Emily awake the next morning to find herself laying in her hotel bed, covers tucked gently around her. She had no recollection of how she got into bed, nor much of the events from last night. She rubbed at her wrist, relieved that it no longer bore a handcuff. That she did recall. And the needle slipping into her arm, but beyond that, well it was quite a blur. Wobbling, he pulled herself from the bed and made it to the bathroom before the nausea hit her. Her head pounded and she sat on the cool tile floor, back against the bathtub. Something she had done to piss him off. In the restaurant, yes, she had provoked him, but she knew she had done more later on. Dimly, she recalled Clarice's face, and the tears. Great, was she running around making people cry and not remembering why? A knock on the door brought her to her feet. She grabbed a bathrobe and slipped into it as she padded across the room. Nothing out of order in the living room, she noted. She peeked through the peephole and didn’t see anyone out there. Great, not only do we have amnesia but we're hallucinating now too? She cracked the door anyhow and looked down to find an envelope tucked under the door sill. She plucked it and closed the door, careful to lock it again. She sat on the plush sofa and looked at the envelope. The fine copperplate script was recognizable immediately. She slid a finger under the flap and had the mental image of Dr. Lecter's pointed tongue running along it, moistening the glue. She shook it off, and finished opening the letter. Two small white pills slipped out and she pulled the sharp creased note to read it.

Dear Emily,

Our little session had some unexpected results last night. I did not foresee that you would be able to root out Clarice's problem with screaming lambs so quickly. Nor did I expect you to address my own screams. I am leaving for Vermont this morning and should be gone from the hotel by the time you read this. Do not worry about the expense for your room, it has been covered. Psychiatrist to psychiatrist, I would like to have a discussion when you return. Enjoy your lunch with Clarice today. I will see you upon your return. Ta ta.

Hannibal Lecter, MD

PS- I thought that you might find the following poem rather interesting. It is by one Samantha Bridges. Also, the pills I have included should help with your headache, an unfortunate side effect of the drugs I used. Fell better, Emily. -H

Emily unfolded the second piece of stationary find the poem, inscribed in his precise script.

Silences echo in the palace deep

lilting down the corridors.

room to room the spirit flies

looking in on memory.

vaulted ceilings in glit'ring night

scored by beams of purest light

cumbered walls of granite gleam

grey on grey, stone on stone

colored by the richest tapestries

echoing our histories

footfalls in the palace deep

traverse the length and breadth

dare to trespass the final threshold

'neath a canopy of starlight

Emily sighed and refolded the note, but kept the poem in her hand with the pills and went to get some water. She reread the poem while sitting on the edge of her bed, wondering at it. She set it on the table, along with the envelope, as she passed back into the bathroom. The memory of a little girl danced before her eyes as she touched the table. A little girl smiling, a bubble in star shaped hands. It frustrated Emily to no end not being able to recall what had happened. She resolved to ask Clarice about it later, for now, she slipped from the robe and her silk pajamas and ran water in the tub. Time to join the land of the living.

*****

Emily sags in the seat in first class. She is still tired and not wanting to go back to Vermont. He will be there, waiting, when she walks in the door. She doesn’t want to deal with him right now, but she must. She slips the Walkman from her briefcase and puts on her headphones. The tape is from lunch today with Clarice. Her mind begins to wander as she listens to the tape. She has a window seat and she looks out the small oval, eyeing the tarmac as it rolls beneath her. They taxi slowly to the runway and Emily listens to the idle chit-chat on the tape. The lumbering jet pauses at the start of its takeoff roll, and she feels the vibrations and roar as the engines spool up. She is pushed back in her seat as they begin the roll. The bump of the gear leaving the runway and they are airborne. Emily releases her grip form the armrests and opens her eyes. She had squeezed them shut unknowingly right as the plane accelerated. She looks out the window once more, seeing the city spread beneath them. Clarice's voice is clear in the head phones.

"Did he write this for you, Emily?"

"No, it was penned by a Samantha Bridges. What do you make of it?"

"A description of a memory palace."

"Memory palace. A mnemonic device used by ancient scholars, correct?"

"Ummm, yes. Where are you going with this, Emily?"

"Dr. Lecter helped you build your own, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"With room for her. The little girl in the drawing?"

A sharp intake of breath, Emily blinks as she listens. "Yes. Mischa."

"He couldn’t save her, but he couldn’t let go. Did he tell you why he put her in your palace and not his own?"

A five second pause, Emily tapped the time out on her armrest. "Not that I recall. Why do you want to know, Emily?"

"For the profile. It may be the missing key I need. May I ask why you are having me do the profile for you?"

"The FBI is making plans to attempt to recapture him. Everyone else with contact with him is dead. Crawford, Graham, Krendler. I'm the last one. So, even with the past events, they want me on the case."

"I see." two second pause. "Clarice, you know that I can’t just turn him over to you."

"The same problem I have. He gets to you, doesn't he?"

A deep sigh on the tape, echoed by another from her lips as she listens to her reply. Her mouth moving to echo the words. "More than I'd like to admit."

*****