Return of the Lambs

Garrett

Starling took her time walking through the streets of Prague, staying behind the patrons of the opera. There was safety in numbers and with Hannibal Lecter prowling the streets, it would take nothing for him to find her alone and slip away into the darkness unseen.

She made a wrong turn and found herself in an empty street.

She heard the resolute click before she saw him emerge from the shadows.

You never forgot that click.

"Say one word, you bitch, and I'll put a bullet through your skull. I always knew you and Lecter were an item. He drew you holding a fucking lamb like some saint. And now, now you come out of the opera on his arm. You're under arrest. Get on your knees, you rube bitch."

Agent Garrett - the last man assigned to the Lecter case before she returned - was trembling with excitement as Starling stood there for a moment, considering her options.

They were still tracing her even though she was back in the fold.

Had they deliberately pushed that leaflet through the door so she could draw Lecter out?

Like sending a lamb to the slaughter.

As though she counted for nothing.

All the things she had given up for the bureau meant nothing, in the end.

Starling lunged, her training setting in as she attempted to disarm him.

He slashed across her face with a key, drawing blood as she stumbled. His eyes grew impossibly bright as he stood over her, so caught up in his glee that he didn't notice she had dragged him down before it was too late.

He fell backwards with a grunt, but not before the gun fired and the bullet caught her in the shoulder.

She fell to the ground, gasping, and moved no more.

---

Garrett stood shakily and stared at the pale woman, the bitch who had wrecked the entire Lecter case and left him with a pile of shit to wade through, years worth of it, before making her triumphant return and throwing him out on his ass to wade back through filing.

He had caught her and now all he had to do was-

A shadow fell over the alleyway.

"Well now, isn't this interesting?"

The tall, thin man stepped into the light, his teeth bared in a savage smile.

"Hannibal Lecter." Garrett snarled, raising his gun again, "Give me one excuse, just one, and there'll be a bullet in the side of your head, you bastard."

Dr Lecter's eyes gleamed, red centres filled with malice as he took in the entire scene with a single glance. His eyes flickered when he saw Starling and stayed focused on her motionless body.

"So unpleasant, Agent Garrett." He knelt beside Starling and inspected the wound calmly, checking her pulse and turning her head to stare at the cut on her cheek.

"I do believe that this wound is your handiwork, Agent Garrett? And this mess?"

Garrett kept the gun trained on Lecter,

"Hands above your head and stay down."

Lecter smiled up at him like an adult indulging a petty child in his games.

"Does this make you feel powerful, Agent Garrett? All your little toys give you that self-confidence you obviously lack? This power play? Tell me, who was it who used to scream at you? Who beat you down with words-"

"Shut the fuck up and get on your knees."

Lecter's mouth grew impossibly bigger and Garrett's heart gave an unpleasant wrench.

"You know, I deplore that word, truly I do. And I deplore rude people even more."

A noise behind Garrett made him turn and fire the gun and before he knew it, Lecter was on top of him with a knife, kicking the gun away and standing on Garrett's hands, slashing away with the calm air of a man out on a summer's walk through the city.

"You hurt Agent Starling, and so I believe it is only fair that I hurt you. Tit for tat. Where shall we begin, Garrett? Your eyes? No, I want you to see this. How about that foul tongue of yours? Yes, yes I believe that is most appropriate..."

We turn away now as Dr Lecter begins his calling and we only dare look back once he has carried Clarice Starling into the depths of Prague. Agent Garrett is finished off and Dr Lecter has made no quick job of it. If he had lived, Agent Garrett would not have a tongue to form words, nor any vocal cords.

We head away slowly and follow our two people through Prague to a large house that Dr Lecter has owned for quite some time, under a false name of course. He has plans to return to Lithuania eventually and will bring the woman in his arms if she is willing.

She will be, he is sure.

He turns when he hears us and so we hide in the shadows, watching, waiting.