think about what it might have been like if you'd decided to join me. We could've had lot of fun. Do I haunt you as you do me? The end of the game came as a rather terse finale. We we're both built for the game, both hunters unable to give into the concept of being the hunted. Your father would be proud of you, my brave Clarice. Don't ever question that. You we're as loyal to him as I was to my sister in the face of her death. You we're right. She watches me as the nightwatchman looks over you. They are in our stars, and some of those are the same.
I'm considerably happy. Happy but not content. And I fear that you are the opposite. You see we both possess the qualities that will complete each other. No, I'm not talking about romance. No one ever said anything about love. I'll leave that for you to judge.
Your sleeping quite well I presume. You have sentenced yourself to the silence of the lambs, but something still wakes you occasionally in the middle of the night, doesn't it? It's your own screams. The only person you ever failed to save was yourself. You know where the answer to that lies. But alas, the screams will never cease, the warrior in you revels in torment. The same ironclad battler which observes the symmetry of the dungeon scales at Threave.
I wish you all the best, my dear, my butterfly look how far you've flown.
I doubt you'll hear from me again. It'll be easier for the both of us. It was a pleasure, Clarice.
Yours always,
Hannibal Lecter.
P.S. Happy Birthday! You've outdone Christ. I knew you could.
The pen slipped from his hand as single tear fell onto the sweetly scented paper.
A sigh escaped the lips of two people at different ends of the planet. One merely happy, the other simply content. How strange it all seemed; the two loneliest people would not allow themselves to find company in the arms of the other. Cause and effect. Loneliness was their choice, and for that they would pay dearly. This was the end of a game that shaped no winners. In their silence, both screamed into the stars, calling for the other.
Fin.
Well. That's it. It's over. Its been a long ride, and I'm glad to see the end of it. This was my first attempt at writing for a fandom, and I'm glad that I've entered such an elite group. I've made many friends, and I would like to take this opportunity to extend a special to Steel, Kurt and Chameleon, you guys have inspired me more than you know. Also, to the other Lecterphiles; Luna, Sam, Saavik & Tikky, Anouk, Little-Starling, Hanniballover, Nanci, angelofnight, DL and Raven, your all fabulous, thank you a thousand times over for your reviews and support. All those who were kind enough to review my ramblings THANK YOU. Lastly to my mate Clare who printed out every page of this damn story, you are a champ. The drinks are on me ;) I know it all ended a bit angsty, I couldn't help myself. I hope to further some ideas that have popped into my head over the course of writing this piece, but in the meantime, Lecterphiles, your residency at the hospital will commence very shortly. See you then.