Disclaimer: This is the backstory to MAY GOD'S LOVE BE WITH YOU. All the usual disclaimers apply.
It had been a short jog from the guesthouse to the barn, but it didn't take much for Paul Krendler to figure out what had happened. Lecter was gone, freed from the crucifix apparatus that was to have lowered him into the pigbin the following morning. A whiff of gunpowder mingled with Avyan skin cream...
That bitch Starling.
He reached into his right jacket pocket and brought out an evidence bag containing an automatic revolver, fully loaded. It was the service revolver Clarice Starling had turned in, along with her ammo and badge, when she was fired from the Bureau less than 48 hours ago.
Before he drove to Asheville to attend to some "Justice Department business" at the Verger estate, Krendler had gone to the FBI's weapons lockers, then bribed the guard on duty to allow him to take Starling's gun and bullets. While doing so, he had worn surgical gloves to keep her fingerprints intact.
As he thought what to do, Krendler carefully tucked the bagged pistol away, then jogged back up the path to the guesthouse.
Without peering fully into the pigbin, he knew Mason was dead.
"Looks like we'll have to go with what we talked about, baby," government agent-turned-prosecutor Ardelia Mapp said when Paul called her 20 minutes later. "You have the bitch's gun, right?"
"Remembered it first thing," he replied. "You remember everything, right, Ardie? Lecter's not the issue---your ex-buddy Starling is.
"She killed the farmhands, definitely, before turning Lecter loose. Mason became pigfeed instead, I could tell that when I got there...his wheelchair was right inside the bin. Along with what was left of him and the farmhands, that is."
From there, Krendler and Ardelia set the wheels in motion. "We charge Starling with Verger's death, as well as for the workmen," she concluded. "Now, what about Doemling? You know he'll say Lecter did it."
"That's where we go to the backup plan...got the forms ready, Ardie?" he now asked.
As if on cue, a set of documents came filing through the fax machine nearby. They were a statement charging Clarice with the death of Mason Verger, all neatly prepared weeks in advance and okayed by Mason himself. "Anything else, sugar?" she cooed softly.
"Just these things, mi dulce besito," he chirped in his tenderest voice. "With Lecter loose, there's a possibility the bitch told him everything. I'm not saying something's gonna happen, but..."
"But what, Paulie?"
"If something happens to me, I want a contract taken out on Starling. You remember the nest egg Mason gave us, don't you? $3 million apiece, right down to the $500,000 down payment? Plus what he's planning to leave us in his will..."
"An additional $10 million apiece..."
"Right. Here's the deal...to start with, the bounty will be $2 million. But if I die, Ardie, I want you to pull out all the stops. Put the word out in Washington, as soon as you can---Starling has got to die."
Many miles away, Hannibal Lecter was stitching Clarice Starling's shoulder with great care. The bullet that had lodged near her collarbone sat in a small saucer nearby, along with all the amenities needed to clean and dress her wound.
She looked so peaceful as she slept, the beauty of her face almost glowing in the evening light. But Hannibal couldn't dally; there were other things that needed to be taken care of, things that needed to be wrapped up once and for all.
The surgery complete, Hannibal lifted her in his arms, as he had in Verger's barn, and brought her to the master suite. After tucking her in, he paused to tenderly kiss her cheek.
"Sleep well, mi amor," he whispered, letting her rest for as long as she needed...
After discussing the plan with Ardelia one last time, Krendler focused his attention on Cordell Doemling.
Armed with the papers that would frame Clarice for stalking and killing Mason, as well as for the murders of the Italian workmen, he showered and changed into jeans and a casual shirt before returning to the main house. Ensconced with the papers in his briefcase were the gun he'd found in the barn, still in the baggie, and a spare set of surgical gloves to further the plan.
Unfortunately, there would be a witness...
Hannibal hadn't really wanted to return to Muskrat Farm. He hadn't seen Krendler on the premises during his captivity, but something in the back of his mind told him he'd been there.
Hannibal had to make sure.
He'd knocked the security guard unconscious, then taken his uniform and put it on before returning to the mansion unnoticed.
He entered through the front door, passing through the foyer quietly...
At that moment, he heard a loud argument beginning in Mason's study. Hannibal couldn't believe his good fortune when he recognized the strident tones of Paul Krendler, reading Cordell the blackmail act as hard as he could.
Not wanting to miss this, Hannibal stood still and listened...
"Paul, this is ridiculous!" Cordell snapped when Paul made his proposition. "It was Lecter who shoved Mason into the pigbin, and you expect me to believe you want Starling charged?"
"That egotistical cornpone bitch is more dangerous than Lecter!" Krendler interjected. "She knows too much about this whole deal---she knew Mason and I were using her to get Lecter out of hiding, and she knew we were planning to kill Lecter, too! And don't forget, she also knew you were involved, Cordell---!"
"Starling was shot when she cut Lecter loose---!"
"You could say she was shot after she threw Mason to the pigs! Damn it, Cordell, if you don't sign this statement---if you stick to your story that Lecter killed Mason---we're all gonna be up shit creek, and you know what that means!"
Cordell was stunned into silence as Krendler continued. "Now, you know I've had a beef with Starling for over ten years, and not just because she preferred fucking Lecter, not to mention her dead daddy, over being my mistress! And don't even get me started on how that cunt ruined everything for me with the Jame Gumb case!"
"Paul---!"
"Shut up! Clarice Michelle Starling has been a hemorrhoid up my ass since the day she enrolled in the FBI Academy, and I want her stopped, no matter what it takes!!! Am I finally getting through?!?"
Outside in the hall, a sick chill crept up in Hannibal's stomach. It was all he could muster to keep from barging into the room to kill them both when he saw Cordell cave in and sign the documents, saw him sign Clarice's life away when he'd asked him not to.
But not even Hannibal was prepared for what happened next.
When Cordell had turned his back after signing the papers, Krendler opened his briefcase, seemingly to place them inside. That wasn't all he intended to do.
Quickly, quietly, he put on the rubber gloves. Just as quietly and just as quickly, he brought Clarice's automatic revolver out of the evidence bag.
Just as Cordell turned back around, Krendler emptied the revolver, killing him instantly. The first shot went through his right eye and into his brain; two more blew the top of his head off. The rest were body shots.
Without knowing he was being watched, Krendler had effectively framed Clarice for yet another murder. "Smooth move, Starling," he chuckled, tossing the emptied gun to the floor before making his exit.
Krendler hadn't even know Hannibal had seen him shoot Cordell, didn't even know that it was his beach house Hannibal and Clarice were staying at until he arrived two days later.
He'd told the office that he was taking time off for 4th of July, that he didn't want to be disturbed until he got back to work.
That would be the last his colleagues would ever hear of him...
SAN ANGELINA HOSPITAL
BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA
The hand transplant had been a success, but Mr. LeMay still wasn't out of the woods. There was much rehabilitation to follow, so much adjustment he had to go through.
"LeMay, Jason Ernest," Dr. Mario Ruiz read on the chart as the man slept. "Age 61...damn good shape for that age...injured his hand in a hunting accident. Almost died of an infection that led to removal of hand...successful transplant, with computerized additions to aid in rehabilitation..."
LeMay was in extraordinarily good health. One good thing about being in the hospital was that he'd lost all the extra poundage that had accumulated the last ten years.
Weight training would firm him back up, but right now that was the last thing on his mind. When Dr. Ruiz left him alone, LeMay awoke, becoming Hannibal Lecter once again.
He had forgotten nothing since leaving Clarice in the woods outside Paul Krendler's summer home, since he'd chosen to injure himself, rather than her, when she'd handcuffed him in the kitchen.
He'd hidden in the woods, watching helplessly as Clarice surrendered to the authorities. "Clarice Starling, FBI!" he still remembered her say when she was surrounded.
He'd also remembered what had happened to her next...
The officers, led by FBI Agent Clint Pearsall, walk down to where Clarice stood, her hands raised in surrender. She'd expected them to help her look for Hannibal, to help her apprehend him for killing Krendler in his own house.
Instead, she was roughly frisked and handcuffed. "Hey, what the fuck is this?" she demanded.
"Shut up, Starling!" Pearsall scolded as she was cuffed. "Did you expect us to believe that bullshit story about Lecter holding you and Krendler hostage? And did you think we'd believe Lecter killed Verger and Cordell Doemling?"
"D--Dr. Doemling's still alive---!"
"I said shut up! And for your information, we found Doemling at the Verger estate awhile ago with his head blown off! We found your pistol at the scene, too...your fingerprints were all over it, little girl! We found Verger's wheelchair next to the pigbin...again, your fingerprints!"
"I FOUND KRENDLER!!!" a voice shouted from up the hill. "He's...ohmyGOD!!!"
The group returned to the house as Hannibal watched sadly, Pearsall and another officer leading Clarice to the scene of Krendler's death.
He kept his distance as he followed them, watching them through the kitchen window...
Krendler was dead, all right. The better part of his frontal lobes were gone, and his throat had been cut shortly thereafter. There was blood all over the kitchen, but no trace of Hannibal Lecter.
There were, however, plenty of fingerprints from Clarice. That was more than enough, as far as the officers were concerned.
"Clarice Michelle Starling," Pearsall began, "you are hereby under arrest for the murders of Deputy Asst. Attorney General Paul Krendler, Dr. Cordell Doemling, and Mason Verger."
"W-what?" Clarice stammered.
"You have the right to remain silent...if you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you..."
"Clint---!"
"For the last time, SHUT UP!!!"
Pearsall then turned to the officers and fumed, "Get her out of here!"
The officers then laid hold of Clarice, who was screaming her innocence as she was placed in the squad car and taken to the maximum-security jail in Washington, DC...
The heartwrenching memory of five months' ago caused Hannibal to sit bolt upright in bed, screaming and crying his heart out. The nurses then rushed in, seeing him upset, and called Dr. Ruiz.
As they all came in to check on him, Hannibal slipped back into the skin of Jason LeMay. "Mr. LeMay, what's wrong?" Dr. Ruiz asked gently.
Hannibal could only reply with sobs, the tears pouring a waterfall down his cheeks. One of the nurses softly stroked his shaved head, soothing him as Dr. Ruiz gave him a sedative to help him sleep.
"Take it easy, Mr. LeMay, you'll be all right," Dr. Ruiz now said. "You've had a tough time...just rest..."
The sedative took hold in less than a minute...soon, Hannibal was crying himself to sleep.
He'd be doing a lot of crying until he saw Clarice again.
THE END
In My Pain...
...is where I've tattooed your name...
