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“Oh, Officer Starling, do you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?” Lecter’s ambiguous accent became more pronounced. The girl sitting opposite him appeared flustered.
“No, Dr. Lecter. Your insight would be tremendous help for us, and…” Her question was cut short by a skeptical look from the Doctor.
Skeptical, and, more obviously, teasing.
“And why would I want to help the FBI?”
“You wouldn’t. You’d be curious.” A raised eyebrow in response. “About what happened to you.” Dr. Lecter went to open his mouth, but Clarice continued, attempting to salvage herself. That last sentence reeked of ignorance. The words sounded cheap on her tongue.
“Doctor, you’re a psychiatrist. You’ve seen a wide variety of patients from a wide variety of backgrounds. It’d be helpful, don’t you think, to learn more about yourself. This is a brand new test, you’ve never seen it before. Quite frankly, Doctor, I can’t think of a more intriguing subject for you to study.”
Lecter stared at her, blank-faced. He made no attempt to stop her during her short rant, and even when it was over, remained quiet. A full minute passed. Starling did not break the silence. Dr. Lecter just stood there. The agent began to pack up to leave; figuring the doctor had gone into one of his “mute” states, as described by Dr. Chilton. Finally, as she was about to turn down the hallway, just parting her lips to say goodbye, Lecter spoke.
“Nothing happened to me, Agent Starling.” His voice cracked. The sound was more similar to a small child about to cry than a teenager boy’s typical deepening. “I happened.” His jaw jut out just a little bit as he spoke, and shook minutely after was done. Starling felt an overwhelming urge to comfort. Though Dr. Lecter’s countenance revealed nothing, it was clear that it took him to most of his energy to keep it that way. How quickly, Starling thought, he could go from ridiculing me to being on the verge of tears. Forgetting for a moment that she was to be bartering with, not pitying, the killer, Clarice’s curiosity intensified.
What evil could drive a man - a brilliant, respectable man - to commit such atrocities?
Starling couldn’t understand it. But she had a good feeling that, someday, she might be able to.
The doctor spoke again. “Don’t try reduce me to,” he paused, taking a breath. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. “…a set of influences, Officer Starling. You have everyone in moral dignity pants.” Another, deeper breath then. “Nothing is ever anybody’s fault. Could you stand to say that I’m evil, Clarice?”
“No, Doctor. What happened to you was evil. I’m sorry.”
Hannibal Lecter was a complexity, he knew this himself. Anger flashed through his being; Clarice Starling would not understand his plight, what he had lost and why he shouldn’t have lost it… she would never comprehend what he had been through, not exclusively as a child. However, he noted, she was sincere in her sentiment. She was incorruptible and honest.
Rage softened and turned to something resembling kindness.
The agent had wit and courage. He admired that.
Swallowing the pain induced by the memory of another, much younger, girl, a promise made and broken, Hannibal vowed to himself that he would help his little Starling. She was clearly not Mischa, but she was still very interesting. And strong enough to make him come considerably close to crying.
The ashamedness Lecter felt towards himself for the small tear that fell from his eye was overshadowed by reverence for the agent. She was powerful.
“Thank you, Clarice. Thank you.”