Authors Note: A little mistake in the previous chapter, the result of my lacking math skills at four in the morning. The vintage for the wine should have been Emily's birth year, 1963, not 1966. Really, I can do math, just not at four in the morning accompanied by Chopin. As for everyone wanting to know what happens next, well I can only offer this, dear readers: You'll just have to read along, now won’t you? Ta-ta.

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Clarice Starling steps from the elevator and enters the long hallway on the tenth floor. She glances quickly at the room number scribble don the scrap paper in her hand then stuffs it into her pocket. She carries with her a large folder, filled with drawings and sketches done by Dr. Hannibal Lecter. She stops in front of the appointed door, shifts her load, and knocks on the door. Silence echoes for a moment before a female voice inside calls out.

"Who is it?"

"Clarice Starling." Why does this feel like a knock-knock joke, she wonders for a moment before hearing the locks snap back in the door. Clarice puts on a smile, preparing to meet Dr. Emily Christophersen for the first time. The smile fades as someone else entirely opens the door.

"Good Evening, Agent Starling." Dr. Lester purrs, the sound of ripping cloth.

Starling is instantly set on edge, hand dipping down to the holstered sidearm on her hip. He places a hand on hers, stopping her in mid motion.

"I don't believe that will be necessary." he steps aside, opening the door wide. "Do come in, Clarice."

Always, no matter what, that same little thrill when he says her name. She steps inside warily, watching Lecter from the corner of her eye. "Where's Emily?"

"In the bedroom." he replies smoothly, placing a hand on Starling's back to guide her through the living room.

"Dr. Lecter, if you've done anything to hurt her, I'll…"

"You'll what, Agent Starling? Hurt me? Shoot me? Kill me?" he mocks her empty threat as they pass into the bedroom.

"Take away your freedom." she finishes flatly, eyes on him.

"I highly doubt that." he looks to Emily, who is still handcuffed to the chair. "Emily, your guest has arrived."

Clarice gasped as she saw Emily in the chair. Slightly slumped and head tilted to one side. Her eyes had a strange far-away look to them as she looked towards Lecter's voice.

"What did you do to her?" Clarice is frightened as she stands still, unable to move towards the drugged psychiatrist.

"As I assured her, I will assure you, nothing that will hurt her. We are having a little therapy session. The same drugs I used on you after I took you from Mason's house. You do remember that, don't you Clarice?" Clarice blinked and stared at him. He carefully slips the folder from underneath Clarice's arm and takes it to the table, laying it in front of Emily. "I see you brought my drawings. Did Emily tell you what I drew for her?"

"No."

He turns back to Emily, catching her attention. "You didn't tell Clarice what I drew for you, Emily? That is not very polite."

"Sorry." Emily replies, her voice soft and slightly slurred. Her eyes find Clarice and she tries to focus on her. "He drew me a lamb."

The dredging of the memory is palpable on Clarice's face. "Dr. Lecter…."

"Sit down, Clarice." he instructs, pulling the other chair back from the table. Clarice does and looks up at him. It is intimidating for even the people who have been closest to him to have Hannibal Lecter hovering over them. "Talk if you feel like it, I'll fetch us some refreshments."

Emily is watching Clarice intently, even through the drugged haze she still has a grasp on herself. Lecter steps away to fetch them some refreshments, and Emily whispers to Clarice.

"I'm sorry, Clarice." there is heavy remorse in her voice. "I didn't know he followed me here. I didn't know…"

"What has he been doing to you, Emily?"

A shake of her head as she answers. "Listening to screams, his and my own. He told me that I was like you, that you heard screams too." there was a slight innocence, partially imparted from the drugs. "What screams do you hear?"

Dammit Lecter. "The lambs. The screams of the lambs at the slaughter."

"Why do you hear their screams, Clarice?" Emily asked, still a psychiatrist. Somewhere deep in her brain she felt the strange effects lessening slightly.

A slow deep breath before she spoke. "Because I couldn't save the lambs."

Dr. Lecter stands at the edge of the room, listening to the conversation in slight surprise. Emily must have a very strong will to be able to conduct even the sketchiest session in her present state.

"Not even one?" Emily asks, head now upright and voice steadier.

"No."

"Do you blame yourself, for the loss of the lambs, Clarice?"

"Yes."

Emily's free hand came down on the table with a thump. "Don't. You blame yourself and that's why the screams keep coming back to you. Since then, haven't you saved many more things in your life?"

Her head bobs, nodding and Dr. Lecter is intrigued. Clarice had opened to him all those years ago, but it taken time and the use of the same drugs he had used tonight on Emily to get her to do so. Here, a woman she barely knew, was delving into her mind while half drugged. It was very fascinating to observe.

"You can’t blame yourself for the loses in your life, you can’t live your life trying to serve what has passed." she smiles at Clarice. "Dr. Lecter helped you get past your father's death, but you never let go of that lamb."

Clarice found her voice, "How did you let go of your screams, Emily?"

She blinks, eyes dim slightly as she delves through memory. "I buried my mother." she whispers, voice lilting and heavy on the final D's in the words. "Buried her, and with the last clod of dirt, the screams from her fell silent." The lips curved upwards sadly. "I let go of the memories that she had given me and looked to the time before. When she wasn't screaming in my mind."

Lecter is now standing behind Clarice, looking down at the table and the picture Emily has picked, unseeing, from the folder. She passes it to Clarice, finger on the edge of it. Lecter cannot draw breath as Starling takes the drawing. A little girl, sitting in a washtub with a bubble in her hands. Clarice knows who the little girl is, for she resides in her memory palace. Her mouth opened to name the girl but Lecter beat her to it.

"Mischa." whispered breath causing Emily and Clarice to look up at him.

Emily is a bit smug as she looks from Dr. Hannibal Lecter to Special Agent Clarice Starling. "Even Hannibal hears screams, but the difference from you and I, is that those screams are his own."

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