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The young woman walks briskly out of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, carrying a briefcase, head held high, dressed in a navy blue pants suit, hair pulled back in a meticulous french braid. The building looms over her, as if it wants to keep her there within its walls.
*snap* *snap*
Freddie aims her camera and zooms in, taking a few more photos of Agent Starling, as she walks to her car. What was she doing here, at the BSHCI? Freddie could smell a story a mile away, and she knew this would be a good one. She knew she couldn’t just call up Jack and ask why one of his agents was visiting BSHCI; he was not too pleased with her reporting on the Murder Husbands case, involving his former agent, Will Graham and Hannibal “the cannibal” Lecter. Not that she minded; she knew how to use her resources and get the scoop without Jack’s help.
Freddie waits until Agent Starling is in her car and has driven away before she walks to her own vehicle and leaves BSHCI herself.
Once at home, Freddie logs on to her computer and checks the GPS tracking device she had stuck on Starling’s car while the woman was inside BSHCI. Might it be illegal? Perhaps, but legalities were not one of the things Freddie worried herself over, typically. Starling had apparently driven to an apartment complex on the other side of town; perhaps it was her home address. Freddie thought for a bit, working out a plan on how to arrange a “chance” meeting with Agent Starling. She had a gut feeling that Starling was at BSHCI to see either Will Graham or Hannibal Lecter…or perhaps both men. But why? It was widely known that both men refused to speak to anyone about their case. Besides, their case was closed. Freddie contemplates calling Chilton, but she knows he would not bestow any information on her either.
It seems that Starling isn’t going anywhere right now, so Freddie decides to make herself a late lunch and work on her current article about the latest murder in Baltimore.
As the afternoon wears on, Freddie’s mind keeps wandering to the curious question as to why Starling would be at the BSHCI. After a few hours of attempting to work, but not really getting anywhere, Freddie finally checks the GPS again. Starling has left the apartment and is now at a local bar, it seems. Freddie smiles to herself; this is perfect. She puts her dish into the sink and goes into her bedroom to get changed. Time for a little chit chat.
Freddie enters into the bar, wearing tight jeans, with knee-high black boots, a charcoal grey cowl neck sweater, her fiery red curls loose and bouncing lightly as she walks. She opts out of wearing a disguise; Jack’s people know her too well to be fooled by one. Freddie spots Starling in a corner booth, facing the door, looking at something on a tablet, two empty bottles on the table. The younger woman is in jeans and a maroon hoodie, her chestnut hair still in a french braid, but a few strands of hair have escaped. Freddie walks over and slides into the seat across from Starling, who looks up in surprise but narrowing her dark brown eyes.
“What are you doing here, Freddie,” she asked, clearly annoyed by the intrusion.
“Just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I could use a drink.”
“Yeah, right. Did you follow me?”
“Me? I would never,” Freddie says with a small smile. She notices that Starling has a few light freckles that are smattered across her soft, flawless caramel-colored skin, making her look even younger than she is.
Clarice turns off her tablet and puts it aside, “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here, Freddie?” Despite the irritation in her tone, Freddie finds Starling’s voice to be pleasantly soothing.
“I thought we could help each other out; a little quid pro quo, if you’d like,” she responds, as she leans back in the seat.
“I don’t want your help nor do I need it. If Jack knew I was speaking to you right now, he would have a coronary.”
“How is Jack?”
“Not any of your business,” answers Clarice, in exasperation.
“Touchy subject. I get it. You all think I am enemy number one.”
“Maybe not number one, but you are near the top of the list.”
Spreading her hands in front of her, Freddie replies, “All I want is to help. I believe it could be mutually beneficial.”
“Sure you do. I know how well that worked out the last time you offered to help,” the younger woman retorts.
“I print the truth as I see it. I tried to warn Jack and Alana about Hannibal and Will. They didn’t listen until it was too late. Then they hold it against me as if it was my fault.”.
“Please leave, Freddie. I came here to have a drink in peace.”
Freddie thinks for a second, then smiles sweetly, cocking her head a bit to the right, “Let me buy you a drink Agent Starling.”
“Fine, you can buy me a drink, if you promise to leave after that.”
Freddie gets up and walks over to the bar and speaks to the bartender. Starling watches her and can’t help to notice that Freddie is attractive. She quickly shuts down that line of thought, returning her attention to the tablet she was reading before she was interrupted by Freddie. A few moments later the other woman returns to the table with two beers, placing one in front of Starling, before sitting back down across from her.
“Here you go.”
Starling puts her tablet back down as she mutters, “Thanks,” before taking a quick sip of the alcohol.
The two women sit in silence for a few minutes until Starling’s curiosity gets the best of her.. “What is it you possibly think you can help me with?”
Freddie sips her beer before responding, “I know that you were at BSHCI today. I can only assume it was to speak to either Graham or Lecter. I could provide you with a little insight into them, since I knew them both.”
“How do you know I was at BSHCI?!”
“Oh, I have my sources.”
Starling glares at Freddie before the older woman gives in, “Okay, fine, I might have seen you at BSHCI.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Just taking a leisurely stroll,” Freddie replies, feigning innocence.
Clarice skeptically eyes Freddie, “Yeah, I don’t buy that. And for this insight you are so freely willing to offer me, what is it that you want from me?”
“Nothing. Or however much you are willing to give. Right now, I am content to just enjoy a few beers and have a friendly chat,” she responds, raising her bottle as if to say ‘cheers,’ before taking a sip.
“I don’t trust you, Freddie.”
Freddie places her bottle back onto the table and leans forward a bit, resting her forearms on the tabletop, studying Clarice’s eyes for a moment before replying. She notices Starling’s eyes are not just a plain dark brown but have brandy colored striations and are intoxicating. “I have not maligned you nor Jack nor anyone else at the BAU, aside from Graham…but obviously that was deserving. Jack is just angry that I could see Graham for what he was before he could. So you have no reason to not trust me, Agent Starling.”
“Please, call me Clarice while we are here at the bar. I don’t need anyone to overhear you calling me that.”
“Fine; Clarice. It’s nice to meet you, by the way; I have read quite a bit about you.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Clarice manages to mumble before taking a swig of her drink. “Tell me Freddie, what made you decide to become a tabloid journalist?”
“I have always loved to write and to use that writing to inform my readers. I feel it is a noble cause,” she answers matter-of-factly.
Clarice actually laughs at this, causing a small dimple in her right cheek to appear, “Wow, that is a bold statement.”
Freddie shrugs, “And what about you Ag…Clarice? Why the BAU?”
“I thought you said you read a lot about me. If that is the case, then you already know my history,” she challenges.
“I have, but I want to hear it from you. Besides,” Freddie pauses, drinking more of her beer, “I like listening to you speak, actually.”
Cocking an eyebrow, “Are you flirting with me, Freddie?”
“Maybe,” Lounds gives a smile and a small wink.
Clarice feels herself blush a bit; the warmth spreading across her cheeks and back of her neck. She is used to guys hitting on her, but not women, and certainly none that are as pretty as Freddie Lounds. Again, she pushes the thought of her mind.
“My mother died when I was an infant, so I grew up with only my father, who was a cop, down in Miami. I admired what he did; I admired him. He was my hero,” she looks away from Freddie’s intense gaze, before continuing. “Then one night, he was shot by a gang member and died. I started out as a cop, following in his footsteps, but eventually wanted something more.”
Freddie reaches over and briefly puts her hand on Starling’s forearm, giving a gentle squeeze, “I’m sorry about your dad, but I am sure he would be very proud of you.”
Clarice glances back at Freddie, and gives a crooked half-smile, trying not to give into the heartbreak that the compliment prods, “Thanks; I hope so,” she pauses to clear her throat, “Anyhow, you said you might be able to provide some insight to Graham and Lecter?”
Freddie nods slowly, “I could, perhaps. Depends on what it is you are wanting to know exactly.”
“How did you know Graham was a killer before anyone else?”
Lounds runs her finger around the lip of the bottle, as she considers what to say for a minute, before finally replying, “We all knew he was unstable, mentally, back when he killed Hobbs. I knew it was rumored he had a knack for the monsters; supposedly it was his empathy that allowed him to solve murder cases so easily, even ones that others could not solve.” She shifts in her seat, “What others didn’t seem to consider, but I had, was that in order for that empathy to work that well, he had to put himself in the place of the killer. And one can only do that so many times before going insane, unless they already have a killer instinct inside them. In Graham’s case, he went crazy alright but in a murderous way, not insanity. Of course, having Lecter as his psychiatrist, messing around with his head, creating a strong co-dependency, didn’t help the situation. The problem with Jack was that he was too trusting. Will had become his friend and had helped him catch killers so he willfully ignored the obvious.”
“The obvious being?”
“That Will Graham was a killer. Even after he knew Will had it in him, after Randall Tier, he still allowed himself to be fooled. It’s a shame, really. Now…tell me, Clarice, what brought you to the BSHCI today,” she asks, as she leans forward again, folding her arms on the table.
Starling sighs, shaking her head, “I really shouldn’t discuss it with you, Freddie.”
“I promise to keep this conversation off the record…for now.”
“For now? What does that mean,” Starling asks skeptically.
“Well, depending on what you say and if it might benefit me later, I may mention it. Buuuut, for your sake, if I do write about it in the future, I will say I gained the information from an anonymous tip.”
Starling swirls her beer before taking a sip, debating on what to say to Freddie. “I went to see Will Graham. Jack is still wanting to understand what happened; why Will became a killer. He’s also hoping that maybe, at some point, Will can be trusted again to help on cases occasionally. Not out in the field, though, just to be clear. Right now, of course, Will refuses to speak to Jack, so I’m acting as a go-between. Or trying to. Will wouldn’t speak to me either.”
“I see. Does Jack really think that is a wise idea? To use him for cases, I mean.”
Clarice sits back in her seat, sighing, “It probably isn’t, but the truth is no one is better than Will, especially when it comes to really unusual cases.”
“The most obvious way to get Will to cooperate would be to agree to let him speak to Lecter.”
Shaking her head in response, “Absolutely not a chance. Hell would have to freeze over before Jack would ever agree to that.”
“Just as well, to be honest.” Freddie cocks her head, thinking for a moment, “You could bring up Abigail. Aside from Lecter, that is Will’s weak spot. And Lecter did kill Abigail in front of him, you could use that to perhaps get Will to see Lecter more clearly as the monster that he is. Breaking the bond between the two men is the key to getting him to speak, I think.”
“I had considered that. I plan to go back next week to try again.” Clarice looks at her almost empty beer bottle, then takes the final sip. “I should get going. Thank you for the beer.”
As Clarice goes to stand up, Freddie reaches out, putting her hand on Clarice’s, “Let me drive you home. You have had a long day, you’re tired, and you’ve had three beers. I’ve only drank half mine.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s not an imposition. I just want to make sure you get home safely.”
Clarice hesitates, “What about your car?”
“I took an Uber here.”
Freddie and Clarice drive in relative silence, except for when the younger woman tells her where to turn. As Freddie parks the car in the apartment complex’s parking lot, Clarice finally looks at Freddie, coyly smiling.
“You know, you’re not as bad as everyone says, Freddie.”
“Are you flirting with me, Agent Starling?” Lounds asks, teasingly.
“Maybe,” Clarice replies with a chuckle. “I will regret this tomorrow, but would you like to come up to my apartment for a bit?”
Freddie smiles, “I would like that.”