Cometh the Man

The Washington Post

Clarice wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but when she came to, she found herself on the bed. She wasn't tied down, though she could feel the weight of the handcuffs around her wrists.

Her eyes moved around the room as a familiar sensation hit her – the same sense of wooziness that she had been feeling on and off for some weeks now. The room seemed to move around her, and her vision blacked out several times before she finally came to focus on the figure sitting in the far corner of room.

Petrauskas waved at her.

"Hello. Rise and shine."

"What'reyoudoin'?" Clarice mumbled, managing to pull herself up against the headboard somewhat.

He got up, moving across the room and sitting down on the bed opposite her.

Clarice swayed forward. Her head felt heavy, and it took her everything she had not to allow her eyelids to close again.

Petrauskas reached out his hand and pressed it against the skin above her right eye. Clarice gasped as pain shot through her.

"Yes, well. Sorry about that. It wasn't planned," he said, removing his hand and wiping away the blood. "But you were not cooperating, were you, Miss Starling? Or, should I call you Special Agent?"

Clarice simply stared back at him, trying desperately to focus her vision.

"That's right. I know exactly who you are. You're not his wife," he hissed, brushing her hair from her face. "Besides, you're way out of his league, you know?"

"Get your hands off of me," Clarice warned, though her speech was slurred.

Petrauskas leaned a little closer.

"Or what?" he whispered. "You will bite me again? I think you have been spending far too much time with cannibals, Clarice."

"What do you want?" she asked, leaning backwards to put some distance between them. "You signed an agreement with Hannibal. You can't touch him."

"True," he nodded. "And I must confess, it did cross my mind to go against the agreement, to sell him back to the FBI. But then... I realised I didn't need to. I have something far more valuable than Hannibal Lecter."

A pause.

"You've seen the news, I assume?" he asked, seeing the blank expression on her face.

Clarice shook her head, confused.

"Ah. Censorship at its finest," he smiled, taking something from his pocket – a newspaper. "Well, allow me to explain. At the time of your arrival in Vilnius, Dr Lecter had only just been reinstated in the FBI's top 5 most wanted. Do you know why that was, Clarice?"

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Petrauskas unfolded the newspaper in his hand – another copy of the Washington Post.

Clarice could just about make out the words across the front page:

FBI OFFER 100 MILLION DOLLAR REWARD FOR SAFE RETURN OF NOTABLE AGENT.

Below it, a picture of herself.

"You see, the reward for Dr Lecter at present is far less. It seems that the FBI believe you have been kidnapped by a monster, Clarice. And they would much rather have you back alive than they would said monster," he told her.

But Clarice shook her head. "That's bullshit. They couldn't care less."

"Are you so sure?" he asked, scanning the text. "Agent Jack Crawford. Do you know him?"