tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55397221876938127942023-06-20T06:36:09.881-07:00THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBSEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539722187693812794.post-18426560209053532382007-03-31T11:31:00.000-07:002007-03-31T11:32:19.430-07:00"THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS"<br /><br /> by<br /><br /> Ted Tally<br /><br /> Based on the novel by<br /><br /> Thomas Harris<br /><br /> <br /><br /> FADE IN:<br /><br /> INT. GRUBBY HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> A woman's face BACKS INTO SHOT, her head resting against <br /> grimy wallpaper. She is tense, sweaty, wide-eyed with <br /> concentration. This is CLARICE STARLING, mid-20's, trim, <br /> very pretty. She wears Kevlar body armor over a navy <br /> windbreaker, khaki pants. Her thick hair is piled under a <br /> navy baseball cap. A revolver, clutched in her right hand, <br /> hovers by her ear. She raises a speedloader, in her left <br /> hand, locks it into her cylinder, twists and reloads.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON<br /><br /> A guest room door, with a small, wired pack attached to its <br /> knob. Suddenly, wish a sharp CRACK!, the knob explodes, and <br /> the door bursts open.<br /><br /> WITH CLARICE - MOVING SHOT<br /><br /> as she runs around a corner, through a cloud of smoke. She <br /> shoulders aside the shattered door and rushes inside, gun at <br /> the ready in both hands...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV - MOVING - as she first sees, sitting on the <br /> edge of a bed - a FEMALE HOSTAGE. Black, late 20's, gagged, <br /> hands behind her back. Then, SWIVELLING... she sees a startled <br /> MALE SUSPECT, white, mid-20's, standing by a window with a <br /> rifle in his hands. He is turning towards her...<br /><br /> Clarice drops into a combat crouch, gun extended, and shouts.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Freeze! FBI!<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV - SLOW MOTION<br /><br /> all natural SOUND suspended - as the Suspect faces her with <br /> a strange, pleading expression. The rifle is rising in his <br /> hands, but oddly enough, it is held across his chest, not <br /> pointing. Then another puzzling detail registers...<br /><br /> THE SUSPECT'S HANDS<br /><br /> are taped to his gun, away from the trigger; he couldn't use <br /> it even if he tried. Suddenly we hear a metallic CLICK, which <br /> registers with unnatural amplification, as - Clarice reacts, <br /> drops to the floor, rolling sideways, and -<br /><br /> THE "HOSTAGE"<br /><br /> pulls a revolver out from behind her back, still in SLOW <br /> MOTION, raising it in her untied hands. She fires repeatedly, <br /> flames leaping from the muzzle; the SOUND is an echoing roar <br /> in these close quarters, but -<br /><br /> Clarice has come up on one knee, beside an armchair, and is <br /> already firing back herself, two quick SHOTS, which send -<br /><br /> THE "HOSTAGE"<br /><br /> pitching over the bed, backwards, to shudder and lie still <br /> in a haze of gunsmoke. Clarice rushes to her, clamping one <br /> knee down on her gun hand, still keeping her covered in case <br /> of movement. HOLD for a few beats... then we hear the shrill <br /> blast of a WHISTLE from somewhere, off screen, as normal <br /> ACTION and SOUND are restored.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM (O.S.)<br /> Okay, people, good exercise...<br /><br /> Clarice relaxes, lowering her gun. The lights brighten.<br /><br /> PULLING BACK<br /><br /> we see that we're in some sort of auditorium, with the "hotel <br /> room" and its "corridor" built as a training set. JOHN BRIGHAM <br /> walks onto this set, thumbing a stopwatch. Mid-40's, ex-<br /> Marine. His T-shirt's lettering says "Firearms Instructor / <br /> FBI Academy."<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Starling's reaction time was <br /> excellent. Let's break. Critique in <br /> five.<br /><br /> A class of about forty young FBI trainees, of both sexes, <br /> begins to rise from their seats, mingling and chatting. <br /><br /> Clarice nods amiably to the "Suspect", then gives her <br /> "Hostage" a hand up. It's ARDELIA MAPP, her roommate. Her <br /> broad, clever face breaks into a big smile, as they both <br /> remove ear plugs. Clarice's voice has just a soft trace of <br /> southern accent.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Damn, Clarice, how'd you make me?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (indicating her gun)<br /> Never cock. Just squeeze.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> (grins)<br /> I love it when you talk dirty.<br /><br /> As Brigham joins them, Clarice can't resist a star pupil's <br /> little smile of pride. He frowns good-naturedly.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> What're you laughin' at, Junior G-<br /> Man? She got off four rounds to your <br /> two.<br /><br /> He takes out a steel-coiled grip flexer, drops it onto her <br /> palm.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> (continuing)<br /> One hundred reps, each hand, every <br /> day. Now tidy up, the Section Chief <br /> wants to see you.<br /><br /> He nods a direction, then moves off. Clarice, with her smile <br /> finally fading, looks out into the auditorium.<br /><br /> SPECIAL AGENT JACK CRAWFORD<br /><br /> sits on the top step of the aisle, looking down at her. He <br /> is 53, strongly built. He rises impassively, exits through <br /> the back door. He carries a think manila envelope under one <br /> arm.<br /><br /> Ardelia who is helping Clarice unbuckle her bullet-proof <br /> vest, follows her worried gaze.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> What'd I do?<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Stay cool. Just remember to call him <br /> "God."<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA - DAY<br /><br /> Crawford is watching a group of trainees on the firing range, <br /> as Clarice joins him. He looks tired, haunted. Between master <br /> and student, we sense a subtle, muted tug of sexuality.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Starling, Clarice M., good morning.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Good morning, Mr. Crawford.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Your instructors tell me you're doing <br /> well. Top quarter of the class.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I hope so. They haven't posted <br /> anything.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> A job's come up and I thought about <br /> you. Not really a job, more of - an <br /> interesting errand. Walk me to my <br /> car, Starling.<br /><br /> They begin to cross the academy grounds. A group of trainees <br /> jogs by, in matching sweats, following a p.e. coach.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> We're trying to interview all of the <br /> serial killers now in custody, for a <br /> psychobehavioral profile. Could be a <br /> big help in unsolved cases. Most of <br /> them have been happy to talk to us. <br /> They have a compulsion to boast, <br /> these people... Do you spook easily, <br /> Starling?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Not yet.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You see, the one we want most refuses <br /> to cooperate. I want you to go after <br /> him again today, in the asylum.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Who's the subject?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> The psychiatrist - Dr. Hannibal <br /> Lecter.<br /><br /> Clarice stops walking, goes very still. A beat.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> The cannibal...<br /><br /> Crawford doesn't respond, except to study her face.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes, well... Okay, right. I'm glad <br /> for the chance, sir, but - why me?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You're qualified and available. And <br /> frankly, I can't spare a real agent <br /> right now.<br /><br /> He walks on again, at a faster clip. She hurried to keep up.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I don't expect him to talk to you, <br /> but I have to be able to say we <br /> tried... Lecter was a brilliant <br /> psychiatrist, and he knows all the <br /> dodges.<br /> (hands her the manila <br /> envelope)<br /> Dossier on him, copy of our <br /> questionnaire, special ID for you... <br /> If he won't talk, then I want straight <br /> reporting. How's he look, how's his <br /> cell look, what's he writing? The <br /> Director himself will see your report, <br /> over your own signature - if I decide <br /> it's good enough. I want that by <br /> 0800 Wednesday, and keep this to <br /> yourself.<br /><br /> They're reached his car. His driver stamps on a cigarette, <br /> climbs in behind the wheel. BURROUGHS, his assistant, says <br /> something into a walkie-talkie, then opens the back door. <br /> But Crawford pulls her aside, a hand on her shoulder. His <br /> intensity is scary.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Now. I want your full attention, <br /> Starling. Are you listening to me?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes sir.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter. <br /> Dr. Chilton at the asylum will go <br /> over the physical procedures used <br /> with him. Do not deviate from them, <br /> for any reason. You tell him nothing <br /> personal, Starling. Believe me, you <br /> don't want Hannibal Lecter inside <br /> your head... Just do your job, but <br /> never forget what he is.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (a bit unnerved)<br /> And what is that, sir?<br /><br /> CHILTON (V.O.)<br /> Oh, he's a monster. A pure <br /> psychopath...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. CHILTON'S OFFICE - BALTIMORE STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE <br /> CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE ON an ID card held in a male hand. Clarice's photo, <br /> official-looking graphics. It calls her a "Federal <br /> Investigator."<br /><br /> CHILTON (O.S.)<br /> It's so rare to capture one alive. <br /> From a research point of view, Dr. <br /> Lecter is our most prized asset...<br /><br /> DR. FREDERICK CHILTON looks up from her card. A smarmy little <br /> peacock, behind a vast desk; he's conceived an instant, <br /> hopeless letch for Clarice. He smiles, stroking her card <br /> with his beloved gold pen.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> You know, we get a lot of detectives <br /> here, but I must say, I can't ever <br /> remember one so attractive...<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - REVEALS CLARICE<br /><br /> now wearing a more feminine skirt suit. Hair neatly coiled, <br /> elegant shoulder bag, briefcase. He has rudely left her <br /> standing.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Will you be in Baltimore overnight...? <br /> Because this can be quite a fun town, <br /> if you have the right guide.<br /><br /> Clarice tries, unsuccessfully, to hide her distaste for him.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm sure it's a great town, Dr. <br /> Chilton, but my instructions are to <br /> talk to Lecter and report back this <br /> afternoon.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> (pause, sourly)<br /> I see.<br /> (beat)<br /> Let's make this quick, then. I'm <br /> busy.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. ASYLUM CORRIDOR - UPPER FLOOR - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice flinches as a heavy steel gate CLANGS shut behind <br /> her, the bolt shooting home. Chilton walks ahead of her.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Lecter carved up nine people - that <br /> we're sure of - and cooked his <br /> favorite bits. We've tried to study <br /> him, of course - but he's much too <br /> sophisticated for the standard tests. <br /> And my, does he hate us! Thinks I'm <br /> his nemesis... Crawford's very clever, <br /> isn't he? Using you.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> How do you mean, Dr. Chilton?<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> A pretty young woman, to turn him <br /> on? I don't believe Lecter's ever <br /> seen a woman in eight years. And oh, <br /> are you ever his "taste" - so to <br /> speak.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I graduated magna from UVA, Doctor. <br /> It's not a charm school.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Good. Then you should be able to <br /> remember the rules.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DIFFERENT CORRIDOR - LOWER FLOOR - DAY<br /><br /> A darker, even grimmer area. Heavy grids over the lights. <br /> Distant SLAMMINGS and faint, hoarse SHOUTS. They walk briskly.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Do not reach through the bars, do <br /> not touch the bars. You pass him <br /> nothing but soft paper - no pens or <br /> pencils. No staples or paperclips in <br /> his paper. Use the sliding food <br /> carrier, no exceptions. Do not accept <br /> anything he attempts to hold out to <br /> you. Do you understand me?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I understand.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> I'm going to show you why we insist <br /> on such precautions... On the <br /> afternoon of July 8, 1981, he <br /> complained of chest pains and was <br /> taken to the dispensary. His <br /> mouthpiece and restraints were removed <br /> for an EKG. When the nurse bent over <br /> him, he did this to her...<br /><br /> He hands Clarice a small, dog-eared photo. Looking at it, <br /> she is stopped in her tracks. This pleases Chilton.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> The doctors managed to re-set her <br /> jaw, more or less, and save one of <br /> her eyes. His pulse never got over <br /> eighty-five, even when he ate her <br /> tongue.<br /> (pauses, he smiles)<br /> I keep him in here.<br /><br /> He turns, pushes a button. A steel door BUZZES slowly open, <br /> and BARNEY - a big, impassive orderly - awaits them in an <br /> anteroom. On its walls: restraints, mouthpieces, Mace, <br /> tranquilizer guns.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (quickly blocking him)<br /> Dr. Chilton - if Lecter feels you're <br /> his enemy - as you've said - then <br /> maybe I'll have more luck by myself. <br /> What do you think?<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> (annoyed)<br /> You might have suggested that in my <br /> office, and saved me the time.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But then I would've missed the <br /> pleasure of your company.<br /><br /> She holds out the photo. A beat. He grabs it, jaw twitching.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> When she's finished, bring her out.<br /><br /> He turns on his heel, goes. Barney smiles reassuringly.<br /><br /> BARNEY<br /> Hi, I'm Barney. He told you, don't <br /> get near the bars?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (shaking his hand)<br /> Clarice Starling. Yes, he did.<br /><br /> BARNEY<br /> Okay. Past the others, it's the last <br /> cell. Stay to the middle. I put out <br /> a chair for you.<br /><br /> Sensing her tension, he indicates a nearby security monitor.<br /><br /> BARNEY<br /> I'm watching. You'll do fine.<br /><br /> Clarice nods gratefully. She looks down the long corridor, <br /> takes a deep breath, walks into it. He watches her go.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DR. LECTER'S CORRIDOR - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING SHOT - with Clarice, as her footsteps ECHO. High to <br /> her right, surveillance cameras. On her left, cells. Some <br /> are padded, with narrow observation slits, others are normal, <br /> barred... Shadowy occupants pacing, MUTTERING... Suddenly a <br /> dark figure in the next-to-last cell hurtles towards her, <br /> his face mashing grotesquely against his bars as he hisses.<br /><br /> DARK FIGURE<br /> I c-can sssmell your cunt!<br /><br /> Clarice flinches momentarily, but then walks on.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER'S CELL<br /><br /> is coming slowly INTO VIEW... Behind its barred front wall <br /> is a second barrier of stout nylon net... Sparse, bolted-<br /> down furniture, many softcover books and papers. On the walls, <br /> extraordinarily detailed, skillful drawings, mostly European <br /> cityscapes, in charcoal or crayon.<br /><br /> Clarice stops, at a polite distance from his bars, clears <br /> her throat.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Lecter... My name is Clarice <br /> Starling. May I talk with you?<br /><br /> Dr. Hannibal Lecter is lounging on his bunk, in white pajamas, <br /> reading an Italian Vogue. He turns, considers her... A face <br /> so long out of the sun, it seems almost leached - except for <br /> the glittering eyes, and the wet red mouth. He rises smoothly, <br /> crossing to stand before her; the gracious host. His voice <br /> is cultured, soft.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Good morning.<br /><br /> CUTTING BETWEEN THEM<br /><br /> as Clarice comes a measured distance closer.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Doctor, we have a hard problem in <br /> psychological profiling. I want to <br /> ask for your help with a <br /> questionnaire.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> "We" being the Behavioral Science <br /> Unit, at Quantico. You're one of <br /> Jack Crawford's, I expect.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I am, yes.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> May I see your credentials?<br /><br /> Clarice is surprised, but fishes her ID card from her bag, <br /> holds it up for his inspection. He smiles, soothingly.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Closer, please... Clo-ser...<br /><br /> She complies each time, trying to hide her fear. Dr. Lecter's <br /> nostrils lift, as he gently, like an animal, tests the air. <br /> Then he smiles, glancing at her card.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (continuing)<br /> That expires in one week. You're not <br /> real FBI, are you?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm - still in training at the <br /> Academy.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Jack Crawford sent a trainee to me?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> We're talking about psychology, <br /> Doctor, not the Bureau. Can you decide <br /> for yourself whether or not I'm <br /> qualified?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Mmmmm... That's rather slippery of <br /> you, Officer Starling. Sit. Please.<br /><br /> She sits in the folding metal desk-chair. He waits politely <br /> till she's settled, then sits down himself, faces her happily.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Now then. What did Miggs say to you?<br /> (she is puzzled)<br /> "Multiple Miggs," in the next cell. <br /> He hissed at you. What did he say?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He said - "I can smell your cunt."<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I see. I myself cannot. You use Evyan <br /> skin cream, and sometimes you wear <br /> L'Air du Temps, but not today. You <br /> brought your best bag, though, didn't <br /> you?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (beat)<br /> Yes.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> It's much better than your shoes.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Maybe they'll catch up.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I have no doubt of it.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (shifting uncomfortably)<br /> Did you do those drawings, Doctor?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Yes. That's the Duomo, seen from the <br /> Belvedere. Do you know Florence?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> All that detail, just from memory...?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Memory, Officer Starling, is what I <br /> have instead of view.<br /><br /> A pause, then Clarice takes the questionnaire from her case.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Lecter, if you'd please consider -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> No, no, no. You were doing fine, <br /> you'd been courteous and receptive <br /> to courtesy, you'd established trust <br /> with the embarrassing truth about <br /> Miggs, and now this ham-handed segue <br /> into your questionnaire. It won't <br /> do. It's stupid and boring.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm only asking you to look at this, <br /> Doctor. Either you will or you won't.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Jack Crawford must be very busy indeed <br /> if he's recruiting help from the <br /> student body. Busy hunting that new <br /> one, Buffalo Bill... Such a naughty <br /> boy! Did Crawford send you to ask <br /> for my advice on him?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No, I came because we need -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> How many women has he used, our Bill?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Five... so far.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> All flayed...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Partially, yes. But Doctor, that's <br /> an active case, I'm not involved. If -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Do you know why he's called Buffalo <br /> Bill? Tell me. The newspapers won't <br /> say.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'll tell you if you'll look at this <br /> form.<br /> (he considers, then <br /> nods)<br /> It started as a bad joke in Kansas <br /> City Homicide. They said... this one <br /> likes to skin his humps.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Witless and misleading. Why do you <br /> think he takes their skins, Officer <br /> Starling? Thrill me with your wisdom.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> It excites him. Most serial killers <br /> keep some sort of trophies.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I didn't.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. You ate yours.<br /><br /> A tense beat, then a smile from him, at this small boldness.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Send that through.<br /><br /> She rolls him the questionnaire, in his sliding food tray. <br /> He rises, glances at it, turning a page or two disdainfully.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Oh, Officer Starling... do you think <br /> you can dissect me with this blunt <br /> little tool?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. I only hoped that your knowledge -<br /><br /> Suddenly he whips the tray back at her, with a metallic CLANG <br /> that makes her start. His voice remains a pleasant purr.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> You're sooo ambitious, aren't you...? <br /> You know what you look like to me, <br /> with your good bag and your cheap <br /> shoes? You look like a rube. A well-<br /> scrubbed, hustling rube with a little, <br /> taste... Good nutrition has given <br /> you some length of bone, but you're <br /> not more than one generation from <br /> poor white trash, are you Officer <br /> Starling...? That accent you're trying <br /> so desperately to shed - pure West <br /> Virginia. What was your father, dear? <br /> Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of <br /> the lamp...? And oh, how quickly the <br /> boys found you! All those tedious, <br /> sticky fumblings, in the back seats <br /> of cars, while you could only dream <br /> of getting out. Getting anywhere -<br /> yes? Getting all the way - to the <br /> F...B...I.<br /><br /> His every word has struck her like a tiny, precise dart. But <br /> she squares her jaw and won't give ground.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You see a lot, Dr. Lecter. But are <br /> you strong enough to point that high-<br /> powered perception at yourself? How <br /> about it...? Look at yourself and <br /> write down the truth.<br /> (she slams the tray <br /> back at him)<br /> Or maybe you're afraid to.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> You're a tough one, aren't you?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Reasonably so. Yes.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> And you'd hate to think you were <br /> common. My, wouldn't that sting! <br /> Well you're far from common, Officer <br /> Starling. All you have is the fear <br /> of it.<br /> (beat)<br /> Now please excuse me. Good day.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> And the questionnaire...?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> A census taker once tried to test <br /> me. I ate his liver with some fava <br /> beans and a nice chianti... Fly back <br /> to school, little Starling.<br /><br /> He steps backwards, then returns to his cot, becoming as <br /> still and remote as a statue. Frustrated, Clarice hesitates, <br /> then finally shoulders her bag and goes, leaving the <br /> questionnaire in his tray. But after just a few steps, as <br /> she passes -<br /><br /> MIGG'S CELL<br /><br /> She sees that creature at his bars again, hissing at her.<br /><br /> MIGGS<br /> I b-bit my wrist so I c-can diiiieeee! <br /> S-ee how it bleeeeeeeeds?<br /><br /> The dark figure suddenly flings his palm towards her, and -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> is spattered on the face and neck - not with blood, but with <br /> pale droplets of semen. She gives a little cry, touching her <br /> fingers to the wetness. Stunned, near tears, she forces <br /> herself to straighten up and walk on, fumbling for a tissue. <br /> From behind her, Dr. Lecter calls out, very agitated.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (O.S.)<br /> Officer Starling... Officer Starling!<br /><br /> Clarice slows, stops. She shudders, but makes the very <br /> difficult choice to turn, walk back, stand again in front of -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /><br /> Who's shivering with rage. For an instant his face opens, <br /> and we catch a glimpse into hell itself. Then he's composed <br /> again.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I would not have had that happen to <br /> you. Discourtesy is - unspeakably <br /> ugly to me.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Then please - do this test for me.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> No. But I will make you happy... <br /> I'll give you a chance for what you <br /> love most, Clarice Starling.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> What's that, Dr. Lecter?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Advancement, of course.<br /> (beat)<br /> Go to Split City. See Miss Mofet, an <br /> old patient of mine. M-O-F-E-T... <br /> Now go. Go.<br /> (a smile)<br /> I don't think Miggs could manage <br /> again so soon, even if he is crazy - <br /> do you?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. THE HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - DAY<br /><br /> The grim gothic pile of the asylum looms overhead as Clarice <br /> rushes out the front doors. She is badly shaken, almost <br /> stumbling, as she rubs at her face. She looks around for, <br /> and finally, with some relief, spots -<br /><br /> HER CAR<br /><br /> an old Pinto, parked nearby. This image begins to BLUR...<br /><br /> CLOSE ON<br /><br /> her face, fighting tears, as the CAMERA begins to WHIRL AROUND <br /> her, almost dizzily. She is seeing, in her mind's eye -<br /><br /> IN FLASHBACK<br /><br /> a screen door banging open, on a wooden porch, and a 10-year <br /> old girl - the young Clarice - rushing outside, down the <br /> front steps, and running joyfully across her front yard to -<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - THE GIRL'S POV<br /><br /> a car - late 60's vintage - parked in the dirt road. A MAN, <br /> Clarice's father, is just climbing out. He's tall, handsome, <br /> and has a marshal's badge pinned on his dark suit. He grins, <br /> seeing her, and spreads his arms wide as...<br /><br /> THE YOUNG CLARICE<br /><br /> rushes into them, and he sweeps her up in a hug, spinning <br /> her around, the CAMERA SPINNING with them, and capturing <br /> both their laughing faces, before we abruptly return to -<br /><br /> THE ADULT CLARICE<br /><br /> alone in the parking lot, sagging against her car. Her face <br /> is buried in her arms, she shoulders shaking. SOUND UPCUT - <br /> a steady, rapid series of GUNSHOTS, as we<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI ACADEMY FIRING RANGE - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice, in a combat stance, and wearing a sound-muffling <br /> headset, is squeezing off ROUND after ROUND at<br /><br /> A MOVING TARGET<br /><br /> The silhouette of a man, approaching along a track. Her shots, <br /> tightly grouped, are all finding the center chest. The target <br /> stops, quite close to her, still swaying.<br /><br /> Clarice stares at it, deftly working her speedloader. Then <br /> she puts a final, emphatic shot right through THE FIGURE'S <br /> FOREHEAD.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI ACADEMY LIBRARY - NIGHT<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a microfilm monitor - a grainy newsphoto of Dr. <br /> Lecter, scrawling past, with an accompanying story ("New <br /> Horrors in Cannibal Trial"), dated 1980.<br /><br /> Clarice is punching keys on the terminal. Other trainees <br /> study at nearby tables.<br /><br /> She pauses, jotting a note on her pad, as Ardelia comes by, <br /> carrying an armful of books.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Phone call, Clarice. It's God.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Thanks, Ardelia.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE<br /><br /> as Clarice rises, grabbing her notebook, and follows Ardelia <br /> past high metal bookstacks.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> You missed Fourth Amendment law. <br /> Unlawful seizure, real juicy stuff. <br /> Where were you all afternoon?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Pleading with a crazy man, with come <br /> all over my face.<br /><br /> Ardelia stares at her, figures it's a put-on, laughs.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Damn. Wish I had time for a social <br /> life.<br /><br /> Clarice grins, as Ardelia indicates a phone receiver resting <br /> on the check-out desk, then moves on. Clarice picks it up.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (on phone)<br /> Mr. Crawford?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. CRAWFORD'S HOUSE - STUDY - NIGHT<br /><br /> Crawford, in a cardigan, sits in a wing chair in the book- <br /> lined study of his suburban home. He turns the pages of <br /> Clarice's memo as they talk. His tone is sharp.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I've read your interim memo on Lecter. <br /> You sure you've left nothing out?<br /><br /> INTERCUTTING<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> It's all there, sir, practically <br /> verbatim.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Every word, Starling? Every gesture?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (a bit heatedly)<br /> Right down to the kleenex I used.<br /> (he is silent)<br /> Sir, why? Is something wrong?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> He mentioned a name, at the very <br /> end. "Mofet..." Any followup on her?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I spent all evening on the mainframe. <br /> Lecter altered or destroyed most of <br /> his patient histories, prior to <br /> capture. No record of anyone named <br /> Mofet. But "Split City" sounded like <br /> it might have have something to do <br /> with divorce. I tracked it down in <br /> the library's catalogue of national <br /> yellow pages.<br /> (glancing at her notes)<br /> It's a mini-storage facility outside <br /> Baltimore, where Lecter had his <br /> practice.<br /><br /> She pauses, expecting some soft of approval for her <br /> cleverness.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Well? Why aren't you there right <br /> now?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sir, that's a field job. It's outside <br /> the scope of my assignment. And I've<br /> got a test tomorrow on -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Do you recall my instructions to <br /> you, Starling? What were they?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> To complete and file my report by <br /> 0800 Wednesday. But sir -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Then do that, Starling. Do just <br /> exactly that.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sir, what is it? There's something <br /> you're not telling me.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (beat)<br /> Miggs has been murdered.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (startled, upset)<br /> Murdered...? How?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> The orderly heard Lecter whispering <br /> to him, all afternoon, and Miggs <br /> crying. They found him at bed check. <br /> He'd swallowed his own tongue... <br /> Chilton is scared stiff the family <br /> will file a civil rights lawsuit, <br /> and he's trying to blame it on you. <br /> I told the little prick your conduct <br /> was flawless.<br /> (beat)<br /> Starling...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm here, sir, I just - I don't know <br /> how to feel about it.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You don't have to feel any way about <br /> it. Lecter did it to amuse himself. <br /> Why not, what can they do? Take away <br /> his books for awhile, and no jello...<br /> (a bit softer)<br /> I know it got ugly today. But this <br /> is your report, Starling - take it <br /> as far as you can. On your own time, <br /> outside of class. Now carry on.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON CLARICE<br /><br /> as we hear the loud CLICK of Crawford hanging up. She stares <br /> at her receiver, stung by his abruptness.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Well God damn it! You old creep. <br /> Creepo son of a bitch. Let Miggs <br /> squirt you and see how you like it.<br /><br /> She slams her receiver into its cradle.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON CRAWFORD<br /><br /> as he flips aside her memo, then rises, wearily. He leaves <br /> his study, flicking off the lamp, and pads away in his <br /> slippers.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. CRAWFORD'S BEDROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> A private nurse, in white, stands marking a clipboard chart, <br /> as Crawford enters his tidy bedroom.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I'll take over, Patricia. You get <br /> some rest.<br /><br /> The nurse nods, hands him the chart, and goes. He glances at <br /> it, then sets it aside. He crosses to -<br /><br /> BELLA CRAWFORD<br /><br /> who lies in an elevated hospital bed. Nearby are an oxygen <br /> tank and mask, floral arrangements. Her breathing is shallow, <br /> very labored. Crawford looks down at his comatose wife for a <br /> long moment, tenderly brushes a strand of her hair back into <br /> place, then bends over to kiss her forehead. SOUND UPCUT - <br /> THUNDER and RAIN...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> EXT. "SPLIT CITY MINI-STORAGE" - DUSK (RAINING)<br /><br /> An orange neon sign, streaked with rain, identifies out <br /> location. It looms over a hurricane fence, topped with barbed <br /> wire. Inside, row on row of garage-sized, cinderblock sheds.<br /><br /> MR. YOW (V.O.)<br /> Unit 31 was leased for ten years. <br /> Pre-paid in full... The contract is <br /> in the name of "Miss Hester Mofet."<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STORAGE UNIT NUMBER 31 - DUSK<br /><br /> Clarice, kneeling before a closed, roll-up metal door, takes <br /> a FLASH photo of its sealed padlock. EVERETT YOW, a fat, <br /> 60ish Chinaman, holds an umbrella over them both. He looks <br /> unhappy.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> So no one's been in here since - <br /> 1980?<br /><br /> She opens the padlock, using a fat ring of tagged keys, then <br /> sets aside both keys and lock.<br /><br /> MR. YOW<br /> Not to my knowledge. Privacy is a <br /> great concern to my customers. But, <br /> if you say this is an FBI matter...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I won't disturb anything, Mr. Yow, I <br /> promise. Be gone before you know it.<br /><br /> Slinging her camera over a shoulder, she tugs at the handle, <br /> but the door won't budge. Another tug, harder - no good. Mr. <br /> Yow stoops to help, puffing hard, but it's firmly stuck. He <br /> sighs.<br /><br /> MR. YOW<br /> We could return tomorrow, with my <br /> son. Or perhaps some workmen...?<br /><br /> Clarice crosses to her Pinto, which faces the shed, reaches <br /> in to turn on her headlights. Mr. Yow blinks in the sudden <br /> brightness. Then she opens her truck, rummaging inside, and <br /> returns with a bumper jack, a flashlight, and a rubber floor <br /> mat.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Would you hold these, please?<br /><br /> She gives him her flashlight and camera, drops the mat on <br /> the ground, then sets the bumper jack in place, under the <br /> center of the door. She pumps on the jack handle as the door <br /> SQUEALS slowly up, but it won't go higher than about 18 <br /> inches, despite all her exertions. She spreads out the rubber <br /> mat on the cement, takes the flashlight from Mr. Yow, then <br /> lies on the mat.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THE STORAGE SHED - DUSK (VERY DARK)<br /><br /> Clarice, backlit, peers under the door. She reaches in, makes <br /> a sweep with her flashlight. We catch shadowy outlines - <br /> boxes, then the flattened tires of a car...<br /><br /> SOUND of rain on the tin roof, and other noises, too - small <br /> RUSTLINGS. Mr. Yow's chubby face appears down beside <br /> Clarice's.<br /><br /> MR. YOW<br /> It smells like mice... I think I <br /> hear them, too - don't you?<br /><br /> Clarice turns onto her back, starts squirming under the door.<br /><br /> MR. YOW<br /> You're going in there?<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STORAGE UNIT NUMBER 31 - DUSK<br /><br /> Clarice pulls her head back out again, reaching to take her <br /> camera from him. She hands him a card, trying to appear <br /> nonchalant.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Yow, if this door should fall<br /> down -ha ha! - or anything else - <br /> would you be kind enough to call <br /> this number? It's our Baltimore field <br /> office. They know you're here with <br /> me... Do you understand?<br /><br /> MR. YOW<br /> Might I suggest tucking your pants <br /> into your socks? To prevent mouse <br /> intrusion.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (beat)<br /> Good idea.<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> INT. STORAGE SHED - DUSK (VERY DARK)<br /><br /> Clarice squirms, on her back, through the narrow opening. As <br /> she squeezes all the way in, she snags one thigh on the metal <br /> edge of the door. She curses softly, shining her flashlight <br /> on her ripped khakis - there's a small streak of blood.<br /><br /> MR. YOW (O.S.)<br /> Okay, Miss Starling?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Okay, Mr. Yow...<br /><br /> She shines her light around. In its narrow beam, we see -<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV - UPWARD, SHIFTING<br /><br /> spiderwebs, everywhere... high stacks of cardboard boxes... <br /> a few dusty pieces of furniture... the big car, oddly long <br /> and tall, covered with a tarp... Suddenly there's a scurrying <br /> of loud MUSICAL NOTES. Clarice turns, scared, her beam <br /> capturing... an old upright piano.<br /><br /> MR. YOW (O.S.)<br /> You're playing a piano, Miss Starling?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> That wasn't me.<br /><br /> MR. YOW (O.S.)<br /> Oh.<br /><br /> Clarice crawls a bit further. There's hardly room to stand, <br /> but she finally manages to wriggle upright, clawing away <br /> cobwebs, next to the car. Holding her light under one arm, <br /> she takes several FLASH photos of the shed's interior, ending <br /> with the car. Then, slinging her camera over the shoulder, <br /> she folds back the tarp, resting it on the roof. The resulting <br /> clouds of dust make her cough.<br /><br /> THE CAR<br /><br /> is an antique beauty, a 1931 Packard. It's very dusty, despite <br /> the tarp. Curtains close off the back passenger compartment, <br /> but there's a narrow gap in them. More mousy RUSTLINGS.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> peers in through the gap, aiming her flashlight.<br /><br /> HER POV - SHIFTING<br /><br /> as the thin flashlight beam picks out: the broad back seat... <br /> as open album of lacy, old-fashioned Valentines... a crumpled <br /> lap rug, on the floor... and then a pair of women's shiny, <br /> high-heeled pumps... Above these, the hem of a fancy satin <br /> evening gown - and a pair of pale, stockinged legs.<br /><br /> Clarice recoils, alarmed, then steadies herself.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Yow? Oh Mr. Yow...? It looks <br /> like somebody is sitting in this <br /> car.<br /><br /> MR. YOW (O.S.)<br /> Oh my! Oh my... Maybe you better <br /> come out now, Miss Starling.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Not yet! - just wait for me.<br /> (under the breath)<br /> Maybe in about two seconds.<br /><br /> She leans down with her camera, takes a FLASH through the <br /> gap, then tries the door handle. Locked. So is the front <br /> door. She looks around, aiming her light, and locates a tangle <br /> of coat-hangers, sticking out of a carton of bric-a-brac. <br /> She pulls out one of these, straightens it quickly, bends <br /> the tip into a hook.<br /><br /> CLOSE ANGLE<br /><br /> as she jams this tool inside the join at the top of the back <br /> passenger window, then fishes around till she can snag the <br /> inside door latch, pulling up. A satisfying CLICK.<br /><br /> Clarice opens the door - it hits stacked boxes, and won't <br /> open far - then very cautiously leans inside, aiming her <br /> flashlight.<br /><br /> HER POV - MOVING LIGHT BEAM<br /><br /> revealing more of the evening gown... a pair of hands, in <br /> white, elbow-length gloves - one rests on the lap, the other <br /> atop a large, beaded, drawstring evening bag... thick strands <br /> of costume pearls over the breasts... and finally the white <br /> neck stub of a female mannequin. No face or head.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> sighs with relief. She takes a couple more FLASHES, then <br /> very carefully lifts out the Valentine album, holding it by <br /> the corners, and setting it atop the car. Then she eases <br /> herself inside, onto the back seat, as the springs SQUEAK <br /> loudly.<br /><br /> ONE GLOVED HAND slides off the lap, brushing Clarice's thigh. <br /><br /> Clarice starts a bit, then pokes at the gloved arm, hard. <br /> She peels back a bit of glove, revealing the white, synthetic <br /> elbow. She smiles, shaking her head at her own jumpiness, as <br /> she reaches over the mannequin's lap to loosen the evening <br /> bag's drawstring.<br /><br /> A SEVERED HUMAN HEAD stares back at her, as the beaded <br /> material slides away.<br /><br /> Clarice lurches back, gasping loudly, and several long, heart-<br /> pounding moments pass before she can make herself look more <br /> closely.<br /><br /> The head bobs gently in a pool of alcohol, in a laboratory <br /> specimen jar. It is a man's head, but grotesquely transformed, <br /> by the addition of heavy makeup, earrings, and a sodden wig, <br /> into a woman's face. Over the years the makeup has smeared <br /> badly, and the pupils have gone almost milky white.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> staring at this terrible thing, is pleased to find herself <br /> quickly regaining control. She murmurs to herself.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Well, Toto, we're not in Kansas <br /> anymore.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. QUINN'S HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - NIGHT (RAINING)<br /><br /> A loud clap of THUNDER, as a flash of LIGHTNING illuminates <br /> the eerie towers and barred windows of the asylum.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE on Clarice as she climbs from her car, runs <br /> through heavy rain towards the main entrance, where a guard <br /> admits her.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DR. LECTER'S CELL AND CORRIDOR - NIGHT (DIM LIGHT)<br /><br /> On a noiseless TV screen, an evangelist rants, waving his <br /> arms. Behind him, a swaying choir in gaudy robes.<br /><br /> CLARICE (O.S.)<br /> It's an anagram, isn't it, Doctor?<br /><br /> PAN TO Clarice, with her wet hair plastered flat, sitting on <br /> the corridor floor to one side of this TV, which has been <br /> stationed so that Dr. Lecter cannot avoid seeing it.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Hester Mofet... "The rest of me." <br /> Miss The-Rest-of-Me... Meaning, you <br /> rented that place.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> he's lost in shadows; we can't see him. He doesn't respond.<br /><br /> CUTTING BETWEEN THEM<br /><br /> Clarice and the darkened call - as she tries again.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You put those - things in there. <br /> Paid for it in advance, ten years <br /> ago... Why, Dr. Lecter?<br /><br /> The food carrier suddenly SWISHES out of the cell, making <br /> her jump up. In its tray is a clean, folded white towel. She <br /> hesitates, then crosses, takes this.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Thank you.<br /><br /> She sits again, rubbing her wet hair. When he finally speaks, <br /> he's on the floor, too - a deeper, hunching darkness in the <br /> shadows, occasionally striped by the flickering TV light.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Your bleeding has stopped.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> How did -<br /> (she stops herself)<br /> It's nothing. A scratch.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Why don't you ask me about Buffalo <br /> Bill?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (surprised, a beat)<br /> Why? Do you know something about <br /> him?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I might if I saw the case file. You <br /> could get that for me.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Why don't you tell me about "Miss <br /> Mofet?" You wanted me to find him. <br /> Or do I have to wait for the lab?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (sighs)<br /> His real name is Benjamin Raspail. A <br /> former patient of mine, whose romantic <br /> attachments ran to, shall we say, <br /> the exotic...? I didn't kill him, <br /> merely tucked him away. Very much as <br /> I found him, in that ridiculous car, <br /> in his own garage, after he's missed <br /> three appointments. You'd have him <br /> under "Missing Person" - which, in <br /> poor Raspail's case, could hardly be <br /> more true.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> If you didn't kill him, then who <br /> did?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Who can say...? Best thing for him, <br /> really. His therapy was going nowhere.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Wouldn't it have been easier to just <br /> leave him for the police to find?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> And have them clomping about in my <br /> life? Oh dear, no... At that time I <br /> still had certain private amusements <br /> of my own.<br /> (beat)<br /> How did you feel when you saw him, <br /> Clarice? May I call you Clarice?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Scared, at first. Then - exhilarated.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Ahhh... Why?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Because you weren't wasting my time.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Do you have something you use, when <br /> you need to get up your courage? <br /> Memories, tableaux... scenes from <br /> your early life?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I don't know. Next time I'll have to <br /> check.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Jack Crawford is helping your career, <br /> isn't he? Apparently he likes you. <br /> And you like him, too.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I never thought about it.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Your first lie to me, Clarice. How <br /> sad. Tell me - do you think Crawford <br /> wants you, sexually? True, he's much <br /> older, but - do you think he <br /> visualizes... scenarios, exchanges...? <br /> Fucking you?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> That doesn't interest me, Doctor. <br /> And it's the sort of thing Miggs <br /> would ask.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Not anymore.<br /> (beat)<br /> Surely the odd confluence of events <br /> hasn't escaped you, Clarice. Crawford <br /> dangles you before me. Then I give <br /> you a bit of help. Do you think it's <br /> because I like to look at you, and <br /> imagine how good you would taste...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I don't know. Is it?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Or doesn't this all begin to suggest <br /> to you a kind of... negotiation? <br /> There's something Crawford can give <br /> me, and I want to trade for it. I <br /> even wrote to him, offering my help. <br /> But he hates me, so he won't deal <br /> directly.<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter slowly turns up the rheostat in his cell. As his <br /> lights rise, we see that the cell's been stripped bare. Gone <br /> are his books, drawings, mattress - even his toilet seat. <br /> She stands, too, startled. They face each other.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Punishment, you see. For Miggs. Just <br /> like that gospel program. When you <br /> leave, they'll turn the volume way <br /> up. Chilton does enjoy his petty <br /> torments.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Who killed Raspail, Doctor...? You <br /> know, don't you?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I've been in this room for eight <br /> years, Clarice. I know they will <br /> never, ever let me out while I'm <br /> alive. What I want is a view. I want <br /> a window where I can see a tree, or <br /> even water. I want to be in a federal <br /> institution, away from Chilton - and <br /> I want a view. I'll give good value <br /> for it. Crawford could do that for <br /> me, but he won't. You persuade him.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (almost a whisper)<br /> Who killed your patient?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Oh, a very naughty boy. Someone you <br /> and Jack Crawford are most anxious <br /> to meet.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Buffalo Bill...?<br /> (incredulous)<br /> Bill killed him, all those years <br /> ago...? That's impossible.<br /><br /> But Dr. Lecter only smiles, enigmatically.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Who is he stalking right now, Clarice? <br /> I wonder, don't you? How many more <br /> young women will have to die, before <br /> you trade with me...?<br /><br /> As Clarice stares at him, unsure how to respond -<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. CATHERINE MARTIN'S APARTMENT - MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE - <br /> NIGHT<br /><br /> CATHERINE MARTIN takes a long toke from a bong pipe. She is <br /> 21, a tall, big-boned, rather fleshy girl with long brown <br /> fair. Her head is on the lap of her boyfriend, CODY; they're <br /> sprawled on a couch in the den of her well-furnished <br /> apartment. The TV in on, with low SOUND.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> This stuff's givin' me the munchies. <br /> Where's that bag of popcorn?<br /><br /> CODY<br /> Shit. Left the groceries in the car.<br /><br /> He starts to rise, but she pushes him back.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> 'S okay, I'll go.<br /><br /> She rises, goes out the front door.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. PARKING LOT - THE APARTMENT COMPLEX - NIGHT<br /><br /> Catherine straightens, with her bag of groceries, shutting <br /> her car's back door. She sees, a short distance away -<br /><br /> A MAN<br /><br /> standing at the open rear door of a brown panel truck. His <br /> right forearm is in a cast and sling; he is struggling, <br /> unsuccessfully, to hoist an armchair into the truck. Parked <br /> nearby, other cars, RVs, a boat on a trailer. A thin, breast-<br /> high fog fills the lot; arc lights make yellow pools. <br /><br /> Catherine hesitates, then crosses towards the man.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Help you with that?<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Would you? Thanks.<br /><br /> His voice is odd, strained, very soft. A fog lamp, set on <br /> end on the ground, distorts his features from below. We can't <br /> get a good glimpse of his face, but his body is plump, above <br /> average height; he's in his mid 30's. She sets down the bag, <br /> then together they easily lift the chair into the truck.<br /><br /> MAN (O.S.)<br /> Let's slide it up, you mind?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THE PANEL TRUCK - NIGHT<br /><br /> He climbs inside the truck, ducking under a small hand winch, <br /> and grabs the chair. She hesitates again, but climbs in after <br /> him; together they slide the chair forward, behind the seats.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Are you about a size 14?<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> (surprised)<br /> What?<br /><br /> Suddenly, in the shadowy dark, he clubs her over the back of <br /> her head with his cast. She moans, slumps unconscious, sliding <br /> off the armchair to lie on her stomach. He pulls off his <br /> cast and sling, tosses them aside, then hops out of the truck, <br /> grabs his lamp, climbs back inside, and pulls the door shut. <br /> He bends over her face with the lamp.<br /><br /> We hear her shallow BREATHING.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Good.<br /><br /> He peels back the collar of her blouse, reading the size <br /> tag.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Good.<br /><br /> He carefully slits her blouse up the back, with a pair of <br /> bandage scissors, peeling apart the two halves. There's no <br /> bra strap. He strokes her bare skin delicately, very happily.<br /><br /> MAN<br /> Gooood...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. THE PARKING LOT - NIGHT<br /><br /> LOW ANGLE - CLOSE - on Catherine's grocery bag, as her blouse <br /> is tossed out beside it. SOUND of the truck's motor starting. <br /> The truck backs up, one rear wheel knocking over the bag, <br /> partly squashing it. Then is drives away, taillights <br /> shrinking, as a lone orange rolls slowly away from the bag...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI ACADEMY CLASSROOM - QUANTICO - DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a large video screen, where a BLURRY image gradually <br /> sharpens, resolving into two separate pieces of fabric.<br /><br /> INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)<br /> Electron microscopy reveals fiber <br /> "signatures" that are nearly as <br /> distinct as fingerprints...<br /><br /> Clarice sits at a long table, with other trainees. Ardelia <br /> is beside her. Other tables and students in the background. <br /> Each trainee has his own microscope. Clarice is tired, but <br /> straightens, hearing -<br /><br /> INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)<br /> Both of these blouses were worn by <br /> victims of Buffalo Bill. They were <br /> found in two different states, and <br /> four months apart. He always slits <br /> them up the back, like a funeral <br /> suit...<br /><br /> ON THE SCREEN<br /><br /> successively CLOSER VIEWS of the cut fabric edges, until we <br /> are seeing individual threads, big as tree limbs. The cuts <br /> match.<br /><br /> INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)<br /> The bunching you see - this <br /> compression - is characteristic of <br /> scissor cuts, rather than a single <br /> blade. And, as you see - Bill always <br /> uses the same pair...<br /><br /> ANGLE ON THE DOOR<br /><br /> as John Brigham, the gunnery instructor, sticks his head in.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Clarice Starling! Are you in here?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. HALLWAY - CLASSROOM BUILDING - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice and Brigham walk briskly down the hall, passing other <br /> trainees. He carries a small canvas bag.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Get your field gear, take stuff for <br /> overnight. You're goin' with Crawford.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Where?<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Some fishermen in West Virginia found <br /> an unidentified girl's body. It's a <br /> Buffalo Bill-type situation. Been in <br /> the water about a week, and Jack <br /> needs somebody that can print a <br /> floater. Think you can handle it?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (thinking quickly)<br /> I'll need the big fingerprint kit... <br /> and the one-to-one Polaroid, the CU-<br /> 5, with film packs and batteries.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BRIGHAM'S JEEP CHEROKEE - DAY (DRIVING)<br /><br /> Brigham steers as they pass hangars, parked planes, an <br /> airstrip. Clarice holds a big fingerprint kit and a weekend <br /> bag.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Jack's pretty tough on you, isn't <br /> he? Impatient...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sometimes.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> He's got a lot on his mind besides <br /> Buffalo Bill... His wife, Bella, is <br /> real sick. Comatose... I'm tellin' <br /> you about it now, 'cause he may never.<br /><br /> Clarice absorbs this in silence as they stop near an ancient, <br /> rather dilapidated Beechcraft. Its door is open, the twin <br /> props and beacons already turning. Brigham turns to her, <br /> holding out his small canvas bag.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> You're goin' in the field, so you <br /> gotta have full kit. Take this - <br /> it's my own...<br /><br /> Clarice opens the bag, stares at the big blue gun nestled in <br /> its shoulder holster. She looks up at him, touched.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Wear it, don't ever leave it in your <br /> purse. Dry fire it whenever you get <br /> the chance. And do your exercises.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I will... I promise.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Listen, I hope you never need a thing <br /> I've taught you. But you've got <br /> something... Jack sees it, I do too. <br /> If you ever need to, you can shoot.<br /><br /> She nods, climbs out. Then she looks back in at him. They're <br /> both moved by this rite of passage, but a little embarrassed.<br /><br /> BRIGHAM<br /> Bless you, Starling...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BEECHCRAFT PLANE - DAY (FLYING)<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV - Out the plane's window, at the landscape far <br /> below. Wisps of cloud, a quilt of farms.<br /><br /> Clarice turns from the window, looks at a think folder in <br /> her lap. The cover reads "Case File: / BUFFALO BILL." Clarice <br /> is moody, distracted. She hesitates, then opens the file, <br /> begins to scan.<br /><br /> INSERTS - HER POV<br /><br /> Police forms, some handwritten... Typed lab reports; we catch <br /> words, phrases: "Autopsy Protocols", "Histamine Analysis"... <br /> Grainy enlargements of bullet slugs, showing matched <br /> grooves... And then a stack of victim photos. The first one, <br /> taken from a good distance away, shows a nude female body, <br /> face down on a pebbly riverbank, surrounded by bits of litter.<br /><br /> Clarice hesitates again, then flips this photo to look at <br /> the next. It makes her flinch, just slightly. Quickly she <br /> turns through several more photographs, trying hard to <br /> concentrate.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (O.S.)<br /> He keeps them alive for three days.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE<br /><br /> shows Crawford standing over her, swaying with the plane's <br /> motion. Behind him, the open cockpit door, the pilot's back. <br /> Crawford sits, removing sunglasses. He rubs his eyes.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Why, we don't yet know... There's no <br /> evidence of rape or physical abuse <br /> prior to death. All the mutilation <br /> you see there is post-mortem.<br /> (a beat; he glances <br /> at her)<br /> I'm hot, are you hot? Bobby, it's <br /> too damned hot back here...<br /><br /> The pilot adjusts a valve. Crawford turns to her again.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> So. Three days. Then he shoots them,<br /> skins them - usually just the torsos - <br /> and dumps them. Each body in a <br /> different river, in a different state, <br /> downstream from an interstate highway. <br /> The water leaves us no fingerprints, <br /> fibers, DNA fluids - no trace evidence <br /> at all. That's Fredrica Bimmel, the <br /> first one...<br /><br /> A COLOR PHOTO - IN CLARICE'S HANDS<br /><br /> shows a pretty, plump-cheeked brunette, in her high school <br /> graduation cap and gown. She smiles at us with touching <br /> optimism.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (O.S.)<br /> A big girl, like all the rest. Went <br /> about 160... Her corpse was the only <br /> one he took the trouble to weight <br /> down, so actually, she was the third <br /> girl found. After her, he got lazy...<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE<br /><br /> as Clarice stares at the girl's face, moved. Crawford pulls <br /> a map from the file, spreads it out. It shows the central <br /> and eastern U.S., with widely-spaced, hand-drawn markings.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Blue square for Belvedere, Ohio, <br /> where the Bimmel girl was abducted. <br /> Blue triangle where her body was <br /> found - down here in Missouri. Same <br /> marks for the other four girls, in <br /> different colors. This new one, <br /> today... washed up here.<br /> (he marks with a Flair <br /> pen)<br /> Elk River, in West Virginia, about <br /> six miles below U.S. 79. Real boonies.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> There's no correlation at all between <br /> where they're kidnapped and where <br /> they're found...?<br /> (he shakes his head)<br /> What if - what if you trace the <br /> heaviest-traffic routes backwards <br /> from the dump sites? Do they converge <br /> at all?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Good idea, but he thought of it, <br /> too. We've run simulations, using <br /> different vectors and the best dates <br /> we can assign. You put it all in the <br /> computer, and smoke comes out. No, <br /> this one is different. This one has <br /> seen us coming...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. RENTAL CAR - DAY (DRIVING)<br /><br /> Crawford steers, following a highway patrol car along a <br /> winding mountain road. Clarice has the file open on her lap. <br /> He glances at her, inscrutable behind his sunglasses.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Talk about him, Starling. Tell me <br /> what you see.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (choosing her words <br /> carefully)<br /> He's a white male... Serial killers <br /> tend to hunt within their own ethnic <br /> group. And he's not a drifter - he's <br /> got his own house, somewhere. Not an <br /> apartment.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Why?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> What he does with them - takes <br /> privacy... Time, tools... He's in <br /> his 30's or 40's - he's got real <br /> physical strength, but combined with <br /> an older man's self-control. He's <br /> cautious, precise, never impulsive... <br /> This won't end in suicide, like they <br /> often do.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Why not?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He's got a real taste for it now. <br /> And he's getting better at his work.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (a beat; impressed)<br /> Maybe you've got a knack for this... <br /> I guess we're about to find out.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (quietly, evenly)<br /> Like I have a "knack" for Dr. Lecter?<br /><br /> He studies her a few moments, measuring her anger.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Okay, Starling. Let's have it.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You haven't said a word today about <br /> that garage. Or what I found there.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> What should I say? You did fine work. <br /> We'll wait on the lab.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You knew. You knew from the start <br /> that Lecter held the key to this... <br /> But you weren't up front with me. <br /> You sent me in to him naked.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (beat)<br /> Are you finished?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He starts this - buzzing in me, in <br /> my head. He makes me feel violated... <br /> You used me, Mr. Crawford.<br /><br /> A shadow of regret passes over his face, but he answers <br /> sternly.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Number One. Maybe there's a <br /> connection, maybe not. Lying and <br /> breathing are the same thing to <br /> Lecter. Number Two. If I'd sent you <br /> in there with something to hide from <br /> him, he'd have known it, instantly. <br /> He'd never have trusted you.<br /><br /> She starts to answer, then is silent. He is right.<br /><br /> By now the two cars are entering a tidy little town - tree-<br /> lined streets, wooden houses, one-story shops, mountains in <br /> the background. They slow, turn.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Number Three, I didn't bring you <br /> along today just because you can do <br /> first-rate forensics. If Lecter is <br /> becoming part of this case, you've <br /> got the most current read on him. <br /> And Number Four - you don't have to <br /> like me, or the way I do things. But <br /> you do have to keep a cool head. <br /> Especially now... Because from here <br /> on out, you'll know everything I do. <br /> Are we straight on that?<br /><br /> Clarice nods, silently; it's as close to an apology as she's <br /> likely to get. She stares out the windshield.<br /><br /> JUST AHEAD OF THEM<br /><br /> the highway patrol cruiser noses into a curb, next to other <br /> police cars, facing a big white frame house. Its sign reads <br /> "Potter Funeral Home." Two troopers climb from the car.<br /><br /> Crawford parks too, then kills the engine. He turns to her, <br /> removing his sunglasses, gestures to the case file.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (softly)<br /> You think about him long enough, you <br /> get a feel for him... Then, if you're <br /> lucky, out of all the stuff you know, <br /> one little part of it tugs at you, <br /> tries to get your attention... You <br /> let me know when that happens, <br /> Starling. Live right behind your <br /> eyes, today. Don't try to impose any <br /> patterns on this guy. Just stay open <br /> and let him show you...<br /><br /> One of the troopers, impassive in his sunglasses and hat, <br /> peers in through Crawford's window. Crawford nods to him, <br /> then turns back to Clarice.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> School's out, Starling.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. SIDEWALK OF THE FUNERAL HOME - POTTER, WEST VA. - DAY<br /><br /> SOUND of organ music, as Clarice, carrying her fingerprint <br /> kit, mounts some steps to the sidewalk. She stops, seeing -<br /><br /> COUNTRY PEOPLE<br /><br /> in their somber best, filing into the mortuary for a service. <br /> The music - "Shall We Gather At The River?" - is issuing <br /> from the open double doors. Several of the mourners glance <br /> over at her curiously.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON CLARICE<br /><br /> staring back at the mourners, hearing the music, as a sense <br /> memory is triggered in her...<br /><br /> IN FLASHBACK - LOW ANGLE, MOVING<br /><br /> as we approach, down the aisle of a country chapel, an open <br /> wooden coffin. Sad country faces turn, looking at us from <br /> the flanking pews. The b.g. organ hymn is "Shall We <br /> Gather...?"<br /><br /> THE SAD, 10 YEAR-OLD CLARICE<br /><br /> in her best dress, is reluctantly approaching the casket. <br /> Her hands are held by the plump hands of unseen matrons.<br /><br /> CHILD'S POV<br /><br /> on the looming coffin... closer and closer... until finally <br /> she can see, lying inside it... her dead father, arms folded, <br /> his marshal's badge still pinned to his lapel.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> Starling...?<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE (PRESENT DAY)<br /><br /> as the grownup Clarice turns towards the impatient Crawford. <br /> Like her, he carries a large case.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> We're around back.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FUNERAL HOME - BACK CORRIDOR - DAY<br /><br /> A young deputy, several state troopers, and a SHERIFF are <br /> all waiting, as Crawford and Clarice enter. The dim, cluttered <br /> corridor doubles as storage space - there's a treadle sewing <br /> machine, a soft-drink machine, a tricycle. The MUSIC is <br /> closer. Crawford shakes hands with the sheriff.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Sheriff Perkins? Jack Crawford, FBI... <br /> This is Officer Starling. We <br /> appreciate your phoning us.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> (grim, unsociable)<br /> I didn't call you. That was somebody <br /> from the state attorney's office... <br /> 'For you do a thing else, I'm gon' <br /> find out if this girl's local. It <br /> could just be somethin' that outside <br /> elements has dumped on us.<br /><br /> He casts a sidelong, unhappy glance at Clarice.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Well sir, that's where we can help. <br /> If -<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> I don't even know you, Mister... Now <br /> we'll extend you ever courtesy, just<br /> soon as we can, but for right now -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Sheriff, this, ah - this type of sex <br /> crime has some aspects I'd rather <br /> discuss just between the two of us. <br /> Know what I mean?<br /><br /> He indicates Clarice with his eyes. The sheriff hesitates, <br /> nods, then lets Crawford guide him into a small office, <br /> closing the door behind them. Muffled WORDS from there.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> burning at this slight, is left alone with the troopers, who <br /> peek at her with shy curiosity. She pulls her blazer a bit <br /> tighter, self-conscious about her bulging shoulder holster.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON THE OFFICE DOOR<br /><br /> as, after a few more moments, the sheriff and Crawford emerge. <br /> The sheriff, still not very happy, addresses his deputy.<br /><br /> SHERIFF<br /> Oscar, run fetch Dr. Akin from the <br /> chapel. And tell Lamar to come on <br /> when he's done playin' that music.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. EMBALMING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> Crawford, in one corner of the room, has set up a Litton <br /> Policefax fingerprint transmitter. SOUND of many men's low <br /> voices, in background. He is on the phone, and has to speak <br /> loudly.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I need a six-way linkup! Chicago, <br /> Detroit, Cleveland, St. Louis, <br /> Atlanta, and Dallas... What?... Can <br /> you hear me...?<br /><br /> He looks around, frustrated by the noisy circus atmosphere.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> is pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. She raises her voice, <br /> turning up her natural accent by several notches.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Gentlemen. You officers and gentlemen! <br /> Listen here a minute, please. There's <br /> things I need to do for her...<br /><br /> WIDER ANGLE<br /><br /> as we see that the small room is very crowded with deputies <br /> and troopers. They gradually fall silent, looking at her.<br /><br /> CLARICE (O.S.)<br /> Y'all brought her this far, and I <br /> know her folks would thank you if <br /> they could. Now please - go on out <br /> and let me take care of her... Go <br /> on, now.<br /><br /> The men look at one another, a little bashfully, then begin <br /> to to file out, whispering among themselves. As they go, a <br /> bright green body bag is REVEALED, tightly zipped, lying on <br /> a porcelain embalming table. It is almost the only modern <br /> object in this Victorian room, with its glass-paned cabinets <br /> and faded wallpaper, decorated with cabbage roses.<br /><br /> FAVORING CRAWFORD<br /><br /> as he looks at Clarice with a new degree of respect. Men <br /> brush by him, till finally only two are left: DR. AKIN, a <br /> family g.p., and LAMAR, a lean, whiskey-reddened mortician. <br /> SOUND of the door closing. Lamar dabs around his nostrils <br /> with Vicks VapoRub.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (on phone)<br /> We're starting. Tell everybody to <br /> stand by for fingerprint transmission.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> at a side counter, has turned back to her open fingerprint <br /> kit. She is lifting out a camera when she hears the ZIPPER <br /> of the body bag being slowly opened, behind her...<br /><br /> One gloved hand flies to her mouth as she reacts, <br /> involuntarily, to the sudden smell. She blinks at her <br /> reflection in the cabinet glass, then steels herself to turn, <br /> look at the corpse.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (pause; softly)<br /> Bill...<br /><br /> She steadies herself by raising her camera, takes a FLASH <br /> photo.<br /><br /> LOW ANGLE - LOOKING UP, FROM BENEATH TABLE<br /><br /> as Dr. Akin gently lifts aside one of the dead girl's arms. <br /> A piece of fishing line, with multiple hooks, is still snagged <br /> around it, dangling. Crawford leans in for a closer look.<br /><br /> DR. AKIN<br /> Wrongful death... She'll have to go <br /> to the state pathologist at Claxton <br /> when you're done.<br /> (Crawford nods)<br /> I better - get on back for the rest <br /> of that service. Lamar'll help you.<br /> (shaken)<br /> Lord almighty...<br /><br /> He leaves, and Clarice leans INTO SHOT, taking another photo.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> What do you see, Starling?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Well, she's not local. Her ears are <br /> pierced three times each, and she's <br /> wearing green glitter nail polish. <br /> Looks like town to me...<br /><br /> CLOSE ANGLE<br /><br /> on the calf of one of the girl's legs, as Clarice trails the <br /> inside of her bare wrist along the skin.<br /><br /> CLARICE (O.S.)<br /> She waxed her legs, I think... A big <br /> girl, just like the others - but she <br /> was careful about her appearance...<br /><br /> UPWARD ANGLE AGAIN<br /><br /> as Lamar joins them for a closer look.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Two of the fingernails are broken <br /> off, and there's - dirt or grit under <br /> the others. She tried to claw her <br /> way through something... I'll scrape <br /> out samples after I've printed her.<br /><br /> She takes another FLASH, then quickly reloads film.<br /><br /> LAMAR<br /> Them fishhooks are set too close <br /> together. No wonder the Franklin <br /> boys was scared to say they found <br /> her.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Think they were runnin' a trotline?<br /><br /> Crawford and Lamar both look at her curiously.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (to Crawford)<br /> It's a Fish and Game violation. Like <br /> poaching. There's a big fine.<br /><br /> LAMAR<br /> Right... Are you from around here?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> They do it lots of places.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Get photos of her teeth. Then we'll <br /> fax her fingerprints to Washington, <br /> try to trace her through Missing <br /> Persons.<br /><br /> SIDE ANGLE - CLOSE ON THE DEAD GIRL'S FACE<br /><br /> staring blue eyes, short reddish hair. Clarice sets the <br /> Polaroid, with its special attachments, against the face, <br /> while Lamar gently retracts the lips. Each time the camera <br /> FLASHES, there's a bright glow inside the cheeks.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - CHEST HIGH<br /><br /> as Clarice examines a developing print.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> She's got something in her throat.<br /><br /> She hands the print to Crawford; he and Lamar look at it, as <br /> she searches in her kit.<br /><br /> LAMAR<br /> When a body comes out of the water, <br /> alots of times there's like, leaves <br /> and things in the mouth.<br /><br /> Clarice holds up a pair of forceps. She glances at Crawford, <br /> who nods. She bends over, partially OUT OF SHOT, and after a <br /> few moments reappears, holding up a small, brown cylindrical <br /> object. She turns this in the air, as they all stare.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> What is it - some kind of seed pod?<br /><br /> LAMAR<br /> Nawsir, that's a bug cocoon. But how <br /> come that to get way down in there? <br /> 'Less somebody shoved it in...<br /><br /> Clarice and Crawford exchange a glance.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> She'll be easier to print if we turn <br /> her over. Lamar, will you give me a <br /> hand?<br /><br /> LAMAR<br /> Yessir, I will. Clarice takes a jar <br /> from her kit, carefully drops the <br /> cocoon inside.<br /><br /> SOUND of the men's heavy efforts as they turn over the body, <br /> off screen. She seals the jar, staring into it at the cocoon.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (O.S.)<br /> Starling - what do you make of these?<br /><br /> She turns to look.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> low on the corpse's back, over the shoulders, two neat, <br /> triangular patches of skin are missing.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - TWO SHOT<br /><br /> as Clarice looks at Crawford.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I don't know. I didn't see those on <br /> any of the other girls...<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> They weren't there. Get close-ups.<br /><br /> Clarice raises her camera, leans in for another FLASH.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. BACK STEPS OF THE FUNERAL HOME - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice sits outside, with her head on her knees, drained. <br /> She looks up wanly as Lamar appears, offers her a can of <br /> Coke.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Thanks, I'm not thirsty.<br /><br /> LAMAR<br /> No, hold it under your chin, there, <br /> and on your temples. Cold'll make <br /> you feel better. It does me.<br /><br /> She smiles, touched, and takes the can. When Lamar sees <br /> Crawford coming outside, he tactfully departs. Crawford sits <br /> beside her; there's a brief silence. She soothes herself <br /> with the can.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> When I told that sheriff we shouldn't <br /> talk in front of a woman, that really <br /> burned you, didn't it?<br /> (she is silent)<br /> That was just smoke, Starling, I had <br /> to get rid of him. You did well in <br /> there.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> It matters, Mr. Crawford... Other <br /> cops know who you are. They look at <br /> you to see how to act... It matters.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (beat)<br /> Point taken.<br /><br /> She looks at him a moment, then offers the can. He opens it.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> When we get back, I want you to run <br /> that bug by the Smithsonian, see if <br /> they can identify it. Maybe it's got <br /> some limited range, or it only breeds <br /> at certain times of year... You found <br /> it, Starling, you deserve the credit.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm wondering if he's done that before - <br /> placed a cocoon, or an insect. It <br /> would be easy to miss in an autopsy, <br /> especially with a floater... Can we <br /> check back on that?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (shakes his head)<br /> The other girls are in the ground. <br /> Exhumations are upsetting for the <br /> families. I'll do it if I have to,<br /> but -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Then have the lab check Raspail's <br /> head.<br /> (he looks at her)<br /> Dr. Lecter's patient - have them <br /> probe his soft-palette tissues... <br /> They'll find another cocoon.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You seem pretty sure of that.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Raspail was killed by the same man <br /> who's killing these girls. And Lecter <br /> knows him. Maybe even treated him... <br /> You think so, too, don't you? Or <br /> you'd never have sent me to that <br /> asylum.<br /><br /> He looks at her for a moment, then sips again.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Before we caught him, Lecter had a <br /> big psychiatric practice in Baltimore. <br /> But he traveled all over the country - <br /> teaching, consulting... Christ, even <br /> testifying in murder trials. Who <br /> knows how many potential psychos he <br /> turned loose, just for the fun of <br /> it...?<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)<br /><br /> A shadowy male figure looks down at us, leaning over the <br /> edge of a deep hole. He holds a little white poodle in his <br /> arms, stroking it. This is MR. GUMB, aka "Buffalo Bill."<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> (softly)<br /> Rub the cream on your skin. Rub it <br /> in gooood...<br /><br /> CATHERINE MARTIN<br /><br /> looks up at him. She is standing on the cement bottom of the <br /> pit, or oubliette, about 15 feet below floor level. The pit <br /> is bare, except for a futon and a plastic toilet bucket, <br /> from which a thin string rises up to the basement. She's <br /> soaking wet, in an orange jumpsuit, and holds a squeeze bottle <br /> of skin lotion. She struggles to sound calm.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Mister... my family will pay cash. <br /> Whatever ransom you're askin' for,<br /> they -<br /><br /> REVERSE ANGLE - UP TOWARDS MR. GUMB<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Rub it in! Or you'll get the hose <br /> again.<br /><br /> The little dog squirms in his arms, BARKING excitedly.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Yes, it will, Precious, won't it? It <br /> will get the hose!<br /><br /> SIDE ANGLE - AT PIT BOTTOM<br /><br /> as Catherine kneels, turning slightly away from him.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> (under her breath)<br /> Oh God... oh God...<br /><br /> She unzips her jumpsuit, part-way, then squeezes some of the <br /> lotion onto a palm. She reaches inside her suit, rubs it on.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Mister, if you let me go, I won't <br /> press charges, I promise. You've <br /> only had me here a couple days, and -<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> No. Just one day...<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Is that all...? See - see, my mom is <br /> a real important woman... Well, I <br /> guess you already know that. She'll <br /> pay you, no questions asked. Whatever <br /> cause you represent - Iran, Palestine - <br /> she'll see that -<br /><br /> A sudden blinding glare of light silences her. She looks up, <br /> shielding her eyes.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> a floodlamp is descending, attached to a small basket.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Put the bottle in the basket. No <br /> funny business, or you'll be sorry...<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - CATHERINE<br /><br /> as the basket stops, and she steadies it. But as she slips <br /> the bottle in, she sees something, O.S., just at the fringe <br /> of the light. She hesitates, looks closer... then begins to <br /> scream, hysterically, again and again. Her outflung hand <br /> hits the lamp, and in its swaying glare, we see - high on <br /> the concrete walls, all around her -<br /><br /> BLOODY FINGER TRACKS<br /><br /> dried now, brownish - left by many pairs of frenzied hands...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT.CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - FBI ACADEMY - DAWN<br /><br /> Clarice is at her desk, exercising her right hand with the <br /> grip flexer, while simultaneously studying a thick law book. <br /> Ardelia sticks her head in the door, excited.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> You better come see this.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. RECREATION ROOM - FBI ACADEMY - DAWN<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a TV screen, filled with a photo of Catherine Martin.<br /><br /> TV ANCHOR (V.O.)<br /> ...was listed at first simply as a <br /> missing person, but is now believed <br /> to have been kidnapped by the serial <br /> killer known only as "Buffalo Bill."<br /><br /> The photo disappears, replaced by the TV ANCHOR himself.<br /><br /> TV ANCHOR<br /> Memphis Police sources indicate that <br /> the missing girl's blouse has been <br /> identified, sliced up the back, in <br /> what has become a kind of grim calling <br /> card. Young Catherine Martin, as <br /> we've said, is the only daughter of <br /> U.S. Senator Ruth Martin -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> looks at Ardelia, surprised. Other trainees are drifting <br /> into the rec room, some whispering among themselves. Clarice <br /> stares back at the TV intently.<br /><br /> TV ANCHOR (O.S.)<br /> ...the Republican junior senator <br /> from Tennessee. And while her <br /> kidnapping is not at this point <br /> considered to be politically <br /> motivated, nevertheless it has stirred <br /> the government -<br /><br /> BACK ON THE TV ANCHOR<br /><br /> TV ANCHOR<br /> ...to its highest levels, the <br /> president himself being said to be, <br /> and I quote, "intensely concerned." <br /> Just moments ago, Senator Martin <br /> made this dramatic personal plea...<br /><br /> SENATOR MARTIN (TV FOOTAGE)<br /><br /> fills the screen, in a halo of lens flare, as she speaks to <br /> a jostling crowd of reporters on the front steps of her <br /> Georgetown home. A tall woman, late 40's, with a strong, <br /> taut face.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> I'm speaking now to the person who <br /> is holding my daughter. Her name is <br /> Catherine... You have the power to <br /> let Catherine go, unharmed. She's <br /> very gentle and kind - talk to her <br /> and you'll see. Her name is <br /> Catherine...<br /><br /> Clarice is moved by what she sees. Other trainees are all <br /> around her.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (whispers)<br /> Boy, is that smart...<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Why does she keep repeating the name?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Somebody's coaching her... They're <br /> trying to make him see Catherine as <br /> a person - not just an object.<br /><br /> ON THE TV AGAIN<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> You have a chance to show the whole <br /> world that you can be merciful, as<br /> well as strong. Please - I beg you - <br /> release my Catherine...<br /><br /> NEW FOOTAGE<br /><br /> as we see (NIGHT, TELEPHOTO) - a taped-off section of <br /> Catherine's parking lot. Technicians, with instruments, are <br /> kneeling by the crushed grocery bag.<br /><br /> 2ND TV ANCHOR (V.O.)<br /> Meanwhile. in Memphis, the <br /> investigation continued throughout <br /> the night, as state and local <br /> authorities were joined at the kidnap <br /> scene by agents of the FBI...<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE (STILL TV FOOTAGE)<br /><br /> as Jack Crawford is seen striding towards the front door of <br /> Catherine's apartment, followed by Burroughs and other agents. <br /> One of them moves quickly towards the CAMERA, waving it back.<br /><br /> REC ROOM ANGLE - FAVORING ARDELIA<br /><br /> as the other trainees send up a brief, ironic cheer. But <br /> Ardelia turns sympathetically towards the troubled Clarice.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> I don't know whether to say "I'm <br /> sorry," or "Congratulations." But <br /> girl? - you just went prime time.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. SMITHSONIAN - MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - DAY<br /><br /> The massive Victorian building looms over Constitution Avenue. <br /> Clarice quickly mounts the steps, carrying a small plastic <br /> box.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I don't think he knew that she's a <br /> Senator's child. She's a big girl, <br /> Starling, like all the rest. We're <br /> going on the theory she was randomly <br /> targeted by size...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MUSEUM CORRIDOR - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice, now accompanied by a museum guard, walks through an <br /> eerie landscape of dinosaur bones - crouching skeletons with <br /> blank eye sockets, gaping fangs.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> By now, Bill's had her for 36 hours. <br /> That leaves us just 36 more, before <br /> he kills her... But maybe, just maybe, <br /> Starling, we caught a real break <br /> this time - thanks to you.<br /> (beat)<br /> We found another bug, in Raspail's <br /> head.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MUSEUM OFFICE - DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE ON an live, enormous, rhinoceros beetle, as it weaves <br /> its clumsy way among the men on a chessboard, before finally <br /> stepping off the edge, onto a lettuce leaf.<br /><br /> RODEN (V.O.)<br /> Time, Pilch! My move.<br /><br /> PILCHER (V.O.)<br /> No fair! You lured him with produce.<br /><br /> WIDER ANGLE<br /><br /> shows two entomologists, both 30ish, hunched over the board. <br /> RODEN is a pudgy redhead; PILCHER is lean, quite handsome.<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> Tough noogies! It's still my turn.<br /><br /> CLARICE (O.S.)<br /> If the beetle moves one of your men, <br /> does that count?<br /><br /> They look up, delighted to see Clarice in the doorway. Both <br /> men are hopelessly smitten by her.<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> Of course it counts. How do you play?<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> (grins)<br /> Officer Starling. Welcome back.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. ENTOMOLOGY CORRIDOR - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE as Clarice and the two men go briskly down a <br /> hall lined with mounted insects, in all shapes and sizes. <br /> Roden peers at Clarice's new cocoon, in its box.<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> Where the hell did this one come <br /> from? It's practically mush.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You really don't want to know.<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> Your West Virginia specimen gave us <br /> quite a bit of trouble, but I finally <br /> managed to narrow his species through <br /> chaetaxy - studying the skin.<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> I'm the one who found his perforating <br /> proboscis! Are you wearing a gun, <br /> right now?<br /> (Clarice nods)<br /> Ooh, cool! Can I see it? Can I?<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> Just ignore him. He's not a Ph.D.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. LABORATORY - DAY<br /><br /> VERY CLOSE (MAGNIFICATION) on the sliced cocoon, as Roden <br /> uses tweezers and a dental probe to ease out the sodden <br /> chrysalis.<br /><br /> RODEN (O.S.)<br /> The whole trick is to remove the <br /> chrysalis without destroying it... <br /> The wings are just like wet tissue <br /> paper...<br /><br /> THE TWO MEN<br /><br /> are hunched over a formica table, peering through square <br /> magnifiers into stainless trays. Clarice watches curiously. <br /> Of their two specimens, Pilcher's moth is in much better <br /> condition - a big brown creature, its wings outspread on <br /> towel paper.<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> (without looking up)<br /> What do you do when you're not <br /> detecting, Officer Starling?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I try to be a student, Dr. Pilcher.<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> Ever get out for cheeseburgers and <br /> beer? The amusing house wine...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (smiles)<br /> Not lately. But maybe someday.<br /><br /> He looks up at her, shyly. A little moment passes between <br /> them, before Roden straightens, exultant.<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> Positive match!<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You're sure?<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> (points with his dental <br /> probe)<br /> West Virginia... Baltimore. Officer <br /> Starling, meet Mister Acherontia <br /> Styx.<br /><br /> He moves aside for Clarice to get a closer look at Pilcher's <br /> specimen. She leans forward, intently.<br /><br /> HER POV (MAGNIFICATION)<br /><br /> the wide, furry, brown back of the moth. And there, right <br /> between the wing bases - wonderful and terrible to see - is <br /> nature's perfect reproduction of a ghostly human skull.<br /><br /> RODEN (O.S.)<br /> Better known to his friends as the <br /> Death's-head Moth...<br /><br /> PILCHER (O.S.)<br /> The Latin name comes from two rivers <br /> in Hell. Your man - he drops these <br /> girls into rivers, every time. Didn't <br /> I read that?<br /><br /> FAVORING CLARICE<br /><br /> as she looks up at him, awed, excited, almost trembling.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> And there's no way - no natural way - <br /> these could've wound up in the bodies?<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> (shakes his head)<br /> They live in Malaysia. In this <br /> country, they'd have to be specially <br /> raised, from imported eggs.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (pause, then softly)<br /> Dr. Lecter...<br /><br /> As the two men stare at her, puzzled, we hear a SOUND UPCUT - <br /> the wail of police SIRENS - and...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. U.S. ROUTE 95 - DAY (AERIAL SHOT)<br /><br /> An awesome armada of police vehicles swings through an <br /> intersection, while normal traffic is held back by highway <br /> patrol cruisers.<br /><br /> The lead cars turn off, hit the entrance ramp to the freeway - <br /> SIRENS going, tires SQUEALING, red flashers...<br /><br /> CLOSER ANGLE<br /><br /> on a speeding surveillance van, with long antennas and a <br /> small satellite dish, near the head of the motorcade.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> Maybe we can trace how he buys the <br /> bugs, starting with U.S. Customs...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (DRIVING)<br /><br /> The van is crammed with an impressive array of hi-tech <br /> equipment, all CLICKING and HUMMING. Burroughs is talking <br /> quietly on a scrambler phone, while another agent works a <br /> computer.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (O.S.)<br /> Maybe we can locate some of Raspail's <br /> old lovers. Maybe, someday...<br /><br /> CLARICE AND CRAWFORD<br /><br /> sit in swivel seats at the rear, by a big window. Clarice <br /> can't resit an occasional peak at the trailing motorcade, <br /> awed and a bit thrilled to be the center of so much attention.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> But for Catherine Martin, it all <br /> comes down to you and Lecter. You're <br /> the one he talks to.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He's already offered to help... What <br /> would happen if we just showed our <br /> cards - asked him for Bill?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> He offered to help, Starling, not to <br /> snitch. That wouldn't give him enough <br /> chance to show off. Remember, Lecter <br /> looks mainly for fun. Never forget <br /> fun.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But if he knew we have so little <br /> time -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> If we act too anxious, he'll make us <br /> wait. He'll let the Senator keep <br /> hoping, day after day, until Catherine <br /> finally washes up. That'd be the <br /> most fun of all.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I think he means it, this time. I <br /> think he'll deal.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> What would it take?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Transfer to a new prison. With a <br /> view of trees, he said, or even <br /> water... Can we swing that?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (shakes his head)<br /> State to federal jurisdiction... We <br /> can do it - eventually - but we'll <br /> never get all the clearances in time. <br /> Can you convince him a deal's already <br /> in place?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You'll back me up with some paperwork?<br /> (he nods)<br /> Then I'll try. But wouldn't this <br /> have more weight coming from the <br /> Senator herself?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (hesitates)<br /> She doesn't know what we're up to. <br /> And we can't afford to let her find <br /> out.<br /><br /> Clarice looks at him, surprised.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> She's the mother, Starling. She can't <br /> possibly comprehend what Lecter is. <br /> She'd make the mistake of pleading <br /> with him. Begging him... He'd feast <br /> on her pain till the last second of <br /> that girl's life...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BALTIMORE STATE HOSP. FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY<br /><br /> Chilton approaches, walking briskly down a corridor in the <br /> administration wing. He looks quite agitated.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> We can't trust Frederick Chilton, <br /> either. He's greedy and ambitious. <br /> If he knew about Lecter's link to <br /> Bill, he's go straight to the <br /> newspapers...<br /><br /> Chilton falls into step beside Clarice, who has her briefcase. <br /> He points his gold pen at her accusingly.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> What you're doing, Miss Starling, is <br /> coming into my hospital to conduct <br /> an interview, and refusing to share <br /> information with me. For the third <br /> time!<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Chilton, I told you - this is <br /> just routine follow-up on the Raspail <br /> case.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> He's my patient! I have rights!<br /> (grabs her arm, <br /> stopping her)<br /> I'm not just some turnkey, Miss <br /> Starling. I shouldn't even be here <br /> this afternoon. I had a ticket to <br /> Holiday on Ice.<br /><br /> She stares at him, with pity and distaste, till he lets go.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm acting on instruction, Dr. <br /> Chilton.<br /> (handing him a card)<br /> This is the U.S. Attorney's number. <br /> Now please - either discuss this <br /> with him, or let me do my job.<br /><br /> She walks away, leaving him speechless with frustration and <br /> hostility. He clicks his pen, watching her go.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DR. LECTER'S CELL AND CORRIDOR - DAY<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter sits at his table, languidly sketching with <br /> charcoal on butcher paper.<br /><br /> He uses his own hand and forearm as a model. His other <br /> drawings, books, and bedding have been restored.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Wouldn't you say, Clarice, that for <br /> a United States Senator, you're an <br /> odd choice of messenger?<br /><br /> Clarice, sitting again at the desk-chair, is taking papers <br /> from her briefcase.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I was your choice, Dr. Lecter. You <br /> chose to speak to me. Would you prefer <br /> someone else now? Or perhaps you <br /> don't think you can help us.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> That is both impudent and untrue... <br /> Tell me, how did you feel when you <br /> viewed our Billy's latest effort?<br /> (beat; he smiles)<br /> Or should I say, his "next-to-latest"?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> By the book, he's a sadist.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Life's too slippery for books, <br /> Clarice. Typhoid and swans came from <br /> the same God.<br /> (beat)<br /> Tell me, Miss West Virginia - was <br /> she a large girl?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Big through the hips. Roomy.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> They all were.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Mmm. And what else...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> She had an insect deliberately <br /> inserted in her throat. That hasn't <br /> been made public yet. We don't know <br /> what is means.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Was it a butterfly?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (pause; staring at <br /> him)<br /> A moth... How did you predict that?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I'm waiting for your offer, Clarice. <br /> Enchant me.<br /><br /> Clarice looks down at her papers, taking a moment to collect <br /> her thoughts. She looks up at him again, evenly.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> If you help us find Buffalo Bill in <br /> time to save Catherine Martin, the <br /> Senator promises you a transfer to <br /> the V.A. hospital at Oneida Park, <br /> New York, with a view of the woods <br /> nearby. Maximum security still <br /> applies, but you'd have reasonable <br /> access to books.<br /><br /> He is silent. She rises, moves closer, carrying papers.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Best of all, though - one week a <br /> year you'd get to leave the hospital <br /> and go here.<br /> (points to a map)<br /> Plum Island. Every afternoon of that <br /> week you can walk on the beach or <br /> swim in the ocean for up to one hour. <br /> Under SWAT team surveillance, of <br /> course...<br /><br /> His face remains neutral. She puts the papers in his food <br /> tray.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Copy of the Buffalo Bill case file, <br /> copy of Senator Martin's terms. Her <br /> offer is final and non-negotiable. <br /> If Catherine dies -<br /> (she slides his tray <br /> through)<br /> You get nothing.<br /><br /> A measured beat, before he rises smoothly, crosses, and looks <br /> down at the papers, without touching them.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> "Plum Island Animal Disease Research <br /> Center." Sounds charming.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> That's just part of the island. It <br /> has a very nice beach. Terns nest <br /> there.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Terns... If I help you, Clarice, it <br /> will be "turns" with us, too. Quid <br /> pro quo. I tell you things, you tell <br /> me things. Not about this case, though - <br /> about yourself. Yes or no?<br /> (she is silent)<br /> Yes or no, Clarice. Catherine is <br /> waiting. Tick-tock, tick-tock...<br /><br /> She looks at him. A beat. They are standing uncomfortably <br /> close.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Go, Doctor.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> What's your worst memory of childhood?<br /> (she hesitates)<br /> Quicker than that. I'm not interested <br /> in your worst invention.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> The death of my father.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Tell me. Don't lie, or I'll know.<br /><br /> Clarice cannot bear the feverish excitement in his eyes. She <br /> looks past him, hesitating again.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He was a town marshal... one night <br /> he surprised two burglars, coming <br /> out the back of a drugstore... They <br /> shot him.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Killed outright?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. He was strong, he lasted almost <br /> a month. My mother - died when I was<br /> very young, so my father had become - <br /> the whole world to me... After he <br /> left me, I had nobody. I was ten <br /> years old.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> You're very frank, Clarice. I think - <br /> it would be quite something to know <br /> you in private life.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Quid pro quo, Doctor.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> The significance of the moth is <br /> change. Caterpillar into cocoon into <br /> beauty... Billy wants to change, <br /> too, Clarice. But there's the problem <br /> of his size, you see. Even if he <br /> were a woman, he'd have to be a big <br /> one...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (puzzled)<br /> Dr. Lecter, there's no correlation <br /> in the literature between <br /> transsexualism and violence. <br /> Transsexuals are very passive.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Clever girl. You're so close to the <br /> way you're going to catch him - do <br /> you realize that?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. Tell me why.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> After your father's death, you were <br /> orphaned. What happened next?<br /> (Clarice drops her <br /> gaze)<br /> I don't imagine the answer's on those <br /> second-rate shoes, Clarice.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I went to live with my mother's cousin <br /> and her husband in Montana. They had <br /> a ranch.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> A cattle ranch?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Horses - and sheep...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> How long did you live there?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Two months.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Why so briefly?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I - ran away...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Why, Clarice? Did the rancher fuck <br /> you?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (angrily)<br /> No.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Did he try to?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No...! Quid pro quo, Doctor.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Billy's not a real transsexual, but <br /> he thinks he is. He tries to be. <br /> He's tried to be a lot of things, I <br /> expect.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You said - I was very close to the <br /> way we'd catch him.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> There are three major centers for <br /> transsexual surgery: Johns Hopkins, <br /> the University of Minnesota, and <br /> Columbus Medical center. I wouldn't <br /> be surprised if Billy has applied <br /> for sex reassignment at one or all <br /> of them, and been rejected.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> On what basis would they reject him?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> The personality inventories would <br /> trip him up. Rorschach, Wechsler, <br /> House-Tree-Person... He wouldn't <br /> test like a real transsexual.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> How would he test?<br /><br /> Suddenly Dr. Lecter snarls, loudly, stretching. Clarice take <br /> a sharp step backwards before he smiles, turning his movement <br /> into an elaborate yawn. He gathers the papers from his tray.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> That's enough, I think. Happy hunting. <br /> Oh, and Clarice - next time you will <br /> tell me why you ran away. Shall I <br /> summarize?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (shaken)<br /> Yes, Doctor. Please.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> VERY CLOSE ON a cocoon, split along its back, as a living <br /> Death's-head Moth wriggles torturously free. Trembling and <br /> damp, the new creature clings to a sprig of nightshade.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> You should try to obtain a list of <br /> males rejected from all three gender <br /> reassignment centers...<br /><br /> PULLING BACK<br /><br /> we see a big wire cage, holding several of the moths. They <br /> crawl over the humus floor or feed at honeycombs, wings <br /> pumping lazily. In the distant background, the incongruous <br /> SOUND of show music.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Check first the ones rejected for <br /> lying about criminal records...<br /><br /> CONTINUOUS MOVING ANGLE<br /><br /> at about knee level, as we leave the cage, and begin to TRAVEL <br /> through this eerie, dimly-lit warren of a cellar.<br /><br /> As we go - occasionally TURNING corners, or skirting the <br /> dark openings of unexplored passages - various objects loom <br /> briefly INTO VIEW, overhead - a stainless-steel work table... <br /> a big sink... jars of chemicals... neat racks of gleaming <br /> knives...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Among those who tried to conceal <br /> their past, look for severe childhood <br /> disturbances, associated with <br /> violence... Possibly you'll find a <br /> childhood incarceration... Then go <br /> to their personality tests...<br /><br /> We pass a row of female mannequins, some nude, some wearing <br /> colorful leather jackets, designer knockoffs, in various <br /> stages of completion... then a huge maroon armoire, in Chinese <br /> lacquer; its double doors are slightly ajar... The jaunty <br /> background.<br /><br /> MUSIC is growing even louder: Fats Waller singing "Bye Bye <br /> Baby." And now we hear something else, too - the rapid <br /> CLICKING of a sewing machine...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Study their drawings, especially. <br /> Billy's house drawings will show no <br /> happy future... No baby carriage, <br /> out in the yard. No pets, no toys, <br /> no flowers, no sun...<br /><br /> We TURN another corner, and there is Mr. Gumb himself. As we <br /> APPROACH, his wide back is to us; he's hunched over an old-<br /> fashioned sewing machine, humming cheerfully, and working a <br /> piece of material that we mercifully cannot see. A female <br /> wig rests near him on a head form. He wears a hairnet and a <br /> beautiful kimono, and pumps the treadle with his bare feet.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> His females will be more crudely <br /> sketched than him males - but he'll <br /> compensate by adding exaggerated <br /> adornments... jewelry, big breasts... <br /> And his tree drawings - oh, his trees <br /> will be frightful...<br /><br /> Next to Mr. Gumb is an antique phonograph - source of the <br /> MUSIC. His little dog, Precious, perches by his plump ankles. <br /> As we PASS Mr. Gumb, Precious scurries away from him, panting <br /> happily, and we FOLLOW the little dog down another corridor, <br /> the music starting to fade behind us...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Billy hates his own identity, he <br /> always has - and he thinks that makes <br /> him a transsexual. But his pathology <br /> is a thousand times more savage... <br /> He wants to be reborn, Clarice. He <br /> will be reborn...<br /><br /> At the end of this final corridor, the cellar widens into a <br /> low-ceilinged chamber, with two additional doorways, and in <br /> the center of this is the gaping circle of the oubliette. <br /> Precious sniffs her way over to the edge - excited, tail <br /> wagging - than BARKS happily as we hear a hoarse, ghostly <br /> moan from below.<br /><br /> CATHERINE (O.S.)<br /> Pleeeeeeeease.....!<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. DR. LECTER'S CORRIDOR - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - CLOSE ON Dr. Lecter's slippered feet, which <br /> rest on the shelf of a rolling hand truck. RISING along his <br /> tilted form, we see that his ankles are linked by steel <br /> restraints... his legs, waist, upper torso, and arms are <br /> bound by heavy canvas webbing... beneath the webbing is a <br /> strait-jacket... and over his face is a hockey mask.<br /><br /> CHILTON (V.O.)<br /> Bad news, Hannibal...<br /><br /> WIDER ANGLE<br /><br /> shows that Dr. Lecter, on the handtruck, is being pushed <br /> down his corridor by Barney, and back into his open cell.<br /><br /> CHILTON (V.O.)<br /> Gourmet magazine has rejected your <br /> recipe for braised kidneys...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DR. LECTER'S CELL - DAY<br /><br /> Chilton lounges on Dr. Lecter's cot, casually reading his <br /> large stack of private correspondence, and making notations <br /> with his gold pen on a little pad. Another orderly mops the <br /> floor.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Perhaps you should have been less <br /> specific about what kind.<br /> (to Barney)<br /> Stand him by the toilet. Then leave <br /> us.<br /><br /> Barney props the hand truck into position, then both orderlies <br /> go. Chilton finishes another letter, sighs happily.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Such a lot of correspondence! I can <br /> hardly wait to analyze it in more <br /> detail... But first things first.<br /><br /> Tossing letters onto the cot, he rises, crosses out into the <br /> corridor, and bends to remove a small tape recorder from <br /> underneath Clarice's desk. He waggles it triumphantly at Dr. <br /> Lecter.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> I thought she might be looking for a <br /> civil rights violation in Migg's <br /> death, so I bugged you... Not a word <br /> to me in all these years, Hannibal. <br /> Then Crawford sends his bit of fluff <br /> over here, and you just turn to jelly. <br /> It's too pathetic.<br /><br /> SIDE ANGLE - TWO SHOT<br /><br /> as Chilton, back in the cell, leans tauntingly close to the <br /> front of Dr. Lecter's mask.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> You still think you're going to walk <br /> on some beach, and see the birdies? <br /> I don't think so, Hannibal... I called <br /> Senator Ruth Martin, and she never <br /> heard of any deal with you. She never <br /> heard of Clarice Starling, either. <br /> They scammed you, Hannibal...<br /><br /> CLOSE ON Dr. Lecter's glittering eyes, behind their slits.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> When Crawford gets through milking <br /> you, he's giving you to Baltimore <br /> Homicide for the Raspail murder. And <br /> they're preparing some special <br /> surprises for you right now, in my <br /> electroshock room.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER'S POV (FRAMED BY EYE-SLITS)<br /><br /> first looking at Chilton's moving lips... then LOWERING to <br /> his soft, white, inviting throat...<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> The Starling bitch wants you to rot <br /> here, in this little box, till your <br /> teeth fall out and you're soiling <br /> diapers. You've seen the old ones, <br /> Hannibal. They weep when their stewed <br /> peaches get cold. That'll be you, <br /> too. Unless - you trade with me.<br /><br /> FAVORING CHILTON<br /><br /> as he sits chummily on the table.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> There never was a deal with Senator <br /> Martin - but there is now. I've been <br /> on the phone for hours, Hannibal, on <br /> your behalf. Here's what you get: if <br /> you identify Buffalo Bill, and the <br /> girl is found in time, Senator Martin <br /> will have you transferred to Brushy <br /> Mountain State Prison, in Tennessee...<br /><br /> CLOSE AGAIN ON DR. LECTER'S EYES<br /><br /> as they shift restlessly, away from Chilton - then suddenly <br /> lock onto something. They widen with interest.<br /><br /> CHILTON (O.S.)<br /> The Governor has already agreed. You <br /> get books, a view of the woods, and <br /> plenty of exercise time...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER'S POV - EXTREME CLOSEUP<br /><br /> On the cot, carelessly left there, lying half-hidden under <br /> the letters and the rumpled sheet... is Chilton's gold pen.<br /><br /> CHILTON (O.S.)<br /> And best of all, you'd be out of <br /> Jack Crawford's reach, forever. The <br /> Senator will verify these terms on <br /> the phone, and guarantee them in <br /> writing...<br /><br /> BACK ON DR. LECTER<br /><br /> as he stares a moment longer at the pen, then shifts his <br /> eyes towards Chilton. We can almost hear his brain clicking.<br /><br /> CHILTON (O.S.)<br /> In exchange, I get your full <br /> cooperation in publishing a <br /> professional account of this - my <br /> successful interviews with you. You <br /> publish nothing. And I get exclusive <br /> access to any material from Catherine <br /> Martin... So. Do you accept my <br /> demands?<br /> (pause)<br /> Answer me, Hannibal.<br /><br /> A beat. Dr. Lecter is silent. Chilton sticks his face INTO <br /> SHOT, almost intimately close to the mask. He is agitated.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> You'll answer me now, or by God, <br /> you'll answer to Baltimore Homicide. <br /> Who is Buffalo Bill?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (pause; then softly)<br /> I'll tell the Senator herself. But <br /> only in Tennessee...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. JOHNS HOPKINS - GENDER IDENTITY CLINIC - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - as the very impatient Crawford, clutching a <br /> folder, strides down a hall beside DR. DANIELSON - early <br /> 50's, severe, in a lab coat. Nurses, doctors, glance as they <br /> pass.<br /><br /> DR. DANIELSON<br /> I'm not having a witch hunt here, <br /> Mr. Crawford! Our patients are decent, <br /> non-violent people with a real <br /> problem.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Dr. Danielson, the man we want was <br /> never your patient. It would be <br /> someone you refused because he tries <br /> to conceal a record of criminal <br /> violence. Please, Doctor - time is <br /> eating us up. Just show me the ones <br /> you've turned away.<br /><br /> Danielson enters a cramped, stainless steel nurse's gallery, <br /> with Crawford following, and pours himself a cup of coffee.<br /><br /> DR. DANIELSON<br /> (adamantly)<br /> Examination and interview materials <br /> are confidential. We've never violated <br /> an applicant's trust, and we never <br /> will.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You want to see a violation? This is <br /> a violation...<br /><br /> He takes a black & white photo from his folder, slaps it <br /> down in front of Danielson. From our angle, we can't see it <br /> clearly.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Her name is Kimberly Jane Emberg, <br /> she was just ID'd. I met her on a <br /> slab in West Virginia. And sometime <br /> tomorrow, or tomorrow night, he's <br /> going to do the same thing to <br /> Catherine Martin.<br /><br /> DR. DANIELSON<br /> That's a childish, bullying stunt, <br /> Mr. Crawford. I was a battlefield <br /> surgeon, so you can put away your <br /> picture.<br /><br /> Burroughs sticks his head in, looking for Crawford.<br /><br /> BURROUGHS<br /> Phone, Jack. Director Burke.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (snaps)<br /> In a minute!<br /><br /> Burroughs hurriedly retreats. Crawford strains for patience.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Look... search your own records, if <br /> you prefer. You can do it a lot faster <br /> than us, anyway. If we find Buffalo <br /> Bill through your information, I'll <br /> suppress it. Nobody has to know this <br /> hospital cooperated.<br /><br /> DR. DANIELSON<br /> I doubt very much that the FBI or <br /> any other government agency can keep <br /> a secret, Mr. Crawford. Truth will <br /> out... And then what? Will you give <br /> Johns Hopkins a new identity? Put a <br /> big pair of sunglasses on this <br /> building, and a funny nose?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Oh, that's clever, Dr. Danielson. <br /> Very humorous. You like the truth? <br /> Try this.<br /> (right in his face, <br /> enraged)<br /> He kidnaps young women and kills <br /> them and rips their skin off. We <br /> don't want him to do that anymore. <br /> If you don't help me, just as fast <br /> as you can, then the Justice <br /> Department is going to ask publicly <br /> for a court order, We'll ask twice a <br /> day, just in time for the morning <br /> and evening news. And each one of <br /> our press conferences will focus on <br /> Dr. Danielson, over at Johns Hopkins, <br /> and how we're still hoping for his <br /> cooperation. And every time there's <br /> any news on the case - when Catherine <br /> Martin floats, when the next one <br /> floats, and the next one - why, we'll <br /> just issue another press release <br /> about good ol' Dr. Danielson, over <br /> at Johns Hopkins - complete with all <br /> his humorous fucking remarks.<br /><br /> DR. DANIELSON<br /> (pause; stiffly)<br /> It may be that - I could confer with <br /> my colleagues on this. And get back <br /> to you.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Would you, Doctor? That would be so <br /> kind.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY<br /><br /> Crawford is on the scrambler phone. Burroughs watches <br /> silently.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (on phone; stunned)<br /> Transferred...?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI BUILDING - OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR - DAY<br /><br /> HAYDEN BURKE, the FBI Director, swivels in his big chair. <br /> Lean, late 40's, very distinguished. His desk is flanked by <br /> flags.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR BURKE<br /> (on phone)<br /> Already airborne for Memphis. Senator <br /> Martin's meeting him at the airport.<br /> (uneasily)<br /> Jack - did you make some sort of <br /> promise to Lecter, in the Senator's <br /> name?<br /><br /> Listening to the answer, he looks uncomfortably across his <br /> desk at PAUL KRENDLER, the Deputy Attorney General - 40, <br /> very tanned, modish haircut. Krendler is irritable, impatient.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR BURKE<br /> (on phone)<br /> We're going to have to talk about <br /> this, Jack. The Senator's mad as <br /> hell. Paul Krendler's over here from <br /> Justice, she's asking him to take <br /> charge in Memphis... I know that... <br /> But you're still in command of the <br /> task force, and Lecter's plane can <br /> still be ordered back. It's your <br /> call, Jack - but I want it now.<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY<br /><br /> Burroughs starts to make an objection, but Crawford stills <br /> him with a hand motion. He is taut, frustrated. Long pause.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (into phone)<br /> Let him land.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT.CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - DOORWAY - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice opens her door, stares out at Crawford. She's just <br /> slipping on her blazer, over her shoulder holster. She's <br /> furious.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Chilton has killed her, hasn't he? <br /> That slimy little bastard! We were <br /> so close with Lecter - and now her <br /> last chance is gone.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Let's get some coffee and talk.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS - QUANTICO - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE on Clarice and Crawford, as they walk along a <br /> sidewalk, sipping from paper cups. The surveillance van trails <br /> them slowly, radios CRACKLING.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Are you in trouble over this, Mr. <br /> Crawford? Can Senator Martin do <br /> something to you?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I'm 53, Starling. If I found Jimmy <br /> Hoffa on national TV, I'd still have <br /> to retire in two years. It's not a <br /> consideration. But you are...<br /> (beat)<br /> You've done enough. If I keep you <br /> out of school any longer, you'll be <br /> recycled. Cost you six months, at <br /> least. I can guarantee you readmission <br /> here, but that's about it.<br /> (he stops, looks at <br /> her)<br /> Now's your chance, Starling. Go back <br /> to class. Leave Bill to me.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> If you didn't want me chasing him, <br /> you shouldn't have taken me to that <br /> funeral home.<br /><br /> He looks at her steadily, then nods. They walk on.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Lecter is still the key, I know he <br /> is. Whatever he told me about Bill <br /> is just as good now as it was before.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Or just as worthless. But I want you <br /> in Memphis, close to him. Maybe when <br /> he gets tired of toying with Senator <br /> Martin, he'll talk to you again. <br /> There's a plane waiting for you now <br /> at the airstrip.<br /><br /> She smiles at this acknowledgment; he never thought she's <br /> quit.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I lied to Lecter. I'll need some <br /> kind of peace offering... Can I get <br /> the drawings from his cell?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Good idea. Meantime, try to get a <br /> feel for Catherine Martin. Her <br /> apartment, her friends... how he <br /> might've stalked her. I'm going to <br /> the other two clinics, Minnesota and <br /> Ohio.<br /> (he crumples his cup, <br /> tosses it)<br /> Now's the hardest part, Starling. <br /> Use your anger, don't let it keep <br /> you from thinking. Just keep your <br /> eyes on Catherine. We've got less <br /> than 30 hours.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (hesitates)<br /> Mr. Crawford... can those cops down <br /> there handle Dr. Lecter?<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (grimly)<br /> They'll use their best men. But they <br /> better be paying attention...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. AIR NATIONAL GUARD HANGER - MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE - DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE ON Dr. Lecter. Behind his mask, the alert, searching <br /> eyes.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> He will...<br /><br /> OFFICERS PEMBRY AND BOYLE<br /><br /> two sturdy, well-armed, veteran prison guards - are checking <br /> Dr. Lecter's restraints with clever, careful fingers.<br /><br /> BOYLE<br /> Welcome to Memphis, Dr. Lecter. I'm <br /> Officer Boyle, this is Officer Pembry. <br /> We aim to treat you just as nice as <br /> you treat us. Act like a gentlemen, <br /> you'll get three hots and a cot.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> But we ain't pussy-footin' with you, <br /> buddy ruff. You get cute, try to <br /> bite somebody? - we'll tie your <br /> asshole in a knot. You savvy?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Oh yes, Officer Pembry. I certainly <br /> do.<br /><br /> The officers turn away, Boyle signing a clipboarded form.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> (under his breath)<br /> Shit, he's just an ol' broke-dick. <br /> Won't be no trouble as all if he <br /> don't flip out.<br /><br /> BOYLE<br /> Dr. Chilton...?<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - WIDER<br /><br /> as we see that we're in a vast, dusty hangar. Parked to one <br /> side: an EMS ambulance and four highway patrol cruisers; a <br /> dozen troopers stand quietly chatting and smoking over there. <br /> Prentiss is pacing impatiently, casting anxious glances <br /> towards the open hanger doorway.<br /><br /> BOYLE<br /> If you'll please sign right here, <br /> sir, we'll have us a legal transfer.<br /><br /> Chilton instinctively pats his shirt pocket for his gold <br /> pen; it's gone. He searches other pockets, with growing <br /> unhappiness.<br /><br /> BOYLE<br /> Use mine.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> Here they come.<br /><br /> TWO BLACK STRETCH LIMOUSINES<br /><br /> glide smoothly into the hangar, stop. Secret Service agents <br /> pour out of the lead car, form a cordon. A driver opens the <br /> rear door of the second car, and Krendler steps out, followed <br /> by the Senator's assistant, with a briefcase, followed, as <br /> last, by the Senator herself. Barely glancing around, she <br /> strides towards Lecter.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - DR. LECTER AND SEN. MARTIN<br /><br /> as she stops, struck by the bizarre spectacle of his <br /> restraints. The others instinctively keep a distance, but <br /> Chilton, with theatrical relish, unstraps and removes Dr. <br /> Lecter's mask.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Senator Martin, meet Dr. Hannibal <br /> Lecter.<br /><br /> They stare at one another for a long moment: the Senator <br /> tense, almost haggard, the madman with his unearthly poise.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> Dr. Lecter, I've brought an affidavit <br /> guaranteeing your new rights... You'll <br /> want to read it before I sign.<br /><br /> He assistant unsnaps his briefcase, reaches for the form.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I won't waste your time and <br /> Catherine's time bargaining for petty <br /> privileges. Clarice Starling and <br /> that awful Jack Crawford have wasted <br /> far too much already. I only pray <br /> they haven't doomed the poor girl... <br /> Let me help you now, and I'll trust <br /> you when it's all over.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> You have my word. Paul?<br /><br /> Krendler raises a pad, poised to take notes.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Buffalo Bill's real name is William <br /> Rubin. I met him just once. He was <br /> referred to me in April or May, 1980, <br /> by my patient Benjamin Raspail. They <br /> were lovers, but Raspail had become <br /> very frightened. Apparently Rubin <br /> had murdered a transient, and - done <br /> things with the skin. He thought if <br /> I could cure Billy, then Billy'd be <br /> safe from the police, and he's be <br /> safe from Billy... Obviously, he was <br /> wrong.<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> We need his address, a physical descr-<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Did you nurse Catherine?<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> (pause; startled)<br /> What...?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Did you breast-feed her?<br /><br /> He flicks his tongue obscenely.<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> You son-of-a -<br /><br /> The Senator stills him with a hand. She is trembling.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> Yes... I did.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Toughened your nipples, didn't it...?<br /> (a beat; then rapidly, <br /> bored)<br /> Six foot one, strongly built, about <br /> 190 pounds. Hair brown, eyes pale <br /> blue. He'd be about 35 now. He said <br /> he lived in Philadelphia, but may <br /> have lied. That's really all I can <br /> remember, Senator - but if I think <br /> of any more, I'll let you know.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> (to the others)<br /> Let's go with it.<br /><br /> They start towards the car, but he calls out, stopping her.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Senator Martin...! You can't trust <br /> Jack Crawford or Clarice Starling. <br /> It's such a game with these people. <br /> They're determined to get the arrest <br /> for themselves. The "collar," I think <br /> they say.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> Thank you, Doctor. I'll keep it in <br /> mind.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Oh, and Senator...? Love you suit.<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S BASEMENT - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> CLOSE ON scraps of food - peas, chicken bones - lying on the <br /> cement floor of the pit, near the foil tray of a TV dinner.<br /><br /> CATHERINE (O.S.)<br /> (muttering, feisty)<br /> Close enough to fuck is close enough <br /> to fight...<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /><br /> is hunched over in concentration. The plastic toilet bucket <br /> is on her lap, and she has yanked down its cotton string.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Get my legs round your neck, you <br /> goddamn creep, I'll send you home to <br /> Jesus...<br /><br /> HER FINGERS<br /><br /> are tying a chicken bone to the bucket's handle, where it <br /> meets the string. The other end of the string is tied to her <br /> wrist.<br /><br /> SHE STANDS<br /><br /> gathers the coiled string in one hand, and swings the bucket <br /> by its handle, calculating this distance up to the basement <br /> floor.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Okay, Precious. Time for a treat...<br /><br /> She hurls the bucket upwards.<br /><br /> AT THE LIP OF THE OUBLIETTE<br /><br /> the bucket sails out, bounces LOUDLY, then falls back inside.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON THE DOG, PRECIOUS<br /><br /> who is elsewhere in the basement, worrying a toy. She cocks <br /> an ear, making a low GROWL, then sets off to investigate.<br /><br /> DOWN IN THE PIT<br /><br /> Catherine swings the bucket again, trying another cast.<br /><br /> THE BUCKET LANDS<br /><br /> two feet beyond the pit's edge, rolls a bit, stops.<br /><br /> PRECIOUS TROTS UP<br /><br /> then pauses, staring curiously towards...<br /><br /> VERY LOW ANGLE (DOG'S POV)<br /><br /> the enticing chicken bone, six feet away. It twitches as <br /> Catherine tugs on the string, edging the bucket back towards <br /> the pit.<br /><br /> Precious with her tail wagging, BARKS - greedy but suspicious.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /><br /> staring upwards, pulls again, even so gently, at the string.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> (softly)<br /> Preeeeecious...! C'mon, boy, nice <br /> yummy bone... c'mon, you little <br /> shit...<br /><br /> PRECIOUS<br /><br /> edges reluctantly closer... then suddenly rushes in, seizing <br /> the bone in her teeth. She tries to run away with it, but <br /> Catherine is pulling her towards the hole, working her like <br /> a hooked fish. Her toenails scrabble as she tries to stop.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /><br /> stares desperately, unable to see how she's doing.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Hang on, boy... hang on...<br /><br /> PRECIOUS<br /><br /> still fights for the bone, GROWLING, as the bucket rocks <br /> precariously on the edge of the pit. A long, seesaw battle... <br /> until finally, when one of her forelegs slips momentarily <br /> into the hole, she panics and lets go. The bucket flops over <br /> the edge.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /><br /> crouches, covering her head as the bucket bounces off her.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Nooooo...!<br /><br /> THE LITTLE DOG<br /><br /> furious, BARKS down at her, then trots away in disgust.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON CATHERINE<br /><br /> as she sinks to the cold cement. She slaps aside the foil <br /> tray, the scraps of food, sobbing in utter despair...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. CATHERINE MARTIN'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - DAY<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a framed photo of Sen. Martin and Catherine, held <br /> in Clarice's cotton-gloved hands. Powdered fingerprints on <br /> the glass.<br /><br /> Clarice glances up from the photo, smiles disarmingly at -<br /><br /> A young STATE TROOPER sitting in Catherine's easy chair. He <br /> smiles back at her, then relaxes, returns to his newspaper. <br /> He also wears gloves.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. KITCHEN<br /><br /> Clarice closes the refrigerator door, glances around.<br /><br /> A big REEL-TO-REEL TAPE RECORDER has been set up on the <br /> breakfast counter, attached to Catherine's phone. Two new <br /> red phones are hooked up as well.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BATHROOM<br /><br /> Clarice slides open the medicine cabinet's mirror, looks <br /> inside. She reaches in, pokes carefully amongst the lotions.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. ATTIC CRAWL-SPACE<br /><br /> A ceiling hatch bangs open, sending up dust clouds. Clarice, <br /> lit from underneath, pokes her head through, looking around.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BEDROOM<br /><br /> Flat on her back, Clarice wriggles out from under Catherine's <br /> bed. She sits up, brushing dust from her face and hair.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BEDROOM<br /><br /> CLOSE ON an open, multi-tiered jewelry box, resting atop a <br /> bureau, as Clarice's fingers pick through costume jewelry.<br /><br /> Clarice closes the box, and is just turning away when a figure <br /> suddenly looms INTO SHOT, giving her a bad start; she cries <br /> out softly.<br /><br /> Senator Martin is revealed, staring at her suspiciously.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> Who are you, please? I thought the <br /> police were through in here.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm Clarice Starling, Senator. FBI.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> (softly, very angry)<br /> Clarice Starling...<br /> (calls out)<br /> Paul? Would you come in here, <br /> please...?<br /><br /> Krendler enters from the hallway, looks at Clarice.<br /><br /> SEN. MARTIN<br /> Miss Starling, you may know the Deputy <br /> Attorney General, Mr. Krendler. Paul, <br /> this is the trainee that Jack Crawford <br /> sent to Lecter... She lied to him, <br /> pretending to have my authority, and <br /> thus jeopardized this entire <br /> investigation. Now she has the further <br /> gall to invade my daughter's privacy, <br /> again without permission. If her <br /> little games have killed my baby...<br /><br /> Overcome, she hurries from the room. Krendler shuts the door <br /> behind her, points sternly at Clarice.<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> You're out of line, Starling, and <br /> you're off this case. Back to <br /> Quantico.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sir, Mr. Crawford instructed me -<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> Your instructions are what I'm giving <br /> you now. Jack Crawford answers to <br /> the Director, and the Director answers <br /> to me. My God, Crawford's losing <br /> it...! He shouldn't even be on this, <br /> with his wife sick as she is... How <br /> the hell did you get in here, anyway? <br /> He gave you - what? Some kind of <br /> special ID? Let's have it.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (stubbornly)<br /> I need the ID to fly with my gun. <br /> The gun belongs in Quantico.<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> Gun. Jesus. Turn in the ID as soon <br /> as you get back. The gun, too. Be on <br /> the next plane, Starling, there's <br /> one in 90 minutes.<br /><br /> Clarice, burning, starts for the door, then turns back.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Krendler... Dr. Lecter trusts <br /> me. Or at least, he used to. If I <br /> could just -<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> Lecter has already named Buffalo <br /> Bill.<br /><br /> Clarice reacts, surprised. Krendler takes a folded computer <br /> sheet from his pocket, shoves it at her. She takes it, reads.<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> He gave us a perfectly good <br /> description, and we're on it now, so <br /> we won't be needing your little <br /> novelty act any longer - or his, <br /> either. He's under close guard at <br /> the courthouse, pending a prison <br /> transfer. The next plane, Officer.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sir, doesn't this "William Rubin" <br /> strike you as - I don't know - kind <br /> of vague?<br /><br /> Krendler moves in very close to her, pale with anger.<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> Do you need a police escort, Starling? <br /> Or do you think you can find the <br /> airport by yourself?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes sir. I can find it by myself.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. SHELBY COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> The old courthouse is a massive Gothic stronghold, with an <br /> armada of police cruisers parked at the curb.<br /><br /> Clarice climbs from her rented car, SLAMMING the door angrily. <br /> Holding a rolled-up pile of papers - Dr. Lecter's drawings - <br /> she starts determinedly up the steps. A nearby commotion <br /> makes her pause.<br /><br /> Dr. Frederick Chilton in a sea of interviewers and mini-cams, <br /> is preening grandly. <br /><br /> Clarice carefully avoiding his gaze, slips up the steps and <br /> inside.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. COURTHOUSE - GROUND FLOOR - DAY<br /><br /> SGT. TATE, a Memphis policeman, is studying Clarice's ID. He <br /> looks up at her from his command desk, a bit doubtfully.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> Are you with Mr. Krendler's people?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I just left him.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> Access to Lecter is strictly limited. <br /> We've been getting death threats.<br /> (hesitates again)<br /> Log in, and check your weapon.<br /><br /> He picks up a phone, murmurs into it. As he does so, Clarice <br /> glances around this main ground floor lobby.<br /><br /> HER POV<br /><br /> The building looks like an armed fort. Cops with shotguns <br /> guard the front door, both ends of the hall, the foot of the <br /> stairs, the single elevator. More of them are coming and <br /> going.<br /><br /> MURRAY (V.O.)<br /> Shoot, we haven't had this kinda <br /> security since the President came <br /> through town...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. ELEVATOR - MOVING<br /><br /> Clarice and OFFICER MURRAY, a young patrolman, ride up in an <br /> old-fashioned, CREAKING, metal-cage elevator. He is excited.<br /><br /> MURRAY<br /> Every cop in Tennessee wants a look <br /> at this guy. 'Sit true what they're <br /> sayin' - he's some kinda vampire?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (beat)<br /> I don't have a name for what he is.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM - 5TH FLOOR<br /><br /> Pembry, at a desk by the door, looks up from examining the <br /> unrolled pile of Dr. Lecter's drawings.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> You know the rules, ma'am?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes, Officer Pembry. I've questioned <br /> him before.<br /><br /> He waves her on her way, but retains the drawings for now.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - WITH CLARICE<br /><br /> as she crosses the big, spare, white octagonal room. A <br /> massive, temporary iron cage has been installed; Officer <br /> Boyle sits facing its barred door. He rises, nods, moving <br /> away to allow her privacy.<br /><br /> INSIDE THE CAGE<br /><br /> a cot and a small table, each bolted to the floor, and a <br /> flimsy paper screen, hiding a toilet. Dr. Lecter sits at the <br /> table, his back to her, studying the Buffalo Bill case file. <br /> He now wears a green prison jumpsuit. A small cassette player <br /> is chained to the steel table.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (without turning)<br /> Good afternoon, Clarice.<br /><br /> She stops at a striped police barricade, before his bars.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I thought you might want your drawings <br /> back... Just until you get your view.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> How very thoughtful... Or did Crawford<br /> send you here for one last wheedle - <br /> before you're both booted off the <br /> case?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Nobody sent me. I came on my own.<br /><br /> He spins in his swivel chair, stops neatly. A coy smile.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> People will say we're in love.<br /> (beat)<br /> Pity you tried to fool me, isn't it? <br /> Pity for poor Catherine. Tick-tock...<br /><br /> He spins again in his chair, playfully.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - FAVORING CLARICE<br /><br /> as she circles the cage, trying to keep his face in sight.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Lecter, you find out everything. <br /> You couldn't have talked with this <br /> "William Rubin", even once, and come <br /> out knowing so little about him... <br /> You made him up, didn't you?<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Clarice... you're hardly in a position <br /> to accuse me of lying.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I think you were telling me the truth <br /> in Baltimore - or starting to. Tell <br /> me the rest now.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I've studied the case file, have <br /> you...? Everything you need to find <br /> him is right in these pages. Whatever <br /> his name is.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Then tell me how.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> First principles, Clarice. Simplicity. <br /> Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each <br /> particular thing, ask: What is it, <br /> in itself, what is its nature...? <br /> What does he do, this man you seek?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He kills w-<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (sharply, as he stops)<br /> No! That's incidental.<br /><br /> CLOSE ANGLE - TWO SHOT as he rises, pained by her ignorance, <br /> and crosses to the bars.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> What is the first and principal thing <br /> he does, what need does he serve by <br /> killing?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Anger, social resentment, sexual <br /> frus-<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> No, he covets. That's his nature. <br /> And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? <br /> Do we seek out things to covet? Make <br /> an effort to answer.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. We just -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> No. Precisely. We begin by coveting <br /> what we see every day. Don't you <br /> feel eyes moving over your body, <br /> Clarice? I hardly see how you <br /> couldn't. And don't your eyes move <br /> over the things you want?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> All right, then tell me how -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> No. It's your turn to tell me, <br /> Clarice. You don't have any more <br /> vacations to sell, on Anthrax Island. <br /> Why did you run away from that ranch?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Lecter, when there's time I'll -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> We don't reckon time the same way, <br /> Clarice. This is all the time you'll <br /> ever have.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Later, listen, I'll -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I'll listen now. After your father's <br /> murder, you were orphaned. You were <br /> ten years old. You went to live with <br /> cousins, on a sheep and horse ranch <br /> in Montana. And - ?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> And - one morning I just - ran away...<br /><br /> She turns from him. He presses closer, gripping the bars.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Not "just," Clarice. What set you <br /> off? You started what time?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Early. Still dark.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Then something woke you. What? Did <br /> you dream...? What was it?<br /><br /> IN FLASHBACK<br /><br /> The 10-year old Clarice sits up abruptly in her bed, <br /> frightened. She is in a Montana ranch house; it almost dawn. <br /> Strange, fearful shadows on her ceiling and walls... a window, <br /> partly fogged by the cold; eerie brightness outside.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> I heard a strange sound...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> What was it?<br /><br /> THE CHILD RISES<br /><br /> crosses to the window in her nightgown, rubs the glass.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> I didn't know. I went to look...<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLES (2ND STORY) - THE CHILD'S POV<br /><br /> Shadowy men, ranch hands, are moving in and out of a nearby <br /> barn, carrying mysterious bundles. The mens' breath is <br /> steaming... A refrigerated truck idles nearby, its engine <br /> adding more steam. A strange, almost surrealistic scene...<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> Screaming! Some kind of - screaming. <br /> Like a child's voice...<br /><br /> THE LITTLE GIRL<br /><br /> is terrified; she covers her ears.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> What did you do?<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> Got dressed without turning on the <br /> light. I went downstairs... outside...<br /><br /> THE LITTLE GIRL<br /><br /> in her winter coat, slips noiselessly towards the open barn <br /> door. She ducks into the shadows to avoid a ranch hand, who <br /> passes her with a squirming bundle of some kind. He goes <br /> into the barn, and she edges after him reluctantly.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> I crept up to the barn... I was so <br /> scared to look inside - but I had <br /> to...<br /><br /> THE LITTLE GIRL'S POV<br /><br /> as the open doorway LOOMS CLOSER... Bright lights inside, <br /> straw bales, the edges of stalls, then moving figures...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> And what did you see, Clarice?<br /><br /> A SQUIRMING LAMB<br /><br /> is held down on a table by two ranch hands.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> Lambs. The lambs were screaming...<br /><br /> A third cowboy stretches out the lamb's neck, raises a bloody <br /> knife. Just as he's about to slice its throat -<br /><br /> BACK TO THE ADULT CLARICE<br /><br /> staring into the distance, shaken, still trembling from the <br /> child's shock. We see Dr. Lecter, over her shoulder, studying <br /> her intently.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> They were slaughtering the spring <br /> lambs?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes...! They were screaming.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> So you ran away...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. First I tried to free them... I <br /> opened the gate of their pen - but <br /> they wouldn't run. They just stood <br /> there, confused. They wouldn't run...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> But you could. You did.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I took one lamb. And I ran away, as <br /> fast as I could...<br /><br /> IN FLASHBACK<br /><br /> a vast Montana plain, and crossing this, a tiny figure - the <br /> little Clarice, holding a lamb in her arms.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Where were you going?<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> I don't know. I had no food or water. <br /> It was very cold. I thought - if I <br /> can even save just one... but he got <br /> so heavy. So heavy...<br /><br /> The tiny figure stops, and after a few moments sinks to the <br /> ground, hunched over in dispair.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> I didn't get more than a few miles <br /> before the sheriff's car found me. <br /> The rancher was so angry he sent me <br /> to live at the Lutheran orphanage in <br /> Bozeman. I never saw the ranch <br /> again...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> But what became of your lamb?<br /> (no response)<br /> Clarice...?<br /><br /> BACK TO SCENE<br /><br /> as the adult Clarice turns, staring into his feverish eyes. <br /> She shakes her head, unwilling - or unable - to say more.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> You still wake up sometimes, don't <br /> you? Wake up in the dark, with the <br /> lambs screaming?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Do you think if you saved Catherine, <br /> you could make them stop...? Do you <br /> think, if Catherine lives, you won't <br /> wake up in the dark, ever again, to <br /> the screaming of the lambs? Do you...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes! I don't know...! I don't know.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (a pause; then, oddly <br /> at peace)<br /> Thank you, Clarice.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (a whisper)<br /> Tell me his name, Dr. Lecter.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Dr. Chilton... I believe you know <br /> each other?<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE<br /><br /> as Clarice turns, startled, and the fuming Chilton seizes <br /> her elbow. Pembry and Boyle are beside him, looking grim.<br /><br /> CHILTON<br /> Out. Let's go.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> Sorry, ma'a m - we've got orders to <br /> have you put on a place.<br /><br /> Clarice struggles, pulling free of them for a moment.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Brave Clarice. Will you let me know <br /> if ever the lambs stop screaming?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (moving closer to the <br /> bars)<br /> Yes. I'll tell you.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Promise...?<br /> (she nods. He smiles)<br /> Then why not take your case file? I <br /> won't be needing it anymore.<br /><br /> He holds out the file, arm extended between the bars. She <br /> hesitates, then reaches to take it.<br /><br /> VERY CLOSE ANGLE - SLOW MOTION<br /><br /> as the exchange is made, his index finger touches her hand, <br /> and lingers there, just for a moment.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER'S EYES<br /><br /> widen, crackling at this touch, like sparks in a cave.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Good-bye, Clarice.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> hugging the case file to her chest, stares back at him as <br /> the men crowd in on her, pushing her away.<br /><br /> HER POV - MOVING<br /><br /> as Dr. Lecter, head cocked in a smile, slowly recedes...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. GARMENT SWEATSHOP - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - MR. GUMB'S POV as he pushes a rolling rack of <br /> completed leather garments, each wrapped in plastic, down as <br /> aisle. SOUND of many sewing machines, all clattering at once, <br /> as he passes row on row of work tables. The seamstresses, <br /> mostly black or Hispanic, glance up as he passes, then quickly <br /> avert their eyes, his presence disturbing them in some <br /> nameless way.<br /><br /> A thin FOREMAN in a flowery shirt, sees him approaching. He <br /> rises from his desk and comes over cheerfully, as the rack <br /> rolls to a stop.<br /><br /> FOREMAN<br /> Hello, dear! Punctual as always. And <br /> what have you brought us today?<br /><br /> He seizes one of the dangling jackets, pulling up the plastic <br /> wrapper. He examines it, stroking the sleeve.<br /><br /> FOREMAN<br /> Oh, marvelous... You know, I always <br /> say you're the Leonardo of leather.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> (a harsh whisper)<br /> Oil.<br /><br /> FOREMAN<br /> Pardon...?<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> You're leaving oil on the skin.<br /><br /> The foreman quickly releases the jacket.<br /><br /> FOREMAN<br /> Of course... You'll be wanting your -<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb's hand reaches INTO SHOT, snatching an envelope <br /> from him. The foreman is watching him walk away, as a <br /> seamstress comes over to take the rack of garments. The <br /> foreman is vaguely troubled, but shakes it off. He strokes <br /> the jacket again, admiringly.<br /><br /> FOREMAN<br /> (to seamstress)<br /> I wish we had a dozen like him...<br /><br /> SOUND UPCUT - Glenn Gould playing Bach's Goldberg <br /> Variations...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MEMPHIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - LOUNGE AREA - DUSK<br /><br /> Clarice, in a line of other passengers, is moving slowly <br /> towards a departure ramp. Through a huge plate glass window, <br /> we can see her plane. She glances back over her shoulder at<br /><br /> A pair of UNIFORMED COPS brawny and impassive, their arms <br /> folded, waiting to make sure she board the flight.<br /><br /> Clarice sighs, turning wearily back towards the jetway. The <br /> BACH CONTINUES, as we...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. SHELBY CO. COURTHOUSE - HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM -<br /><br /> NIGHT<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a steaming, rather elegant dinner tray, being carried <br /> by Pembry, as he approaches Dr. Lecter's cell.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> (shouts)<br /> Ready when you are, Doc!<br /><br /> IN THE CELL<br /><br /> the BACH is issuing from the cassette player. Beside it, on <br /> the table, the pile of Dr. Lecter's drawings. The top one is <br /> an accurate, sensitive portrait, from memory, of Clarice. <br /> Beyond the table, we see Lecter's shadowy form, seated behind <br /> the paper screen. He calls out from there.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (O.S.)<br /> Just another minute, please!<br /><br /> Pembry grunts, sets the tray down. Boyle joins him, handing <br /> him a riot baton and a Mace cannister, which Pembry fastens <br /> to belt clips. Boyle is similarly armed, and carries a ring <br /> of keys.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> Sumbitch demanded lamb chops for <br /> dinner, extra rare.<br /><br /> BOYLE<br /> (laughs)<br /> What you reckon he'll want for <br /> breakfast - some fuckin' thing from <br /> the zoo?<br /><br /> INSIDE THE SCREEN<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter sits fully clothed on the toilet - swaying <br /> slightly, eyes closed, lost in the music, tongue working in <br /> his cheek. Suddenly, like magic, a little shiny piece of <br /> metal protrudes from his lips. He plucks it out, opens his <br /> eyes.<br /><br /> IN EXTREME CLOSEUP<br /><br /> he is holding the pocket clip from Prentice's disassembled <br /> pen - a straight, thin strip of metal, with a circular collar <br /> at one end, a square edge at the other.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /><br /> lines up his thumbnail just shy of the square edge, then <br /> braces it against the stainless steel toilet rim. He pushes <br /> down, hard, using both hands for leverage. After a moment he <br /> smiles, holding up the result, and twirling it before his <br /> eyes.<br /><br /> IN EXTREME CLOSEUP<br /><br /> the straight end of the clip now forms a tiny right angle, <br /> and the circular end anchors nicely between his fingers.<br /><br /> OUTSIDE THE CELL<br /><br /> Pembry and Boyle turn as the toilet FLUSHES, and Dr. Lecter <br /> reappears, looking jaunty.<br /><br /> PEMBRY<br /> Okay, Doc, grab some floor. Same <br /> drill as lunchtime.<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter sits on the floor, legs straight, then wriggles <br /> backwards. He stretches his arms behind him, hands and wrists <br /> through the bars, with two bars between them, and clasps his <br /> hands.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I'm ready when you are, Officer <br /> Pembry.<br /><br /> Pembry comes around the cell to squat behind Dr. Lecter. He <br /> tugs his hands farther out, rather roughly, handcuffs his <br /> wrists. He shakes the cuffs, making sure of them, then nods <br /> to Boyle.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - AT CELL DOOR<br /><br /> as Boyle picks up the dinner tray, and Pembry crosses around. <br /> Pembry takes the keys from Boyle, unlocks the cell door, and <br /> pushes it inward. Boyle goes inside with the tray.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /><br /> watches as Boyle approaches the table, above five feet from <br /> him. Boyle has to set his tray down on the floor to clear <br /> off some of the mess of drawings. The MUSIC plays on.<br /><br /> VERY CLOSE ON<br /><br /> ...Dr. Lecter's hands, outside the bars, as the makeshift <br /> key, held between the tips of his right index and middle <br /> fingers, searches for the keyhole of the cuffs. And finds <br /> it.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - FAVORING BOYLE<br /><br /> as he finishes clearing the drawings, then turns back towards <br /> Dr. Lecter, stooping to pick up the tray.<br /><br /> BOYLE'S RIGHT HAND<br /><br /> is just inches from the tray when Dr. Lecter's hand darts <br /> INTO SHOT, snapping a handcuff onto his wrist.<br /><br /> BOYLE<br /><br /> looks up, astonished, to find himself right in the grinning <br /> face of Dr. Lecter - who just as quickly rolls sideways, and <br /> snaps -<br /><br /> THE OTHER CUFF<br /><br /> around the bolted leg of the table. And suddenly all natural <br /> SOUND and MOTION are suspended, as the MUSIC soars much <br /> louder, each separate note of it now echoing distinctly, and <br /> we see...<br /><br /> VARIOUS ANGLES - EACH BLURRING INTO STOP-ACTION<br /><br /> Pembry starting into the cell, reaching for his riot baton... <br /><br /> Dr. Lecter smashing against the cell door, driving it into <br /> Pembry, pinning him across the chest, against the door <br /> frame...<br /><br /> Boyle, on one knee on the floor, digging desperately in his <br /> pants pocket for his handcuff key...<br /><br /> Pembry's hand, mashed against his body by the door, as he <br /> strains frantically to reach the baton at his waist... <br /><br /> Pembry's eyes, widening in horror as he stares at...<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter's bared teeth, flashing towards him...<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter gripping Pembry's face in his jaws, shaking it <br /> like a dog shakes a rat...<br /><br /> Boyle finding his key, but in his terror dropping it...<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter yanking the mace can and riot baton from the dazed <br /> Pembry's belt, spraying him in his bloody face, then clubbing <br /> him to his knees...<br /><br /> Boyle, mouth open in a silent scream, finding his key again, <br /> unlocking the handcuff, but then, as he starts to rise, <br /> seeing...<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter standing over him, with the riot baton raised <br /> high; he swings it viciously down, again and again and <br /> again...<br /><br /> Then normal SOUND and MOTION are restored as we go to -<br /><br /> CLOSE ANGLE ON<br /><br /> the cassette player, and the portrait of Clarice, both now <br /> flecked with blood. In addition to the Bach, we now hear <br /> soft PANTING, close by, and whimpering SOBS in the background.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON DR. LECTER<br /><br /> eyes closed, lost in a favorite passage of the music. His <br /> bloody fingers drift airily with the notes, as his breathing <br /> slows to normal. He opens his eyes, sighs contentedly, looks <br /> down.<br /><br /> HIS POV<br /><br /> By the sprawled legs of Boyle lie various objects that spilled <br /> from his pants pocket - coins, a comb, a big pocketknife.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /><br /> picks up the pocketknife, examines it happily. About a four-<br /> inch blade. He becomes aware of the WHIMPERING, off screen, <br /> turns.<br /><br /> LOW ANGLE ON PEMBRY<br /><br /> as he crawls, with torturous slowness, towards the command <br /> desk, and the phone. He is crying, but frantically determined.<br /><br /> PEMBRY'S POV - PARTIALLY BLURRED, THEN CLEARING<br /><br /> Above the desk, hanging from pegs, are his and Boyle's <br /> holstered revolvers...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. COURTHOUSE - GROUND FLOOR LOBBY - NIGHT<br /><br /> The bronze arrow above the elevator swings towards "5," then <br /> indicates a stop there, at the top floor.<br /><br /> FAVORING SGT. TATE<br /><br /> at his command desk, as he stares at the indicator. Another <br /> cop, JACOBS, sits on the desk's edge, flipping through a <br /> magazine; many more cops can be seen beyond them, idling in <br /> the lobby.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> What is this shit...? Did somebody <br /> go up to five?<br /> (Jacobs shakes his <br /> head)<br /> Call Pembry, ask him what -<br /><br /> A GUNSHOT, and then, moments later, TWO MORE quick ones, <br /> echo down the nearby stairwell. Sgt. Tate jumps to his feet, <br /> grabs a radio mike, as the other cops stir, confused and <br /> noisy.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (into mike)<br /> CP, shots fired on five! Repeat, <br /> shots fires on five! Outside posts <br /> look sharp, we've got a... Ho-ly <br /> shit.<br /><br /> THE BRONZE ARROW<br /><br /> has begun to descend. Down to 4, then past 4...<br /><br /> BACK ON SGT. TATE<br /><br /> as he reacts. The other cops, behind him, are now in a full <br /> uproar, shouting, pulling out guns.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (to the others)<br /> SHUT UP...! Guard mount, double up <br /> on your outside posts. Bobby, get <br /> the vests. Rainey, Howard, cover <br /> that fucking elevator if it comes <br /> all the way to -<br /><br /> A COP (O.S.)<br /> It stopped!<br /><br /> THE BRONZE ARROW<br /><br /> has, indeed, frozen at 3. Sgt. Tate lifts the microphone <br /> again.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (into mike)<br /> Seal off a ten-block radius. Get me <br /> the SWAT team and an ambulance, double <br /> quick. We're going up.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. STAIRWELL - NIGHT (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE on Sgt. Tate as he leads a five-man squad, all in <br /> bulletproof vests, up the stone stairs. They move fast but <br /> carefully, covering each other from landing to landing with <br /> drawn revolvers, shotguns. The distant Back MUSIC makes a <br /> ghostly echo in here...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> A thin rectangle of light on the floor from the open elevator <br /> door. We can't see inside. The MUSIC sounds closer.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /><br /> approaches very cautiously, gun aimed. The other cops, behind <br /> him, fan out silently to set up angles of fire, checking the <br /> various office doors - all locked - as they creep up.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - OVER TATE'S SHOULDER<br /><br /> as he reaches the side of the elevator, hesitates, then spins <br /> to point his gun inside. It's empty. He backs away.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (shouts at ceiling)<br /> Pembry? Boyle...?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM - NIGHT (BRIGHTLY LIT)<br /><br /> ANGLE on the door, from inside, its lettering reversed on <br /> the frosted glass. The Bach is VERY LOUD.<br /><br /> After a moment the door is shouldered open, hard enough for <br /> the glass to shatter, Tate following his gun inside, moving <br /> low, then other cops appearing behind him in the doorframe. <br /> They all freeze, staring in utter horror.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> Oh no... no...<br /><br /> THEIR POV<br /><br /> is a brief snapshot from hell. The two uniformed bodies, one <br /> sprawled on its back near the door, the other still in the <br /> cell, have been savaged by a knife. Blood and gore everywhere. <br /> The faces are unrecognizable.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /><br /> struggles for control, as the other cops move grimly around <br /> him, into the room. He pulls his walkie-talkie from his belt.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (into mike)<br /> Command post... Two offi-<br /> (a beat; clears his <br /> throat)<br /> Two officers down. Prisoner is <br /> missing. Repeat, Lecter is missing... <br /> He's stripped the bed, might be making <br /> a rope, check all windows. Where the <br /> fuck is my ambulance?<br /><br /> IN THE CELL<br /><br /> a cop angrily punches OFF the music. Jacobs kneels with his <br /> fingers on Boyle's neck.<br /><br /> JACOBS<br /> Boyle is dead, Sarge. His gun's <br /> gone...<br /><br /> AT THE OTHER BODY<br /><br /> a cop gently removes a revolver from the bloody fist. Murray, <br /> the young patrolman, brings his ear reluctantly close to the <br /> gory face. A bloody bubble appears there; the wreckage GROANS, <br /> very softly.<br /><br /> MURRAY<br /> This one's alive!<br /><br /> Tate crosses, kneels to see for himself. Murray looks green.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> Take ahold of him where he can feel <br /> your hands, son. Talk to him.<br /><br /> MURRAY<br /> What's his name, Sarge?<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> It's Pembry, now talk to him, God <br /> dammit.<br /> (into radio, looking <br /> around)<br /> Boyle's dead, Pembry's read bad. <br /> Lecter is missing and armed - he <br /> took Boyle's gun...<br /><br /> The other cop, checking the cylinder of Pembry's gun, holds <br /> up one finger to Tate.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (into radio)<br /> Pembry got off one round - there's a <br /> chance Lecter was hit. We heard a <br /> total of three shots fired, so he's <br /> got four left... He's got a knife, <br /> too.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF COURTHOUSE - NIGHT<br /><br /> VARIOUS ANGLES on a floodlit scene of barely controlled <br /> pandemonium. Flashing red lights, men shouting commands, <br /> SIRENS in the distance. SWAT members, in full gear, leap <br /> from a black van... fan out... swarm up the steps... EMS <br /> orderlies unload a gurney from an ambulance... Cops kneel <br /> for cover behind cars, aiming guns and rifles up at the <br /> windows...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> A trio of EMS orderlies work fast over the body, already <br /> strapped on its gurney. They bandage a big plastic airway <br /> into place, over the butchered face, checking for a pulse at <br /> the neck. Young Murray crouches, sickened, gripping a bloody <br /> fist.<br /><br /> MURRAY<br /> You're just fine, Pembry, lookin' <br /> good, buddy, you're gonna make it...<br /><br /> One orderly massages the heart. Another is popping a plasma <br /> bag, ready to insert the needle, when the body starts <br /> convulsing.<br /><br /> ORDERLY<br /> Downstairs - let's go!<br /><br /> Quickly the gurney is elevated, wheeled out of the room, <br /> with cops rushing forward to open the doors, help push, SWAT <br /> men are running by in the hall, automatic rifles at the <br /> ready...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THE ELEVATOR - DESCENDING - NIGHT<br /><br /> Sgt. Tate, riding down with Jacobs, has his radio out.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (into mike)<br /> Ten-four, Lieutenant. I'm on the <br /> elevator, bringing it down. Pembry <br /> and Boyle are both cleared, top three <br /> floors secured, main stairwell <br /> secured. He's somewhere on -<br /><br /> A spot of blood falls on his cheek. He and Jacobs stare at <br /> each other. Another spot hits his shoulder. They look up.<br /><br /> THEIR POV<br /><br /> Blood is dripping slowly from the corner of the service hatch.<br /><br /> Sgt. Tate motions for silence, as both men draw their guns.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (into mike)<br /> Uh, we're pretty sure he's somewhere <br /> on two, sir... That's all for now, <br /> over.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. GROUND FLOOR LOBBY - NIGHT<br /><br /> The elevator doors open, and Tate and Jacobs hurry out, <br /> stepping quickly to the side. Tate reaches back in and -<br /><br /> CLOSE ANGLE<br /><br /> Locks the elevator into position, with its doors open.<br /><br /> OTHER COPS are rushing up to them, curious, as Tate <br /> frantically pushes them aside, gesturing for silence.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> (whispers)<br /> He's on the roof of the elevator!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT<br /><br /> Two SWAT officers, PETERSON and KUBELL, turn a key, unlocking <br /> and opening this floor's elevator doorway. The shaft is dark. <br /> Lying prone, they inch up to the edge, Peterson extends a <br /> mirror, on a long pole, out into the shaft.<br /><br /> IN THE MIRROR (DISTORTED BY THE ANGLE)<br /><br /> Is a distant figure, in a green prison jumpsuit, lying on <br /> his stomach, atop the elevator. A shiny revolver is near one <br /> hand.<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /><br /> whispers into a radio, as Kubell carefully tips an assault <br /> rifle, with a flashlight taped to its barrel, over the edge.<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /> I see him... There's a weapon by his <br /> hand. He's not moving...<br /><br /> RADIO VOICE<br /> Can you get the drop?<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /> We got the drop.<br /><br /> RADIO VOICE<br /> One warning. Then take him out.<br /><br /> Peterson nods to Kubell, who switches ON the flashlight, as <br /> Peterson shouts down the shaft.<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /> Quinn!! put your hands on your head!!<br /><br /> IN THE MIRROR<br /><br /> the green figure shows no movement.<br /><br /> ANGLE ON THE COPS AGAIN<br /><br /> as Peterson mutters to Kubell.<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /> Put one in his leg.<br /><br /> VERY CLOSE ON<br /><br /> The figure below, as Kubell's gunshot ROARS, echoing hugely <br /> in the shaft, and a slug rips through the jumpsuited leg. <br /> The figure doesn't stir.<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /><br /> staring down the shaft, raises his mike again.<br /><br /> PETERSON<br /> No movement.<br /><br /> RADIO VOICE<br /> Okay, Johnny, hold your fire...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. GROUND FLOOR LOBBY - NIGHT<br /><br /> A small army of cops is now covering the elevator doorway, <br /> from both sides. Tate crouches next to the SWAT COMMANDER.<br /><br /> SWAT COMMANDER<br /> (into radio mike)<br /> We're coming into the car, we're <br /> opening the hatch. Watch his hands. <br /> Any fire will come from us. Affirm?<br /><br /> PETERSON'S VOICE<br /> Got it.<br /><br /> The SWAT commander hands his radio to another cop, then looks <br /> at Tate. A long, tense moment. Then he waves a signal.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE<br /><br /> as we follow a picked team of four SWAT cops, in full body <br /> armor, rushing into the elevator car. Two men move to the <br /> corners, aim assault rifles at the ceiling. A third man sets <br /> a stepladder in place, and the fourth man, armed with a big <br /> Colt, hurries up the ladder and unclips the hatch.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON<br /><br /> ...the service hatch, as the hinged cover drops open, and a <br /> body tumbles through, dangling head first, until it's caught <br /> at the waist. We see the back of the head.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /><br /> shoulders through the SWAT cops for a closer look. He turns <br /> towards the SWAT commander, astonished.<br /><br /> SGT. TATE<br /> That's Pembry!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. EMS AMBULANCE - MOVING<br /><br /> In the rear chamber, a young EMS ATTENDANT is braced against <br /> the vehicle's sway. Behind him, the stretchered form of his <br /> patient, and, through a curtained opening, the driver. SOUND <br /> of the siren.<br /><br /> ATTENDANT<br /> (into radio mike)<br /> He's comatose, but his vital signs <br /> are good. Pressure's 130 over 90... <br /> Yeah, 90! Pulse 85...<br /><br /> Behind him, in slightly BLURRED FOCUS, the bloody figure <br /> sits slowly upright...<br /><br /> ATTENDANT<br /> His convulsions have stopped, but <br /> he's got so much loose skin on his <br /> face, it's hard to tell if -<br /><br /> Suddenly he stops, becoming aware of a strange HISSING. He <br /> turns, puzzled...<br /><br /> THE POCKETKNIFE BLADE<br /><br /> in Lecter's fist, flashes high in the air...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. SIX-LANE FREEWAY - NIGHT (ARC LIGHTS)<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE on the EMS ambulance, as it races along normally, <br /> its SIREN blazing, the heavy flow of traffic parting to make <br /> way for it.<br /><br /> Then suddenly it begins to weave erratically, changing lanes, <br /> before drifting dangerously to a full stop, almost side-ways. <br /> Cars swerve to avoid hitting it, HONKING angrily...<br /><br /> CLOSER ANGLE<br /><br /> on the stopped ambulance. After a long, still moment, the <br /> wind-shield wipes come on, incongruously, then stop. Then <br /> the SIREN is shut OFF, and the flashers. The ambulance starts <br /> rolling again - at first jerkingly, then with increasing <br /> speed. We follow it for several more moments, until is passes - <br /> and we LINGER on...<br /><br /> BIG GREEN INTERSTATE SIGN<br /><br /> ...that reads "Memphis International Airport / 2 miles."<br /><br /> CLOSE ANGLE - THROUGH AMBULANCE WINDSHIELD<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter's face is slowly REVEALED, as he wipes across it <br /> with a fistful of gauze, tossing it aside...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> EXT. MONTANA PLAIN - DUSK - (IN FLASHBACK)<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE, rushing with dizzy swiftness over the prairie, <br /> over waving grasses... a long passage... before we come at <br /> last to the girl Clarice, sitting with her lamb, hunched in <br /> despair. She rises, her face tear-stained, and turns from <br /> us. Holding the lamb, she starts back the way she came...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. COUNTRY DIRT ROAD - NIGHT - BRIGHT MOONLIGHT<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE, very rapid, down this road... coming at last <br /> to a stopped highway patrol car. Clarice, with her lamb, is <br /> standing in the car's headlights. She starts wearily towards <br /> the sheriff...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. RANCH BARNYARD - NEAR DAWN<br /><br /> CRANE ANGLE - sweeping rapidly DOWN into the barnyard towards <br /> the arriving highway patrol car, as it stops... RUSHING to <br /> the little girl as she steps from the car, holding the lamb.<br /><br /> The dark figure of the rancher ENTERS FRAME. As he roughly <br /> takes the lamb from her, we HOLD on a CLOSEUP of her face - <br /> stunned, blank. She EXITS FRAME...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. BARN - NIGHT<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - CLARICE'S POV as she walks towards the open <br /> barn doorway... It looms CLOSER... The rancher is revealed, <br /> a shadowy figure, pinning the lamb on the killing table. His <br /> knife hand sweeps up high, then holds... He turns TO CAMERA, <br /> his face breaking into the light - and it is the face of Dr. <br /> Lecter. He smiles his terrible smile at the young Clarice...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI DORM - PAY PHONE IN HALLWAY - NIGHT<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - coming in very CLOSE on the adult Clarice's <br /> face - shocked, devastated - as she stands alone by the <br /> dangling receiver...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. SHOWER STALL - FBI DORM - NIGHT<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a shower head, as water suddenly blasts out. Clarice <br /> moves INTO SHOT, as she scrubs her face and hair compulsively, <br /> almost desperately, unable to get clean...<br /><br /> ARDELIA (V.O.)<br /> They found the ambulance...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - NIGHT<br /><br /> Clarice is hunched on her cot, in a bathrobe, her hair wet. <br /> The Buffalo Bill case file, a thick bundle, rests by her <br /> feet. Ardelia hovers anxiously nearby.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> In the parking garage at Memphis <br /> airport. The crew was dead. He killed <br /> a tourist, too. Got his clothes, <br /> cash... By now he could be anywhere.<br /><br /> Clarice looks up. Her eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion, <br /> and something close to despair. She reads Ardelia's thought.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No. He won't come after me.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Why not?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (bitterly)<br /> It would be rude. And he wouldn't <br /> get to ask any more questions...<br /><br /> Ardelia sits beside her, touches her arm.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Clarice - you did the best anybody <br /> could have for Catherine Martin. You <br /> stuck your neck out for her and you <br /> got your butt kicked for her and you <br /> tried. It's not your fault it ended <br /> this way.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> The worst part - the thing that's <br /> making me crazy - is that Bill is <br /> right in front of me. Only I can't <br /> see him...<br /> (touching the case <br /> file)<br /> Lecter said, everything I need to <br /> catch him is right here, in these <br /> pages...<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Lecter said a lot of things.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (shakes her head)<br /> He's here, Ardelia.<br /><br /> Ardelia stares back at her.<br /><br /> SOUND UPCUT - the low throb of a washing machine...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. LAUNDRY ROOM - ACADEMY DORM - NIGHT (VERY LATE)<br /><br /> Clarice has spread out the case file across two washing <br /> machines. Ardelia, cross-legged on a dryer, studies another <br /> pile of forms. Nearby is their laundry basket, detergent <br /> box.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> (surprised)<br /> Hey, is this Lecter's handwriting? <br /> She holds up the map, with its <br /> location markings for the kidnapping <br /> and body dump sites. Clarice takes <br /> it, looks.<br /><br /> INSERT - THE MAP<br /><br /> with newly inked words in Dr. Lecter's precise, elegant hand.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Clarice, doesn't this random <br /> scattering of sites seem overdone to <br /> you? Doesn't it seem desperately <br /> random - like the elaborations of a <br /> bad liar? Ta... Hannibal Lecter.<br /><br /> NEW ANGLE - TWO SHOT<br /><br /> as Clarice looks up at Ardelia, puzzled but excited.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> "Desperately random." What does he <br /> mean?<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Not random at all, maybe. Like there's <br /> some pattern here...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But there is no pattern. There's no <br /> connection at all among these places, <br /> or the computers would've nailed it! <br /> They're even found in random order.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Well, except for the one girl.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (beat)<br /> What girl?<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> The one that was weighted down. Where <br /> is she...? Fred something.<br /><br /> They search among the inserts. Clarice finds the graduation <br /> photo.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Fredrica Bimmel, from Belvedere, <br /> Ohio. The first girl taken, but the <br /> third body found... Why?<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> 'Cause she didn't drift. He weighted <br /> her down.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But why? He didn't weight the others.<br /><br /> Clarice moves, on fire, unable to keep still.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> The first, what the hell did Lecter <br /> say about... "First principles," he <br /> said. Simplicity... What does this <br /> guy do, he "covets." How do we first <br /> start to covet? "We covet what we <br /> see -"<br /><br /> She stops, turns. She grabs the photo of Fredrica from <br /> Ardelia, stares at it. She looks up, trembling.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> "- every day."<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> (softly)<br /> Hot damn, Clarice.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> He knew her...!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI BUILDING - OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice and Crawford are seated in front of Director Burke, <br /> who's at his desk. Another chair is empty, because Krendler <br /> is pacing. All four are nearing their boiling points.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Maybe he lives in this, this <br /> Belvedere, Ohio, too! Maybe he saw <br /> her every day, and killed her sort <br /> of spontaneously. Maybe he just meant <br /> to... give her a 7-Up and talk about <br /> the choir. But then -<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> Starling -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But then he had to cover up, make <br /> her seem just like all the rest of <br /> them. That's what Lecter was hinting!<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> The market in Lecter hints is way <br /> down, today, okay? I've got two good <br /> men dead in Memphis, and three<br /> civilians. I've got -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Who the hell's fault is -<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> - a U.S. Senator who's half out of <br /> her head because her daughter's going <br /> to be murdered today! And all because <br /> of your mind games with fucking <br /> Lecter!<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> If you hadn't interfered, he'd still <br /> be in custody in Baltimore!<br /><br /> BURKE<br /> Jack -<br /><br /> KRENDLER<br /> You sent in a green recruit, with a<br /> phony goddamn offer -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You're just trying to cover your ass <br /> for letting him escape!<br /><br /> BURKE<br /> THAT'S ENOUGH! All of you...<br /><br /> A long silence, as they all struggle to regain composure. <br /> Crawford, who was at the point of striking Krendler, finally <br /> retakes his seat. Burke looks sadly at Crawford and Clarice.<br /><br /> BURKE<br /> (very reluctantly)<br /> Starling, I'm afraid I have no choice. <br /> You're suspended from the Academy.<br /> (Crawford starts to <br /> interrupt)<br /> Not another word!<br /> (to Clarice)<br /> This is pending a reevaluation of <br /> your fitness for the service. I <br /> promise you'll get a fair hearing.<br /> (pause)<br /> Jack... you're ordered to take <br /> compassionate leave. You'll spend <br /> the rest of the day briefing the <br /> AG's office, then transfer command <br /> of the task force, effective by 1800 <br /> hours.<br /> (beat)<br /> I'm sorry, Jack... Go home. Take <br /> care of Bella.<br /><br /> Clarice and Crawford stare back at him, drained. A long and <br /> very painful silence. Not even Krendler looks happy.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. SIDEWALK OUTSIDE FBI BUILDING - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice and Crawford walk out slowly, stand there a moment, <br /> not knowing what to say, not wanting to face each other.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> All his victims are women... His <br /> obsession is women, he lives to hunt <br /> women. But not one women is hunting <br /> him - except me. I can walk in a <br /> woman's room and know three times as <br /> much about her as a man would.<br /> (beat)<br /> I have to go to Belvedere.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> You heard them. I don't have that <br /> authority anymore.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You do until six p.m.<br /><br /> He stares at her sadly. He looks, for the first time, <br /> defeated, old beyond his years.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Ohio is cold ground. Picked over, <br /> ten months ago. Our people worked <br /> it, so did the locals.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But not from this angle. Not thinking <br /> he knew her. You've got to send me!<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> I'm Bureau for 28 years, Starling. I <br /> won't disobey orders, not even now.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> But I just became a private citizen. <br /> I can go anywhere I want to.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> With ID and a gun...? Impersonating <br /> a federal agent is a felony.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> He's going to kill her, Mr. Crawford. <br /> This morning, or maybe at noon, but <br /> today, and Belvedere's our last <br /> chance. I'm flying there, right now, <br /> unless you stop me. You want my ID? <br /> Here - take it...<br /><br /> He stares at her, a long moment. Catherine's life. Clarice's <br /> passion, and future. His loyalty to the Bureau. Call it.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (pulls out his wallet)<br /> There's about $300 here... And a <br /> hotline code number. They'll patch <br /> you through to me, wherever I am.<br /><br /> She raises her hand to him. She wants to touch him face, or <br /> his neck, but can't. Finally she takes his money and card.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Thank you.<br /><br /> He watches, frightened for both of them, as she backs away, <br /> smiles, then turns, racing towards the surveillance van.<br /><br /> SOUND UPCUT - the scratchy recording of Fats Waller SINGING, <br /> as we...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)<br /><br /> CLOSE ON the needle of the Victrola, on the spinning record, <br /> as Mr. Gumb's fingers lift away. MUSIC continues in <br /> background.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> (calling out)<br /> Preeeeecious...!<br /><br /> CLOSE ON the moth cage, as Mr. Gumb's fingers search through <br /> the humus, and find a plump new cocoon, lifting it out. The <br /> door of the cage is left open, and one or two of the adult <br /> moths flutter out.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> Precious, come on Precious! Busy <br /> busy day today...<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a clean towel, beside the sink. The cocoon is gently <br /> placed in readiness alongside four shiny skinning knives.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> Momma's gonna be sooo beautiful!<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a stainless steel Colt Python, with a six-inch <br /> barrel, as the cylinder is spun, and the hammer gets a <br /> practice cock. The metallic CLICK is deep and loud. A note <br /> of alarm has entered Mr. Gumb's voice.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> You come here this minute, you little <br /> scamp!<br /><br /> LOW ANGLE on Mr. Gumb, wearing the kimono, as he walks through <br /> his sewing workroom. His back is to us; he is looking <br /> anxiously under the furniture. He stops, straightens. <br /> Genuinely scared.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Precious...?<br /><br /> LOW ANGLE - OVER THE PIT OPENING<br /><br /> Towards Mr. Gumb, as he stops at one of the doorways of the <br /> oubliette chamber. He stares inside; his face in shadows.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Sweetheart...?<br /><br /> From the distant bottom of the pit, we hear Catherine's voice.<br /><br /> CATHERINE (O.S.)<br /> She'd down here you sack of shit.<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb's fist flies to his mouth, and he sags against the <br /> doorframe. A little groan escaped him; the dog answers with <br /> a series of YIPS.<br /><br /> UPWARD ANGLE, FROM THE PIT BOTTOM<br /><br /> as Mr. Gumb's dark shape leans cautiously over the edge.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Precious, are you all right?<br /><br /> REVERSE ANGLE ON CATHERINE<br /><br /> crouched to one side, clutching the dog to her chest. Seeing <br /> Mr. Gumb, the dog squirms frantically, BARKING.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Get me a telephone. Lower it down to <br /> me. Do it now, mister! I don't want <br /> to have to hurt this little dog.<br /><br /> UPWARD ANGLE<br /><br /> on Mr. Gumb, as, with a cry of fury, he whips the Colt from <br /> inside his kimono. The muzzle gleams as he takes aim.<br /><br /> Catherine yanks the dog up, into his line of fire, screaming <br /> at him.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> You shoot motherfucker you better <br /> kill me quick or I'll break her <br /> fucking neck, I swear to God!<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> (wails)<br /> Nooooooo!<br /><br /> Tucking the dog under one arm, she grabs its muzzle, twisting <br /> the head. The dog WHINES piteously.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Back off, you son of a bitch! Back <br /> off!<br /><br /> UPWARD ANGLE<br /><br /> as Mr. Gumb cries out again - a terrible, inarticulate scream <br /> of rage and anguish. But then he slowly lowers his gun.<br /><br /> REVERSE ANGLE<br /><br /> On Catherine, as she maintains her grip.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> That's better... Now get me a live <br /> telephone. Get a long extension and <br /> lower is down here... And you better <br /> do it fast, too, 'cause I think her <br /> leg's broken. She's in pain, mister, <br /> she needs a vet.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> stares down at her, a long beat, breathing heavily.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> You think she's in pain? You don't <br /> know what pain is. But you're going <br /> to find out...<br /><br /> And abruptly he vanishes. SOUND of his footsteps, rushing <br /> off.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /><br /> begins shaking, hands and arms twitching uncontrollably. She <br /> hugs the little dog tight to her chest, buries her face in <br /> its fur, sobbing...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - BELVEDERE, OHIO - DAY<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE as a rented sedan pulls up to the curb, stops. <br /> After a moment Clarice climbs out, a bit stiffly. Double-<br /> checking this address, she glances up from a folded street <br /> map to -<br /><br /> AN OLD, THREE-STORY WOODEN HOUSE<br /><br /> in a row of similarly shabby homes, all backing onto a narrow <br /> river. A path of boards, laid over mud, leads back along <br /> this house towards the brown water. SOUND of hammering from <br /> there.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. BIMMEL HOUSE - BACK YARD - DAY<br /><br /> An awesome huddle of pigeon coops sprawls by the brackish <br /> water. The birds' COOING mixes with the HAMMERING. A tall, <br /> gaunt man in a knit cap is obsessively pounding nails into a <br /> new coop.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> approaches him, and the man lowers his hammer. He has red-<br /> rimmed eyes of watery blue. His face is deeply seamed.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Bimmel...? <br /><br /> He stares back at her, warily.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BIMMEL HOUSE - STAIRCASE - DAY<br /><br /> HIGH ANGLE - LOOKING DOWN as Mr. Bimmel leads Clarice up a <br /> steep flight of steps. The bannister is worn, sags a bit.<br /><br /> MR. BIMMEL<br /> I don't know nothin' new to tell ya. <br /> The police been back here so many <br /> times already... Fredrica went into <br /> Columbus on the bus to see about a <br /> job. She left the interview OK. She <br /> never come home.<br /><br /> Clarice pauses, at the landing, to look at a framed photo: <br /> the familiar graduation portrait. Others pictures show <br /> Fredrica as a young girl, toddler, infant - plump and hopeful <br /> at each age.<br /><br /> MR. BIMMEL<br /> Her room's how she left it. Just <br /> shut the door when you're done.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FREDRICA'S BEDROOM - DAY<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV - MOVING SLOWLY as she takes in flowery chintz <br /> curtains... posters of Madonna and Blondie... a twin bed, <br /> with worn, stuffed animals on the pillow... a big sewing <br /> machine in the corner.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> turns, absorbing nuances. There is loneliness here, an echo <br /> of desperation under this steeply pitches ceiling. A shrill <br /> MEOW, and she looks down...<br /><br /> BIG TORTOISESHELL CAT<br /><br /> is rubbing against her ankles.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> picks up the cat, scratches behind his ears. She glances up.<br /><br /> IN A FULL-LENGTH MIRROR<br /><br /> she and the cat stares back at their own reflection...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> sitting at the desk, turns the pages of a high school <br /> yearbook. The cat is curled on her lap...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> kneeling by the old Decca record player, flips through LPs <br /> and singles. The cat has wandered off...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> pulling a string to light up the closet. She is surprised <br /> and intrigued to see an extensive wardrobe, groaning from <br /> the rod. A shelf above the rod is stacked high with sewing <br /> supplies, in clear plexiboxes. She flips through the hanging <br /> clothes, pulls out one dress, on its hanger, for a closer <br /> look.<br /><br /> THE DRESS<br /><br /> is very big, to fit Fredrica, but beautifully cut. Some of <br /> the seams still look unfinished. She turns it around, sees a <br /> blue tissue dressmaker's pattern still pinned to the back.<br /><br /> FAVORING THE SEWING MACHINE<br /><br /> as Clarice turns, looks towards it. She hangs the dress on <br /> the closet door knob, crosses to sit at the machine. She <br /> takes off its dust cover. She runs one hand over the cool <br /> metal, as a taunting memory forms in her mind.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Billy wants to change, too, Clarice. <br /> But there's the problem of his size, <br /> you see...<br /><br /> She turns, looks again at the unfinished dress. Suddenly she <br /> straightens, her attention riveted by something...<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV<br /><br /> On the printed pattern, down at the lower back of the outlined <br /> dress, are two bold black triangles. We RUSH CLOSER to there <br /> shapes, before jumping back to -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> who stares at them, starting to tremble.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Even if he were a woman, he'd have <br /> to be a big one...<br /><br /> IN FLASHBACK<br /><br /> those missing triangles of skin on the dead girl's back, in <br /> the funeral home in West Virginia...<br /><br /> CLOSE ON CLARICE<br /><br /> as she jumps to her feet, with a fierce joy.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sewing darts. You bastard.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BIMMEL PARLOR - DOWNSTAIRS - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice paces, in an exuberant rush, amidst the worn <br /> furniture.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (into phone)<br /> He's making himself a "woman suit," <br /> Mr. Crawford - out of real women! <br /> And he can sew, this guy, he's really<br /> skilled. A dressmaker, or a tailor -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> Starling -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> That's why they're all so big - <br /> because he needs a lot of skin! He <br /> keeps them alive to starve them awhile - <br /> to loosen their skin, so that -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (V.O.)<br /> Starling, we know who he is! And <br /> where he is. We're on our way now.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (pause; surprised)<br /> Where?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. FBI TURBOJET - FLYING - DAY<br /><br /> Crawford sits at a communications console, with Burroughs, <br /> in headphones, by his side. This forward section of the cabin <br /> is crammed with hi-tech equipment, all lit up and WHIRRING. <br /> Through a window we see clouds, part of the jet's wing.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (into speaker phone)<br /> Calumet City, edge of Chicago. I'll <br /> be on the ground in 45 minutes with <br /> the Hostage Rescue Team. I'm back in <br /> charge, Starling. He's mine.<br /><br /> INTERCUTTING<br /><br /> as Clarice reacts; her happiness for Crawford is tinged with <br /> disappointment at being so suddenly out of the hunt.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (on phone)<br /> Sir, that's great news. But how -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Johns Hopkins finally came up with a <br /> name for us. We fed him into Known <br /> Offenders, and he came up cherries.<br /> (takes a paper from <br /> Burroughs)<br /> Subject's name is "Jamie Gumb," AKA <br /> "John Grant." Lecter's description <br /> was accurate, he just lied about the <br /> name.<br /><br /> INSIDE THE JET - MOVING ANGLE<br /><br /> from the rear of the cabin forward, as we slowly PASS the <br /> twelve-man HRT. They're seated in full gear, hardshell armor, <br /> quietly checking and rechecking their bulging cases of weapons - <br /> silencer automatics, shotguns, stun grenades...<br /><br /> CRAWFORD (O.S.)<br /> This Gumb's a real beauty. Slaughtered <br /> both his grandparents when he was <br /> twelve, and did nine years in juvenile <br /> psychiatric. Where, Starling, he <br /> took vocational rehab, and learned a <br /> useful trade...<br /><br /> INTERCUTTING<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sewing...<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Take a bow. Customs had some paper <br /> on his alias. They stopped a carton <br /> two years ago at LAX - live <br /> caterpillars from Surinam. The <br /> addressee was "John Grant." Calumet <br /> Power & Light's given us two possible <br /> residences under that alias. We're <br /> hitting one, Chicago SWAT's taking <br /> the other.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (eagerly)<br /> Chicago's only about 400 miles from<br /> here. I could be there in -<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> No, Starling, there isn't time. And <br /> you've still got crucial work to do <br /> in Ohio. We want him for murder, not <br /> kidnapping. I'm counting on you to <br /> link him to the Bimmel girl, before <br /> he's indicted.<br /><br /> Clarice tries hard to swallow her disappointment.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes sir... I'll do my best.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> (pause; gently)<br /> Starling - you've earned back your <br /> place in the Academy. We never <br /> would've found him without you, and <br /> nobody's ever going to forget that. <br /> Least of all me.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Yes sir. Thank you, sir...<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /><br /> switches off, feeling bad for her. On the console near him, <br /> the fax machine starts to CHATTER. He turns, looks.<br /><br /> BURROUGHS (O.S.)<br /> Here he comes, Jack.<br /><br /> CLOSE ON<br /><br /> an emerging sheet, as Gumb's face is printed out. We see <br /> just his hair, then the top of his forehead, before we...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. BIMMEL BACK YARD - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice walks slowly across the yard, absorbing all this <br /> news, before suddenly leaping into the air and pumping her <br /> fist in triumph, with a happy yelp. Then she sees -<br /><br /> MR. BIMMEL<br /><br /> staring at her in surprise. He sits by his coops, smoking.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> somewhat embarrassed, crosses over to him.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Bimmel... did Fredrica ever <br /> mention a man named Jamie Gumb, from <br /> Calumet City? Or John Grant?<br /> (he shakes his head)<br /> Did she know any men that sew?<br /><br /> MR. BIMMEL<br /> She sewed for everybody. Stores, <br /> ladies, whatever. I don't know about <br /> men.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Who was her best friend, Mr. Bimmel? <br /> Who'd she hang out with?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. AN ISOLATED RUNWAY - O'HARE AIRPORT - DAY<br /><br /> The FBI turbojet is parked, its gangway down. Crawford, <br /> Burroughs, and the HRT squad, carrying their bags of weapons, <br /> CLATTER rapidly down the metal steps...<br /><br /> STACY (V.O.)<br /> Freaked me out. Get your skin peeled <br /> off, is that a bummer...?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. SAVING & LOAN - BELVEDERE - DAY<br /><br /> STACY HUBKA - short, perky, early 20's - sits nervously at <br /> her desk, talking to Clarice, who jots in her notebook. In <br /> the background. beyond them, bank tellers, lines of waiting <br /> customers, MUZAK.<br /><br /> STACY<br /> They said she was just rags, like<br /> somebody -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Stacy, did Fredrica ever mention a <br /> man named Jamie Gumb? Or John Grant?<br /> (Stacy shakes her <br /> head)<br /> Do you think she could've had a friend <br /> you didn't know about?<br /><br /> STACY<br /> No way. She had a guy, I'da known, <br /> believe me. Sewing was her life, she <br /> was really great at it. Poor Freddie.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Did you ever work with her?<br /><br /> STACY<br /> Oh sure, me'n Pam Malavesi used to <br /> help her do alterations for old Mrs. <br /> Lippman. Lots of people worked for <br /> her, she had the business from all <br /> these retail stores? But she was <br /> like, totally old, it was more'n she <br /> could handle.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Where does Mrs. Lippman live? I'd <br /> like to talk to her.<br /><br /> STACY<br /> She died. She went to Florida to <br /> retire, like two years ago? She dies <br /> own there.<br /><br /> Clarice reacts, disappointed at the ending of this trail.<br /><br /> STACY<br /> (beat; shyly)<br /> Is that a pretty good job, FBI agent?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I think so.<br /><br /> STACY<br /> You get to travel around and stuff? <br /> I mean, better places then this?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Sometimes you do.<br /><br /> STACY<br /> Freddie was so happy for me when I <br /> got this job. This - toaster <br /> giveaways, and Barry Manilow on the <br /> speakers all day - she thought this <br /> was really hot shit. What did she <br /> know, big dummy...<br /><br /> Suddenly she's fighting tears. Clarice reaches to hug her.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - CALUMET CITY, ILLINOIS - DAY<br /><br /> WIDE ANGLE on what appears to be, at first, a calm, ordinary <br /> neighborhood of working class two- and three-story houses. <br /> But the street is strangely quiet, deserted.<br /><br /> After a few moments, we become aware of movement - armed, <br /> dark-clad figures creeping swiftly and in silence from shrubs <br /> to garage corners, from parked cars to porches, appearing <br /> and then disappearing...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)<br /><br /> CLOSE ON Mr. Gumb, as he settles a big pair of infra-red <br /> night-vision goggles over his eyes. Moths flutter past his <br /> face. His mouth is set in a grim line...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STREET IN CALUMET CITY - FRONT YARD - DAY<br /><br /> An HRT cop, prone beneath a hedge, is joined by a 2nd HRT <br /> Cop, who throws himself to the grass beside him. They both <br /> take aim with their scoped rifles at -<br /><br /> TELEPHOTO ANGLE (WITH RIFLE CROSSHAIRS)<br /><br /> The front door of a big, nearby, split-level house...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)<br /><br /> CLOSE ON a fuse box, as Mr. Gumb reaches in, flips a switch. <br /> The lights go out. SOUND of a second switch, and the cellar <br /> is bathed in a green glow...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STREET IN CALUMET CITY - NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> A little boy, riding his tricycle in his driveway, is suddenly <br /> startled to find himself staring into the grim face of -<br /><br /> A MEMBER OF THE HRT<br /><br /> crouched by his garage, armed to the teeth. As the little <br /> boy starts to cry, the cop pulls him into the shadows, <br /> covering his mouth.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb, in his kimono and goggles, creeps silently through <br /> his workrooms - knees bent, painted toes places ever so <br /> delicately, the Colt held aloft - as more moths flutter past <br /> him in the eerie light...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STREET IN CALUMENT CITY - DAY<br /><br /> A florist's van turns the corner, comes slowly down the street <br /> and stops at the curb in front of the split-level. The driver, <br /> in a gray deliveryman's uniform and cap, climbs out of the <br /> cab, walks briskly to the panel door, on the street side of <br /> the van, and slides it open. He leans in, comes out with a <br /> long, thin red-ribboned floral box, starts calmly towards <br /> the house...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)<br /><br /> MR. GUMB'S POV - MOVING ANGLE on the top of the oubliette, a <br /> glowing green circle in the dark, as it draws closer and <br /> closer... and then Catherine comes INTO VIEW, at the bottom <br /> of the pit. She is crouched, exhausted, staring straight up <br /> at him - but she can't see him in this infra-red darkness. <br /> Precious is curled into her stomach, asleep. The futon is up <br /> to Catherine's waist, but there's a clear shot at her head <br /> and neck.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> Looking down at her, smiles...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. STREET IN CALUMET CITY - SUSPECT'S HOUSE - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE on the "deliveryman," seen from behind, as he <br /> mounts three steps to the split-level's front porch. Tucked <br /> into the small of his back if a 9 mm. automatic.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD AND BURROUGHS<br /><br /> have slipped out of the van, and are crouched behind it now, <br /> with drawn guns, watching tensely as -<br /><br /> THE "DELIVERYMAN"<br /><br /> settles the floral box in the crook of his left arm, reaches <br /> out with his right hand towards the buzzer...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)<br /><br /> Slowly, savoring the moment, Mr. Gumb aims the big Colt, <br /> which is already cocked, using both hands... He is just about <br /> to squeeze the trigger, when we hear his DOOR BUZZER, <br /> surprisingly loud and close by. He turns, startled, and sees -<br /><br /> DUSTY BLACK METAL BOX<br /><br /> the extension buzzer, mounted high on the wall, which is <br /> making the hideous, grating JANGLE. It finally stops, but <br /> not before waking Precious, who starts frantically BARKING, <br /> off screen, as -<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> raises his gun again, spinning back towards -<br /><br /> HIS POV - THE PIT BOTTOM<br /><br /> where Catherine, hearing but still not seeing him, quickly <br /> yanks the futon over both herself and the dog. Instantly the <br /> two of them become one squirming, indistinguishable mass.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> bites his lip, his aim wavering, as he can't decide where to <br /> safely place his shot. The maddening BUZZER sounds again, <br /> even more insistently, and he cries out with frustration and <br /> fury. But as the BUZZER continues, he reluctantly uncocks <br /> his gun, looking up angrily towards his front door...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT DOOR - DAY<br /><br /> The door opens, on a chain, and Clarice peers in, smiling.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Good afternoon... I wonder if you <br /> could help me. I'm looking for Mrs. <br /> Lippman's family?<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb frowns out at Clarice. For the first time ever, we <br /> get a well-lit view of his bland, pale-eyed moon of a face.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> They don't live here anymore.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. FRONT DOOR OF SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMET CITY<br /><br /> The "deliveryman" yanks a 12 lb. sledgehammer from the floral <br /> box, swings it with all his might against the door knob, <br /> blowing it through as -<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE<br /><br /> Crawford and Burroughs race towards the door, guns up...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT DOOR - DAY<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb starts to close the door, only to have Clarice push <br /> back against it, politely but firmly. She holds up her ID.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Excuse me, but I really do need to <br /> talk to you. This was Mrs. Lippman's <br /> house. Did you know her?<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> (beat)<br /> Just briefly. What's the problem, <br /> Officer?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMENT CITY - DAY<br /><br /> A bedroom window disintegrates as a flash grenade is shot <br /> through it, EXPLODING on the floor. An instant later, a black-<br /> clad HRT cop dives through the shattered glass, rolls across <br /> the floor, comes up on one knee swiveling his sawed-off <br /> shotgun...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT DOOR - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice and Mr. Gumb, still eyeing each other through the <br /> door crack...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'm investigating the death of <br /> Fredrica Bimmel. Who are you, please?<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Jack Gordon.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Gordon, did you know Fredrica <br /> when she worked for Mrs. Lippman?<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> No. Wait... Was she a great, fat <br /> person? I may have seen her, I'm not <br /> sure...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMET CITY - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE as Burroughs moves quickly down a hallway and <br /> enters the living room, where Crawford is standing, with his <br /> gun held down by his side, surrounded by several other cops. <br /> Burroughs shakes his head: Nothing here...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT HALLWAY - DAY<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb glances briefly over his shoulder, towards his <br /> kitchen, then turns back to Clarice with a smile.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Mrs. Lippman had a son, maybe he <br /> could help you. I have his card <br /> somewhere. Do you mind stepping <br /> inside, while I looks for it?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Thanks.<br /><br /> ANGLE FAVORING THE COLT PYTHON<br /><br /> which rests on a counter, just inside the open kitchen <br /> doorway. THROUGH this doorway, we watch as Mr. Gumb, at the <br /> end of his front hall, slips the chain. Clarice enters, <br /> closing the door behind her.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. FRONT YARD OF SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMET CITY - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - towards the front door, as frustrated HRT <br /> cops file out of the empty house, rifles slung across their <br /> shoulders.<br /><br /> WE PICK OUT CRAWFORD<br /><br /> walking across the grass towards the van, when all at once <br /> he stops in his tracks, shaken by a sudden flash of intuition.<br /><br /> CAMERA RUSHES VERY CLOSE<br /><br /> on his stricken face...<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Clarice.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S PARLOR - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice, pulling her notebook from her shoulder bag, glances <br /> around the musty-looking room.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB (O.S.)<br /> That horrible business, I shiver <br /> every time I think about it...<br /><br /> Overstuffed furniture, porcelain figurines. One archway onto <br /> the front hall, another onto a dining alcove, and through <br /> there, the kitchen. Mr. Gumb is crossing to a rolling desk, <br /> raising the top. He bends over, begins poking through cubby <br /> holes. His tone is casual, neutral.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Are they close to catching somebody, <br /> do you think?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I think we may be, yes.<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb stiffens, almost imperceptibly. His back is to her, <br /> as he continues opening drawers, rustling papers.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Mr. Gordon, did you take over this <br /> place after Mrs. Lippman died?<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Yes. I bought the house from her, <br /> two years ago.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Did she leave any records here? Tax <br /> or business records? Maybe a list of <br /> employees?<br /><br /> CLOSE ON MR. GUMB'S BACK<br /><br /> as he continues his rummaging.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> No, nothing at all. Has the FBI <br /> learned something? Because the police <br /> here don't seem to have the first <br /> clue...<br /><br /> Out of the folds of his kimono crawls a Death's-head Moth. <br /> It creeps slowly to the center of his back, raising its wings.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Do you have his description yet, or <br /> some fingerprints...?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> unaware, is still glancing around the room. For several <br /> agonizing moments, we think she won't see the moth - but <br /> then she turns, does see it, and her eyes freeze. A beat of <br /> pure fear. A tremendous struggle to keep her voice calm.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> No... no, we don't.<br /><br /> Very carefully, she drops her notebook back into her bag, <br /> lowers the bag to the floor. With her fingertips she brushes <br /> back the edge of her blazer, loosening its drape.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> turns back towards her cheerfully, holding out a business <br /> card.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> Ahhh. Here's that number.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> keeps her distance. They are about ten feet apart.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Good, thank you. Mr. Gordon, do you <br /> have a phone I can use?<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> is about to reply when the moth suddenly flies up from behind <br /> him, flutters past his face. He turns, looking at it. He <br /> looks back at Clarice, his mouth still open.<br /><br /> HER EYES<br /><br /> are unmoving, locked on his.<br /><br /> HIS EYES<br /><br /> stare back at her, widen. And they know each other.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /> (softly)<br /> In the kitchen. I'll show you.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> whips her gun out, gripping it in both shaking hands.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Freeze!<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> slowly tilts his head to one side, smiles at her.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> tries to force more authority into her voice.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Okay... Okay, Mr. Gumb, you're under <br /> arrest. Down on the floor, hands and <br /> legs spread, move it.<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> turns, then all at once, in two quick steps, he is gone, <br /> disappearing into his dining alcove, then kitchen.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> hesitates, just a split second, to shoot him in the back - <br /> and then it's too late.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Shit!<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S KITCHEN - DAY<br /><br /> Clarice hurries inside, moving low, swivelling her gun.<br /><br /> HER POV - MOVING<br /><br /> The kitchen is empty. To one side, a door still shuddering <br /> on its hinges...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> rushes to this - pauses - then elbows the door aside, aiming <br /> her gun down -<br /><br /> AN EMPTY STAIRWELL<br /><br /> brightly lit, leading to the cellar. Two doors facing the <br /> bottom, both open. No sign of Mr. Gumb.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> hates this, hates this, which door, it's a trap, what to do: <br /> she is very scared, but suddenly hears -<br /><br /> The distant SCREAM of Catherine Martin, somewhere down there <br /> in that killing maze.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> rushes through the doorway, and down the stairs.<br /><br /> BEHIND HER, ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER there's an empty space; <br /> the Colt Python is gone.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - WITH CLARICE - hurrying down the steps. More <br /> SCREAMS; they seem to be coming from the left door. Clarice <br /> goes that way, entering a brick-walled passage - pipes over-<br /> head, naked bulbs. The lighting, though dim, is incandescent; <br /> Mr. Gumb has switched off his infra-red system. Clarice comes <br /> to a T-shaped intersection, stops. Another SCREAM, again to <br /> her left, and the BARKING of a dog...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> follows her gun around the corner, looking right.<br /><br /> EMPTY PASSAGEWAY<br /><br /> but doors opening off it - he could be lurking behind any of <br /> them. She looks left... sees an opening onto some kind of <br /> chamber. The noises are LOUDER, coming from there.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> moves cautiously towards this chamber...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. OUBLIETTE CHAMBER - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> Clarice moves in, hugging the wall, gun swivelling...<br /><br /> HER POV - MOVING<br /><br /> the open top of the pit... beyond it, the other two doorways, <br /> opening onto this room - Jesus, he could come through either <br /> one of them, or come up behind her... She moves to the pit, <br /> looks down, very briefly, sees Catherine SCREAMING, <br /> hysterical, and a little white dog BARKING...<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> kneels, staring up from one door to another, she can't cover <br /> them all, she's totally exposed - and what's a dog doing <br /> there?<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> FBI, Catherine, you're safe.<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Safe, SHIT, he's got a gun! Getmeout.<br /> GET ME OUT!<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> You're all right! Where is he?<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> Get me out!<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> I'll get you out! Just be quiet so I <br /> can hear. Shut that dog up.<br /> (still swivelling)<br /> Is there a ladder? Is there a rope?<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> I don't know! Get me out!!<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Catherine. Listen to me. I have to <br /> find a rope. I have to leave this<br /> room, just for a minute, but -<br /><br /> CATHERINE<br /> NOOOOO! You fucking bitch don't you <br /> LEAVE ME down here, DON'T YOU - YOU <br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Shut UP!<br /> (then, louder)<br /> The other officers will be here any <br /> minute! you're perfectly safe now!<br /><br /> Ignoring Catherine, whose shouts turn to sobs, she backs <br /> away, turns, picks one of the other doorways, moves into it <br /> quickly.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. NEW PASSAGEWAY - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> CLARICE'S POV - MOVING down this passageway, towards a new <br /> room... pausing at the doorway, straining to hear... no sound <br /> except Catherine's CRYING, not in the background, and <br /> Clarice's own RAPID BREATHING. Then she crouches -<br /><br /> LOWER ANGLE - bursts forward, through the doorframe, <br /> sidestepping...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. WORKROOM - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> Clarice weaves back and forth, half-crouched, gun out, back <br /> to the wall. Her face glistens with sweat, as she takes in...<br /><br /> HER POV - MOVING NERVOUSLY<br /><br /> Mr. Gumb's sewing machine... his swivel chair... the old <br /> Victrola... Big moths are crashing into the light bulbs, <br /> overhead; they're everywhere. Suddenly, from just behind <br /> her, a CLICK and a HUM, and -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> spins, almost shoots, before seeing -<br /><br /> A SMALL REFRIGERATOR<br /><br /> with its thermostat just switching ON.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> gasps for breath, fighting for calm. She turns again, slashing <br /> her free hand at the moths, moving quickly on...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. SKINNING ROOM - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> Clarice moves past the mannequins, all of them naked now... <br /> then quickly past the huge Chinese armoire, ready to shoot <br /> into it. Its doors yawn open; it is empty except for several <br /> padded hangers... She moves on, past the big sink, with its <br /> DRIPPING faucet... the counter, with its gleaming knives... <br /> the rows of chemical jars. At the end of this room is<br /><br /> A CLOSED DOOR<br /><br /> Clarice starts to open it, then hesitates. Looking around, <br /> she seizes a wooden chair, wedges it under the door know, <br /> sealing off this section of the cellar. With her back thus <br /> defended, she turns, softly retracing her steps.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. WORKROOM - DAY (DIMLY LIT)<br /><br /> Passing again through the workroom, Clarice pauses, seeing a <br /> half-curtained door, to one side, that she had previously <br /> skirted. She crosses to the door, listens and hears no sound <br /> inside, takes a deep breath and reaches for the knob. She <br /> twists it, and, as it turns, shoves hard and follows her gun <br /> inside, all in one quick move...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. BATHROOM - DAY (BRIGHTLY LIT)<br /><br /> An old-fashioned bathroom: tiled floor, sink, toilet - and a <br /> big, free-standing tub. An opaque shower curtain, suspended <br /> from an oval ring, hides whatever might be inside.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> centers her gun on the curtain, at chest height, and yanks <br /> it aside with her left hand. No one standing there. Something <br /> lower down catches her eye.<br /><br /> She leans in, stares more closely, not understanding, at <br /> first, that she's seeing -<br /><br /> FEMALE HAND AND WRIST<br /><br /> sticking up from the tub, which is filled with hard red-purple <br /> plaster. The hand is dark and shriveled, with pink nail polish <br /> and a dainty wristwatch. As -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> is reacting with horror to this sight, the lights go out, to <br /> be replaced, a split-second later, by the eerie green glow <br /> of Mr. Gumb's infra-red system. Clarice cries out, turns <br /> blindly, reaching for the door, can't find it, free hand <br /> clawing desperately into what is, for her, utter darkness. <br /> SOUND of Catherine KEENING again, in the far distance. Clarice <br /> stumbles, goes to her knees, rights herself, finally clutches <br /> the door frame...<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. MR. GUMB'S WORKROOM - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)<br /><br /> Clarice emerges from the bathroom in a half-crouch, arms <br /> out, both hands on the gun, extended just below the level of <br /> her unseeing eyes. She stops, listens. In her raw-nerved <br /> darkness, every SOUND is unnaturally magnified - the HUM of <br /> the refrigerator... the TRICKLE of water... her own terrified <br /> BREATHING, and Catherine's faraway, echoing SOBS... Moths <br /> smack against her face and arms. She eases forward, then <br /> stops again, listens... She eases forward again, following <br /> her gun, and creeps directly in front of, and then past -<br /><br /> MR. GUMB<br /><br /> who has flattened himself against a wall, arms spread like a <br /> high priest, Colt in one hand. He wears his goggles and <br /> kimono, and under that - draping down over his naked arms, <br /> like some hideous mantle - his terrifying, half-completed <br /> suit of human skins. This is an exquisite moment for him - a <br /> ritual of supreme exaltation. He smiles at Clarice as, <br /> completely unaware, she moves beyond him, exposing her back. <br /> Very slowly and quietly he steps out behind her, taking his <br /> gun in both hands, aiming...<br /><br /> CLOSE ON<br /><br /> the Colt Python as - in SLOW MOTION - his thumbs cock the <br /> hammer, the SOUND registering as a LOUD METALLIC CLICK, and -<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> spins, still in SLOW MOTION, flame already leaping from her <br /> gun muzzle, as we see -<br /><br /> THE TWO FIGURES<br /><br /> almost at point-black range, guns ROARING hugely, one FLASH <br /> from Mr. Gumb, and one two three four FLASHES from Clarice, <br /> overlapping his, and then, as the ECHOES crash deafeningly -<br /><br /> CLOSE ON CLARICE - LOW ANGLE -<br /><br /> with NORMAL SPEED RESTORED, as the side of her face hits the <br /> floor, and she is gasping, stunned by the noise and flames; <br /> there is blood on her check, and an ugly powder burn, but <br /> she ignores them, twisting to yank her speedloader from her <br /> jacket pocket, locking it blindly onto her gun's cylinder, <br /> reloading, right in front of her face, then rolling onto her <br /> stomach, aiming her gun upward again, blinking her dazzled <br /> eyes, straining to locate him in the darkness... Where is <br /> he, where...? Then, as the ECHOES finally fade, she hears <br /> something else - a tortured, sucking, WHISTLE from perhaps <br /> eight feet away...<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE - WITH CLARICE<br /><br /> as she crawls forward, on her elbows, following her gun, <br /> until it bumps against Mr. Gumb's shoulder. He is lying on <br /> his back, chest a bloody mess. She slides her muzzle against <br /> his head, hard, but he doesn't move; another shot isn't <br /> needed. He stares upwards, through his goggles, bloody lips <br /> working. He tries to speak, but cannot. One hand reaches <br /> slowly upwards, the fingers twitching, as if to seize <br /> something, overhead... Then a final, ghastly groan, his hand <br /> drops, he is dead. Clarice feels for a pulse at his neck, <br /> making sure. Then, and only then, does she permit herself to <br /> roll over, collapsing onto her back beside him.<br /><br /> OVERHEAD ANGLE<br /><br /> down at the two faces - intimately close together, like lovers <br /> on their pillow. Then, as we PULL SLOWLY AWAY, we see that <br /> her staring eyes, and his dead gaze, are both locked onto -<br /><br /> A DEATH'S-HEAD MOTH -<br /><br /> perched on an infra-red bulb, overhead, its wings pumping <br /> slowly.<br /><br /> SOUND UPCUT - wailing SIRENS, many excited VOICES, as we...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> EXT. MR. GUMB'S HOUSE - DUSK<br /><br /> The front porch of the tall Victorian house is bathed in a <br /> glare of TV lights, police and ambulance flashers. Cars and <br /> vans and even a firetruck choke the street; cops, reporters, <br /> EMS workers and curious civilians swarm around the ineffective <br /> barricades. The BUZZ of their voices goes even higher as<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> dazed, her face bandaged - comes out of the house, walking <br /> protectively beside Catherine, who is wheeled on a gurney.<br /><br /> They are followed out by uniformed cops, then two firemen <br /> with an extension ladder. Catherine, blinking in confusion, <br /> is still clutching the little dog, and refuses to give her <br /> up even as she's trundled into an ambulance. Clarice sways <br /> with exhaustion; everyone seems to be shouting at her at <br /> once, pulling her sleeve. She tries to fight free of them, <br /> desperate for a familiar face.<br /><br /> AN OHIO HIGHWAY PATROL CAR<br /><br /> pulls up, stops, and Crawford climbs out of the back seat. <br /> He makes his way anxiously through the press of bodies, <br /> stopping when he sees Clarice.<br /><br /> THEY LOOK AT ONE ANOTHER<br /><br /> for a long moment, Crawford choked with pride for her, with <br /> sorrow for her ordeal, with love, but unable to find any <br /> words. And then he does.<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /> Starling... your father sees you.<br /><br /> And then all at once she is sobbing, her knees giving way, <br /> but he is there to catch her, he is hugging her fiercely. <br /> HOLD ON them for a long beat.<br /><br /> DIRECTOR BURKE (V.O.)<br /> (over loudspeaker)<br /> Congratulations! You are now officers <br /> of the Federal Bureau of <br /> Investigation...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> EXT. GROUNDS OF THE FBI ACADEMY - WEEKS LATER - DAY<br /><br /> The forty members of Clarice's class, resplendent in their <br /> best dark suits and dresses, rise, cheering themselves, then <br /> turn happily to wave to their audience, as APPLAUSE mounts. <br /> Beyond them, on a gaily tented platform, the Director stands <br /> behind his podium.<br /><br /> CLARICE AND ARDELIA<br /><br /> look at one another solemnly. Ardelia holds up both fists, <br /> in a power shake, and Clarice taps them with her own. She is <br /> radiantly beautiful in a navy dress and pearls, the thin <br /> scar on her cheek almost healed. Ardelia turns, waving towards <br /> the crowd, the Clarice's thoughts are elsewhere. She turns, <br /> searching among the dignitaries on the platform, till she <br /> locates<br /><br /> CRAWFORD<br /><br /> who smiles back at her with quiet pride, and offers a little <br /> salute.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> grins - more happy than we've ever seen her - then turns to <br /> wave towards the crowd with the others.<br /><br /> MOVING ANGLE<br /><br /> over the admiring sea of spectators, several hundred of them, <br /> still rising from their folding chairs, APPLAUDING in <br /> celebration of these special young people, this perfect, <br /> sunlit day.<br /><br /> SOUND UPCUT - rock music, laughter - as we...<br /><br /> DISSOLVE TO:<br /><br /> INT. ACADEMY DORM - REC ROOM - THAT NIGHT<br /><br /> A LOUD party is underway - food, beer, dancing - as the new <br /> grads celebrate ferociously. Ardelia weaves her way through <br /> the crowded room, reaches Clarice, who is flanked by her <br /> special guests - Pilcher and Roden, the two ardent scientists. <br /> Ardelia has to shout at Clarice over the din.<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /> Agent Starling! Telephone!<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> (surprised)<br /> Agent Mapp! Thank you!<br /><br /> She nods to Pilcher, leaves them. Roden, who is quite happily <br /> drunk, grabs the startled Ardelia around the waist.<br /><br /> RODEN<br /> Hel-lo, gorgeous! Let's get down.<br /><br /> Ardelia looks at Pilcher, confused.<br /><br /> PILCHER<br /> Just ignore him. He's not a Ph.D.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT<br /><br /> Clarice picks up the dangling pay phone, speaks happily.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Starling.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Well, Clarice, have the lambs stopped <br /> screaming...?<br /><br /> She freezes, stunned by the familiar voice. Then she turns, <br /> waving frantically towards<br /><br /> ARDELIA<br /><br /> who is just inside the rec room door, at the end of the hall, <br /> lost in conversation with Pilcher and Roden. Ardelia glances <br /> at her briefly but misunderstands, waves cheerfully back.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (V.O.)<br /> Don't bother with a trace, I won't <br /> be on long enough.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /><br /> turns back, gripping the phone more tightly.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Where are you, Dr. Lecter?<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> EXT. A CLEAR NIGHT SKY<br /><br /> Very beautiful, glittering with countless stars.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (O.S.)<br /> Where I have a view, Clarice...<br /><br /> MOVING DOWN<br /><br /> we see a rolling lawn, a curving bay. Boats ride at anchor, <br /> lights shimmering...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER (O.S.)<br /> Orion is looking splendid tonight, <br /> and Arcturus, the Herdsman, with his <br /> flock...<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /><br /> smiles into his mobile phone. He is stretched out on a <br /> lounger, on a tiled patio, languidly paring an orange with a <br /> penknife. His appearance is quite altered - a beard, glasses, <br /> lighter hair. He's has some cosmetic surgery, as well.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> (into phone)<br /> Your lambs are still for now, Clarice, <br /> but not forever... You'll have to <br /> earn it again and again, this blessed <br /> silence. Because it's the plight <br /> that drives you, and the plight will <br /> never end.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Lecter -<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> I have no plans to call on you, <br /> Clarice, the world being more <br /> interesting with you in it. Be sure <br /> you extend me the same courtesy.<br /><br /> CLARICE (V.O.)<br /> You know I can't make that promise.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Goodbye, Clarice...<br /> (and then, softly)<br /> You looked - so very lovely today, <br /> in your blue suit.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT<br /><br /> As Clarice reacts, the fill weight of his words sinking in.<br /><br /> CLARICE<br /> Dr. Lecter... Dr. Lecter...!<br /><br /> But only a DIAL TONE comes from the phone. She is still <br /> staring at her receiver, in shock, as we -<br /><br /> CUT BACK TO:<br /><br /> EXT. THE MOONLIT PATIO<br /><br /> Dr. Lecter sighs, sets his phone down, then rises. Popping <br /> an orange section into his mouth, he turns towards the <br /> brightly lit house. Stepping delicately over the sprawled <br /> body of a uniformed security guard, he walks in through open <br /> french doors.<br /><br /> CUT TO:<br /><br /> INT. A BOOKLINED STUDY<br /><br /> In a swivel chair, amidst the wreckage of his papers and <br /> books, is the writhing figure of Dr. Frederick Chilton. The <br /> extreme intricacy of his bindings recalls Dr. Lecter's own <br /> former restraints. His screams are muffled by the tape over <br /> his mouth; he stares at Dr. Lecter like a rabbit trapped in <br /> headlights.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /><br /> Considers him for a genial moment, then raises the little <br /> pen-knife. His eyes are twinkling.<br /><br /> DR. LECTER<br /> Well, Dr. Chilton. Shall we begin?<br /><br /> FADE OUT<br /><br /> THE ENDEelveEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04343357520043384445noreply@blogger.com0