Asylum: the term was no longer PC, no longer politically correct. Still, a rose by any other
name would smell as sweet, and a psychiatric correctional facility, no matter how you packaged
it, could never be anything but an asylum, a repository for the insane.
Dr. Frederick Chilton wrinkled his nose in disgust as he walked past the asylum’s dreary cells.
He walked softly, his footsteps quiet on the concrete floor so as not to awaken the inmates. The
cells were darkened-most were asleep. He didn’t need light to know what Multiple Miggs was
doing. The inmate looked up as Chilton passed, just for a second, and then went right back to
it. Chilton muttered his contempt and continued on, walking down the narrow corridor, hoping
the stench and the insanity wouldn’t stick to him.
Hannibal Lecter, the psychiatrist, was at the end, his cell dark like the rest, and silent. Lecter
was standing patiently in the middle of his cell, waiting, as if he was expecting a visitor:
standing straight, arms folded behind his back, eyes peering through the darkness, like a cat’s.
Chilton could see his outline in the darkness, the canvas of the tan coveralls taut against his
compact form.
Chilton unfolded a wooden chair and placed it gently on the ground before Lecter’s cell. A nod
of the head to Barney, the attendant, and the lights came on in the inmate’s cell.
Lecter lifted his head to feel the warmth of the lamp’s high voltage bulb caress his face, and
then angled his gaze downward to focus on Chilton: eyes wide and unblinking, his expression
impassive.
“I see you’re still awake,” Chilton said. “You’re depriving yourself of valuable rest. Perhaps I
should prescribe something to help you sleep.”
Lecter turned away and spoke without looking at Chilton. “The civilized world does not retire at
8:00 PM. In Milan dinner is regularly served at hours past 9:00. In Florence many retire just as
the sun begins to crown.”
“I’m afraid the sun will never crown down here. Unless, of course, you can see through the
quarry stone.”
“That’s right, Doctor. Thank you for reminding me.” Lecter’s gaze cut back to Chilton, his
maroon eyes cold like primitive cutting tools. “But I have my memories: Capri, Rome…The
Palazzo.” Lecter walked to the wall and ran his fingertips along the cool, coarse stone, eyes
closed, his head and neck arching, savoring the rock’s texture. “Why have you taken my
drawings, Dr. Chilton?”
The industrial lighting imparted a stern character to Chilton’s already smug expression. “You
tell me. Why has Jack Crawford become a pimp?”
“Ah,” Lecter said, his eyes opening wide with surprise and delight. “You’ve come here to talk
about the girl, the female agent he sent. Now let’s see, what was her name?”
“Clarice Starling, as if you didn’t know.”
“That’s right.” Lecter’s eyes sparkled. “I see your memory for these things is still quite good.”
“As yours will need to be, if you’ll want to remember the drawings you no longer have.”
Lecter’s head rotated slowly, until his cool gaze came to rest on Chilton, his mouth slightly
agape. He walked to the front of the cell, just inches from the iron bars. “Are you here for
revenge, Dr. Chilton?”
“Call it what you wish.”
“I see… They say, ‘revenge is a dish best served cold.’ Is that true?”
“Please, let’s not play games. It’s too late, and I don’t have the patience to spar with you.”
“Of course not. I’d be foolish to grapple with a sophisticated man like you, Dr. Frederick
Chilton P-H-D.” Lecter flashed a coy smile. “Indulge me, Dr. Chilton; are you a dish best served
cold? Should I splay your flesh into slender bits like sashimi and eat it chilled with wasabi
mustard, or should I sear it on the grill like fresh bloody tuna and serve it black and blue?”
The bars on Miggs’ cell creaked unexpectedly, startling Chilton. His head shot in the direction
of the noise. After a moment, silence returned. Chilton turned back to Lecter. “Threats? I
expected better. Surely you-”
“Yes, foolish of me to try such a sophomoric stunt. I see I’ve had no effect. By the way, you
should pay more attention to Miggs. He seems to be reacting badly to the increase in his
dosage of Thorazine.”
“Don’t concern yourself with Miggs. He’s responding quite nicely.” Chilton crossed his legs, left
over right, and casually brushed some lint from his cuff.
“Yes, his production seems to be up significantly. Pity, though; all that seed and no one to
inseminate. What a splendid bloodline he would create. Give your first born for the publishing
rights to that one, wouldn’t you? Tell me, Doctor, what troubles you about Agent Starling? Is it
that I talked to her out of school or that she was cool to your clumsy advances? At first I
thought the hint of lemon in the air was a residue left under your fingernails from dinner, but
I’m mistaken, am I not?” Lecter raised his head and sniffed the air flowing through the cell
bars. “It’s Balmain, isn’t it? Tell me, Doctor, do you think Agent Starling fancied your cologne?
Do you think it made her wet?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Come now, Freddy, you do want her, don’t you? Surely you’ve pictured your pale white bodies
intertwined in rapture.” Lecter paused momentarily. “I have it wrong, don’t I? You’d take her
from behind, wouldn’t you, Freddy, like animals in the wild; you’ve no need to see the
expression on her face. It is Freddy, isn’t it? Isn’t that what the girls called you at Stanford,
Freddy? And you had your way with a modest few, but never the ones you fancied. You never
had any of the girls you really wanted, did you? Only the dregs; only the ones content to feel
anything inside them at all, even your pathetic member.”
“Don’t joust with me, Lecter. I want to know what you told Agent Starling.”
Lecter cantered his head on its axis. “If it’s information you seek, Doctor, I do hope you’ve
brought something to trade.”
“How about some butyl poppers, like the ones you fed Mason Verger?”
“Lecter turned his back on Chilton and faded into the recesses of the cell. “I grow weary, Dr.
Chilton. Perhaps I should take my rest.” He turned and sat down on his cot, crossed his arms,
and stared at Chilton blankly. “Verger was thrilled with the poppers, you know; they lit him up
like a roman candle. And the glass shard…well, he made good use of that, didn’t he?”
“And you fed his flesh to the dogs.”
“Why not, Doctor? Surely man’s best friend deserves some fresh meat every now and then.”
Lecter’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “But we digress, Dr. Chilton. You came here to talk
about Agent Starling. Go on.”
“You’re helping her with the Buffalo Bill case. I’d like to know what you told her.”
“I see. And what would you do with this information, enlist in the FBI? Bring the killer to
justice, and become a national celebrity in the process? Do you think he’d fall victim to your
fatal charm? I think you’re just trying to round up another freak for your menagerie, another
specimen to put under the microscope and ply with psychotropic medication. I hear there’s a
two-for-one sale on Lithium this week. By the way, Miggs’ output is up to four ounces a day;
perhaps Buffalo Bill can do better. Is that it, Doctor, do you think Buffalo Bill’s a prize-winning
stud? Or is he a gelding like you? Why does he call himself Buffalo Bill, Freddy? Ask yourself
why?”
“I don’t know why.”
“Come now, an astute mind like yours, and a Scorpio to boot. Scorpios are intuitive and
emotional, and yet they’re jealous and resentful. They’re determined, but obsessive and
secretive. Think, Doctor, think.”
“Would you like your drawings back, or should I have them remove your journals as well? You
may be a monster, but you’re a harmless monster. There’s nothing you can do to me while
you’re locked in your cage. Mark my words, Lecter; I’ll make sure you never get out.”
“Such pleasant prospects.” Lecter rose slowly and approached the cell’s bars with deliberate
authority, his gaze intent and purposeful. “Come closer, Freddy. Come close so that I can
whisper in your ear. I’m far more dangerous in here. Your psyche is a tender flower and I
intend to use it as garnish for my supper, like freshly ground cayenne. Can you imagine? Can
you imagine the great Frederick Chilton driven mad and imprisoned in the very institution he
once ran? How’d you like that, Freddy? Would you like being down here with Miggs and me?
Shall I do that, Freddy? Shall I eat my way into that fragile little mind of yours? Sweet dreams,
Freddy. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Sweat broke out across Chilton’s upper lip. He reached for his handkerchief, but quickly
reconsidered.
“Go on; wipe the sweat from your face. The aroma of fear has been thick in the air for the past
several minutes. Let it go, Freddy. Admit your cowardice. You’ll be much more comfortable with
yourself after you let down your guard. It’s eating you up. Let it go. Let it go.”
Chilton jumped nervously out of his chair. “I didn’t come here to waste my time. Now have you
something to tell me or not?” Chilton shot his cuffs and stomped his clinging trouser legs down
to the floor.
“Easy, Freddy; it’s wrong to appear too needy. Take Starling for example. The poor thing’s a
nobody, a trainee with no qualifications and no pedigree, and yet she holds her head up
proudly. It’s all in the way you carry yourself. At least pretend that you have some character.
Think about your credentials: State Psychiatric Committee-Board of Governors, MENSA—”
Lecter smiled gleefully. “Are you the whore of MENSA, Freddy? Can Frederick Chilton be had
for a price? What’s your price, Freddy? What does it take?”
Chilton pushed the wooden chair up against the wall, scraping its legs along the concrete floor.
“Good evening. I’ll instruct Barney to collect your journals in the morning.”
“Oh come now, Doctor. You can do better than that. Is information your price? My information?
Won’t ya spread ‘em wide so that I can inseminate your mind with my infectious thoughts?”
Chilton felt something hit his arm. Instinctively, he reached for it. His face contorted with
disgust. He jumped out of the line of fire, landing within a foot of Lecter’s cell.
“A present from Miggs?” Lecter smiled broadly. “How delightful.”
Chilton ripped the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his sleeve with carefully
measured strokes. Even so, he could feel the moisture soaking through his suit jacket.
Miggs took the opportunity to caress the bars of his cell. He began howling like a monkey. He
was naked, working up a fresh batch.
Chilton turned toward the spectacle. “Charming.”
“Insanity is all around you, Freddy.”
Lecter’s voice paralyzed Chilton.
“It’s inside you now, even as we speak.”
Lecter was just opposite Chilton, glaring at him through the bars with a maniacal expression
on his face. Before he knew it, Lecter had his hand on his throat, and for that instant they
were face-to-face with Lecter’s warm breath hissing slowly through the bars, into Chilton’s ear,
writhing like a snake’s narrow, forked tongue. “You’re mine, Freddy, you’re all mine.” He forced
something into Chilton’s mouth and sealed his mouth and nostrils shut with the expanse of
his palm.
The life drained from Chilton’s body.
Lecter felt Chilton’s body grow slack and let him go. He smiled at him playfully. “What do you
think I gave you? Whatever it was, it’s in your bloodstream now.”
Chilton was unable to move. He was in Lecter’s realm now—no longer in control. He imagined
the iron bars melting into a puddle of molten steel, and Lecter reaching out, once again
holding him by the throat.
“Tick tock, tick tock, Freddy. How does it feel to be tortured by time? How does it feel when a
second lasts forever? How does it feel to have Miggs’ seed soaking through the fine wool of your
Brooks Brothers suit? Are you safe, Freddy, or are you mine to do with as I wish? What’s
crawling through your veins, Freddy? It’ll reach your brain very soon.”
Chilton felt a tremor building. He fought desperately to suppress it. No, he commanded
himself, not in front of him. No!
“Trembling, Freddy?” Lecter’s eyes were once again wide with excitement. “Bet you’d like to
peel off your suit and your shirt—your skin too—anything to feel clean again. How about it,
Freddy, would you like to peel off your skin. Mason Verger did and it made him unique. You
and he are not so very different, are you? All you need is a little libation to soften the edges, a
little coaxing. How does it feel to be exposed? You’re weak, Freddy, gutless and weak. Peel your
skin. Become one of us, a freak.”
Chilton saw Barney at the end of the corridor, just past the security gate, reading the evening
paper. Help me. Chilton’s words would not articulate. It was as if he were imprisoned within his
own flesh and blood. He tried to call out to Barney with his eyes, pleading, See me. Please see
me. Help.
“Barney’s completely absorbed with the pennant race. But you wouldn’t understand. You were
never one for baseball, were you? You were the intellectual type, what the cool kids called a
nerd. But you never let on to them, did you? They never knew that you were being treated for
depression. What did the doctor give you for your pain? Zoloft, Prozac? In any case you’ll have
to do more than that to get Barney’s attention. Better do it quick. Who knows how far I can
reach?”
Chilton’s spasms grew and grew until a tremor racked his body. Then he retched
uncontrollably.
“Good boy, Freddy; Barney surely heard that. You’re as resourceful as you are entertaining.”
Lecter smiled and then sniffed the air. Yes, I was right, not a hint of lemon anywhere in your
dinner.” Lecter heard the sound of Barney’s footsteps racing down the corridor. “Here comes
help. Why not have him fetch you some butyl nitrate and a cheap fifth of gin? I’ve got a shard
with your name on it: a razor sharp sliver that I chipped from a window at the Vatican.”
Chilton’s eyes were wide and fearful. “You know your way around gin, don’t you, Freddy, used
to dip into the old man’s stash? Do you think the gin will eat your liver, Freddy, like it did your
old man’s? Or will the pleasure be mine?”
Chilton gagged as a second wave of vomit rushed from his mouth.
Barney was in a full run and almost collided with Chilton, trying to bring the inertia of his
hulking body to a stop. “Dr. Chilton, are you alright, sir?”
Chilton’s cheeks were bloated, his throat burnt by stomach acid. A fresh torrent was on the
rise. He nodded quickly, unconvincingly. At least, though, Lecter’s trance was broken.
Barney gazed into the cell. Lecter was stretched out on his cot, reading an issue of National
Geographic, seemingly unaffected by Chilton’s plight. “What did you do, Lecter?” Barney had a
towel looped through his belt. He yanked it free and handed it to Chilton. “What did you do?”
he asked again. “Lecter!”
Hannibal Lecter paused and rolled his head in Barney’s direction. His expression was cool and
unassuming.
Chilton wiped his face and then dropped the towel on the floor to cover the mess. “My dinner
must have turned. I’m going to my office to call the restaurant this instant.” Chilton
straightened up. “Clean this up.” He turned apprehensively toward Lecter.
Lecter spoke without looking back. “Sweet dreams, Dr. Chilton. Remember, don’t let the
bedbugs bite.”
“Any instructions for Lecter?” Barney asked.
“No,” Chilton answered immediately. “No changes. Thank you.” He dashed off.
Lecter smiled slightly, imperceptibly.
Chilton paused at the door to his office, staring blankly at the oak paneled entrance, his head
beginning to whirl. Lecter had knocked him off-center, and it would take some time for the
thinking process to return. “Son of a bitch,” he mouthed in a hoarse whisper. What did he give
me? He fished in his left trouser pocket for his keys, then the right. Both were empty. Then he
jammed both hands into his coat pockets simultaneously. “Ahhhh!” he screamed. He pulled his
right hand out of his pocket. Blood was dripping from a jagged slice in his middle finger.
Chilton cringed as blood ran from the wound. He’d left his soiled handkerchief on the floor
outside Lecter’s cell. The outer office was empty. Chilton plunged his bloody finger into his
mouth.
He heard Lecter’s voice in his head. “Pretty bad, isn’t it? When was the last time you tasted
your own blood? Has a mildly metallic taste, doesn’t it, like iron?”
Chilton jumped nervously and yanked his finger out of his mouth. He pried open his suit
pocket with his left hand and carefully reached in with his right. A small sliver of crimson glass
was in his pocket, caught in the seam. Chilton studied the glistening shard as a cold sweat
broke out over his body.
Chilton located his key, unlocked his office door, and rushed into his private bathroom. He
cleansed the wound with antiseptic, applied a bandage, and then washed his face repeatedly.
He straightened up to stare at his image in the mirror. Droplets of water turned to ice on his
face. He looked pale and lifeless—his hair was wet and stringy like the coat of a sewer rat. He
vexed over the pill Lecter had forced into his mouth and grew queasy once again.
“Pathetic.” Chilton heard Lecter’s voice again. He spun around nervously, but the room was
empty. He rubbed his forehead with his bare hand. Another wave of nausea flooded his gut and
rose toward his mouth.
“You’re sick, Freddy. Pathetic and sick.” Chilton closed his eyes, but Lecter’s words only
reverberated more loudly.
“The shard can heal you, Freddy. Reach for the shard.”
“No. I won’t do it,” Chilton protested. “I won’t.”
“Just think, this morning, you were on top of the world and now you’re arguing with yourself.
Who’s running the asylum now, Freddy?”
“I am,” Chilton insisted.
“You’re through. You’ll be an inmate soon.”
“Never.”
“Reach for the shard. The shard can heal you. It will take away all the pain.”
Chilton felt tears rushing forward. It ached horribly to hold them back.
“Don’t feel ashamed.” Lecter’s voice was comforting and gentle. “Reach for the shard.”
Chilton focused on the crimson fragment, lying on the sink’s broad ridge. He picked it up
carefully and held it in air at the height of his face.
“Carefully now—hold it close, Freddy. You can stop the pain in an instant.”
Chilton’s breathing became labored. His face contorted with despair. He placed the shard
alongside his throat.
“That’s it. You’re still a physician. Find the carotid artery.”
Chilton’s lip began to quiver. Lecter’s words were like a hypodermic, injecting insanity through
his veins. Chilton’s hand began to shake. The shard’s edge was imminent, prickling his bare
throat. He felt his heart knocking hard enough to crack ribs.
“Be a man, Freddy. Do it now.”
Chilton shut his eyes and began to tremble.
“Shhh.” Chilton heard Lecter’s soothing voice, seeping into his head like a cooling mist. “It’s all
right, Freddy. Relax. Think of far-off places—a tropical oasis perhaps. Soothing thoughts. Shhh,
that’s better, isn’t it?”
Chilton felt the knocking in his chest subside, and the sensation of a cooling breeze caressing
his face.
“Be brave, Freddy. Open your eyes. You’ve won. You’ve ventured into the abyss and returned
triumphant.”
A smile slowly formed on Chilton’s face.
“Tick tock, Freddy. Open your eyes. I’ve had the best of you for too long. The game is over.
You’ve won.”
Chilton nodded. His eyes opened slowly. He shuddered at the image alongside his in the
mirror. “No!” he pleaded. The shard was now in Lecter’s hand. Chilton shut his eyes as the
razor sharp sliver of glass raced toward his throat.
Everything went black.
The darkness was followed by brilliant light, total silence, and the cold caress of the bathroom
tiles as his body settled upon the floor.
NOTICE: THIS IS A PERSONALLY OWNED WORK OF FICTION.
YOU MAY READ IT. IT MAY NOT BE COPIED OR REPRODUCED.
IT IS NOT FOR SALE!
LONELY IS THE NIGHT
By
Lawrence Kelter
BASED ON THE CHARACTERS CREATED BY
THOMAS HARRIS
“Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone.
Your demons come to light and your mind is not your own.”
—Billy Squier
What do you suppose happened in the hours just after Hannibal Lecter’s first
meeting with FBI Agent Clarice Starling? Perhaps this…
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