НАЗВАНИЕ: The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
ГОД: 1991
СЦЕНАРИСТ: Ted Tally
ИСТОЧНИК: ScriptSlug (PDF) — https://www.scriptslug.com/script/the-silence-of-the-lambs-1991
URL: https://assets.scriptslug.com/live/pdf/scripts/the-silence-of-the-lambs-1991.pdf
СКАЧАНО: 2026-10-12 11:49
ПРИМЕЧАНИЕ: текст чужой, для личного изучения. Не распространять. Не исполнять.
======================================================================

                THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS

                                    by

                             Ted Tally


                   Based on the novel by

                          Thomas Harris




This screenplay has been converted to a PDF file by ScreenTalk™
http://www.screentalk.org
FADE IN:

INT. GRUBBY HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

A woman's face BACKS INTO SHOT, her head resting against
grimy wallpaper. She is tense, sweaty, wide-eyed with
concentration. This is CLARICE STARLING, mid-20's, trim,
very pretty. She wears Kevlar body armor over a navy
windbreaker, khaki pants. Her thick hair is piled under a
navy baseball cap. A revolver, clutched in her right hand,
hovers by her ear. She raises a speedloader, in her left
hand, locks it into her cylinder, twists and reloads.

CLOSE ON

A guest room door, with a small, wired pack attached to
its knob. Suddenly, wish a sharp CRACK!, the knob
explodes, and the door bursts open.

WITH CLARICE - MOVING SHOT

as she runs around a corner, through a cloud of smoke. She
shoulders aside the shattered door and rushes inside, gun
at the ready in both hands...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY

CLARICE'S POV - MOVING - as she first sees, sitting on the
edge of a bed - a FEMALE HOSTAGE. Black, late 20's,
gagged, hands behind her back. Then, SWIVELLING... she
sees a startled MALE SUSPECT, white, mid-20's, standing by
a window with a rifle in his hands. He is turning towards
her...

Clarice drops into a combat crouch, gun extended, and
shouts.

                     CLARICE
           Freeze! FBI!

CLARICE'S POV - SLOW MOTION

all natural SOUND suspended - as the Suspect faces her
with a strange, pleading expression. The rifle is rising
in his hands, but oddly enough, it is held across his
chest, not pointing. Then another puzzling detail
registers...

THE SUSPECT'S HANDS

are taped to his gun, away from the trigger; he couldn't
use it even if he tried. Suddenly we hear a metallic
CLICK, which registers with unnatural amplification, as -
                                                          2.


Clarice reacts, drops to the floor, rolling sideways, and -

THE "HOSTAGE"

pulls a revolver out from behind her back, still in SLOW
MOTION, raising it in her untied hands. She fires
repeatedly, flames leaping from the muzzle; the SOUND is
an echoing roar in these close quarters, but -

Clarice has come up on one knee, beside an armchair, and
is already firing back herself, two quick SHOTS, which
send -

THE "HOSTAGE"

pitching over the bed, backwards, to shudder and lie still
in a haze of gunsmoke. Clarice rushes to her, clamping one
knee down on her gun hand, still keeping her covered in
case of movement. HOLD for a few beats... then we hear the
shrill blast of a WHISTLE from somewhere, off screen, as
normal ACTION and SOUND are restored.

                    BRIGHAM (O.S.)
          Okay, people, good exercise...

Clarice relaxes, lowering her gun. The lights brighten.

PULLING BACK

we see that we're in some sort of auditorium, with the
"hotel room" and its "corridor" built as a training set.
JOHN BRIGHAM walks onto this set, thumbing a stopwatch.
Mid-40's, ex-Marine. His T-shirt's lettering says
"Firearms Instructor / FBI Academy."

                    BRIGHAM
          Starling's reaction time was
          excellent. Let's break. Critique in
          five.

A class of about forty young FBI trainees, of both sexes,
begins to rise from their seats, mingling and chatting.

Clarice nods amiably to the "Suspect", then gives her
"Hostage" a hand up. It's ARDELIA MAPP, her roommate. Her
broad, clever face breaks into a big smile, as they both
remove ear plugs. Clarice's voice has just a soft trace of
southern accent.

                    ARDELIA
          Damn, Clarice, how'd you make me?
                                                         3.


                    CLARICE
                 (indicating her gun)
          Never cock. Just squeeze.

                    ARDELIA
                 (grins)
          I love it when you talk dirty.

As Brigham joins them, Clarice can't resist a star pupil's
little smile of pride. He frowns good-naturedly.

                    BRIGHAM
          What're you laughin' at, Junior G-Man?
          She got off four rounds to your two.

He takes out a steel-coiled grip flexer, drops it onto her
palm.

                    BRIGHAM
                 (continuing)
          One hundred reps, each hand, every
          day. Now tidy up, the Section Chief
          wants to see you.

He nods a direction, then moves off. Clarice, with her
smile finally fading, looks out into the auditorium.

SPECIAL AGENT JACK CRAWFORD

sits on the top step of the aisle, looking down at her. He
is 53, strongly built. He rises impassively, exits through
the back door. He carries a think manila envelope under
one arm.

Ardelia who is helping Clarice unbuckle her bullet-proof
vest, follows her worried gaze.

                    CLARICE
          What'd I do?

                    ARDELIA
          Stay cool. Just remember to call him
          "God."

                                           CUT TO:

EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA - DAY

Crawford is watching a group of trainees on the firing
range, as Clarice joins him. He looks tired, haunted.
Between master and student, we sense a subtle, muted tug
of sexuality.
                                                         4.


                    CRAWFORD
          Starling, Clarice M., good morning.

                    CLARICE
          Good morning, Mr. Crawford.

                    CRAWFORD
          Your instructors tell me you're doing
          well. Top quarter of the class.

                    CLARICE
          I hope so. They haven't posted
          anything.

                    CRAWFORD
          A job's come up and I thought about
          you. Not really a job, more of - an
          interesting errand. Walk me to my car,
          Starling.

They begin to cross the academy grounds. A group of
trainees jogs by, in matching sweats, following a p.e.
coach.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          We're trying to interview all of the
          serial killers now in custody, for a
          psychobehavioral profile. Could be a
          big help in unsolved cases. Most of
          them have been happy to talk to us.
          They have a compulsion to boast, these
          people... Do you spook easily,
          Starling?

                     CLARICE
          Not yet.

                    CRAWFORD
          You see, the one we want most refuses
          to cooperate. I want you to go after
          him again today, in the asylum.

                    CLARICE
          Who's the subject?

                    CRAWFORD
          The psychiatrist - Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

Clarice stops walking, goes very still. A beat.

                    CLARICE
          The cannibal...
                                                       5.


Crawford doesn't respond, except to study her face.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          Yes, well... Okay, right. I'm glad for
          the chance, sir, but - why me?

                     CRAWFORD
          You're qualified and available. And
          frankly, I can't spare a real agent
          right now.

He walks on again, at a faster clip. She hurried to keep
up.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          I don't expect him to talk to you, but
          I have to be able to say we tried...
          Lecter was a brilliant psychiatrist,
          and he knows all the dodges.
                 (hands her the manila
                  envelope)
          Dossier on him, copy of our
          questionnaire, special ID for you...
          If he won't talk, then I want straight
          reporting. How's he look, how's his
          cell look, what's he writing? The
          Director himself will see your report,
          over your own signature - if I decide
          it's good enough. I want that by 0800
          Wednesday, and keep this to yourself.

They're reached his car. His driver stamps on a cigarette,
climbs in behind the wheel. BURROUGHS, his assistant, says
something into a walkie-talkie, then opens the back door.
But Crawford pulls her aside, a hand on her shoulder. His
intensity is scary.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          Now. I want your full attention,
          Starling. Are you listening to me?

                     CLARICE
          Yes sir.

                    CRAWFORD
          Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter.
          Dr. Chilton at the asylum will go over
          the physical procedures used with him.
                    (more)
                                                          6.


                    CRAWFORD (cont'd)
          Do not deviate from them, for any
          reason. You tell him nothing personal,
          Starling. Believe me, you don't want
          Hannibal Lecter inside your head...
          Just do your job, but never forget
          what he is.

                    CLARICE
                 (a bit unnerved)
          And what is that, sir?

                    CHILTON (V.O.)
          Oh, he's a monster. A pure
          psychopath...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. CHILTON'S OFFICE - BALTIMORE STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE
CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY

CLOSE ON an ID card held in a male hand. Clarice's photo,
official-looking graphics. It calls her a "Federal
Investigator."

                    CHILTON (O.S.)
          It's so rare to capture one alive.
          From a research point of view, Dr.
          Lecter is our most prized asset...

DR. FREDERICK CHILTON looks up from her card. A smarmy
little peacock, behind a vast desk; he's conceived an
instant, hopeless letch for Clarice. He smiles, stroking
her card with his beloved gold pen.

                    CHILTON
          You know, we get a lot of detectives
          here, but I must say, I can't ever
          remember one so attractive...

NEW ANGLE - REVEALS CLARICE

now wearing a more feminine skirt suit. Hair neatly
coiled, elegant shoulder bag, briefcase. He has rudely
left her standing.

                    CHILTON
          Will you be in Baltimore overnight...?
          Because this can be quite a fun town,
          if you have the right guide.

Clarice tires, unsuccessfully, to hide her distaste for
him.
                                                       7.


                     CLARICE
          I'm sure it's a great town, Dr.
          Chilton, but my instructions are to
          talk to Lecter and report back this
          afternoon.

                      CHILTON
                   (pause, sourly)
          I see.
                 (beat)
          Let's make this quick, then. I'm busy.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. ASYLUM CORRIDOR - UPPER FLOOR - DAY

Clarice flinches as a heavy steel gate CLANGS shut behind
her, the bolt shooting home. Chilton walks ahead of her.

                    CHILTON
          Lecter carved up nine people - that
          we're sure of - and cooked his
          favorite bits. We've tried to study
          him, of course - but he's much too
          sophisticated for the standard tests.
          And my, does he hate us! Thinks I'm
          his nemesis... Crawford's very clever,
          isn't he? Using you.

                    CLARICE
          How do you mean, Dr. Chilton?

                    CHILTON
          A pretty young woman, to turn him on?
          I don't believe Lecter's ever seen a
          woman in eight years. And oh, are you
          ever his "taste" - so to speak.

                    CLARICE
          I graduated magna from UVA, Doctor.
          It's not a charm school.

                    CHILTON
          Good. Then you should be able to
          remember the rules.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. DIFFERENT CORRIDOR - LOWER FLOOR - DAY

A darker, even grimmer area. Heavy grids over the lights.
Distant SLAMMINGS and faint, hoarse SHOUTS. They walk
briskly.
                                                       8.


                    CHILTON
          Do not reach through the bars, do not
          touch the bars. You pass him nothing
          but soft paper - no pens or pencils.
          No staples or paperclips in his paper.
          Use the sliding food carrier, no
          exceptions. Do not accept anything he
          attempts to hold out to you. Do you
          understand me?

                    CLARICE
          I understand.

                    CHILTON
          I'm going to show you why we insist on
          such precautions... On the afternoon
          of July 8, 1981, he complained of
          chest pains and was taken to the
          dispensary. His mouthpiece and
          restraints were removed for an EKG.
          When the nurse bent over him, he did
          this to her...

He hands Clarice a small, dog-eared photo. Looking at it,
she is stopped in her tracks. This pleases Chilton.

                    CHILTON
                 (continuing)
          The doctors managed to re-set her jaw,
          more or less, and save one of her
          eyes. His pulse never got over eighty-
          five, even when he ate her tongue.
                 (pauses, he smiles)
          I keep him in here.

He turns, pushes a button. A steel door BUZZES slowly
open, and BARNEY - a big, impassive orderly - awaits them
in an anteroom. On its walls: restraints, mouthpieces,
Mace, tranquilizer guns.

                    CLARICE
                 (quickly blocking him)
          Dr. Chilton - if Lecter feels you're
          his enemy - as you've said - them
          maybe I'll have more luck by myself.
          What do you think?

                    CHILTON
                 (annoyed)
          You might have suggested that in my
          office, and saved me the time.
                                                          9.


                    CLARICE
          But then I would've missed the
          pleasure of your company.

She holds out the photo. A beat. He grabs it, jaw
twitching.

                    CHILTON
          When she's finished, bring her out.

He turns on his heel, goes. Barney smiles reassuringly.

                    BARNEY
          Hi, I'm Barney. He told you, don't get
          near the bars?

                    CLARICE
                 (shaking his hand)
          Clarice Starling. Yes, he did.

                    BARNEY
          Okay. Past the others, it's the last
          cell. Stay to the middle. I put out a
          chair for you.

Sensing her tension, he indicates a nearby security
monitor.

                    BARNEY
                 (continuing)
          I'm watching. You'll do fine.

Clarice nods gratefully. She looks down the long corridor,
takes a deep breath, walks into it. He watches her go.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. DR. LECTER'S CORRIDOR - DAY

MOVING SHOT - with Clarice, as her footsteps ECHO. High to
her right, surveillance cameras. On her left, cells. Some
are padded, with narrow observation slits, others are
normal, barred... Shadowy occupants pacing, MUTTERING...
Suddenly a dark figure in the next-to-last cell hurtles
towards her, his face mashing grotesquely against his bars
as he hisses.

                    DARK FIGURE
          I c-can sssmell your cunt!

Clarice flinches momentarily, but then walks on.
                                                       10.


DR. LECTER'S CELL

is coming slowly INTO VIEW... Behind its barred front wall
is a second barrier of stout nylon net... Sparse, bolted-
down furniture, many softcover books and papers. On the
walls, extraordinarily detailed, skillful drawings, mostly
European cityscapes, in charcoal or crayon.

Clarice stops, at a police distance from his bars, clears
her throat.

                    CLARICE
          Dr. Lecter... My name is Clarice
          Starling. May I talk with you?

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is lounging on his bunk, in white
pajamas, reading an Italian Vogue. He turns, considers
her... A face so long out of the sun, it seems almost
leached - except for the glittering eyes, and the wet red
mouth. He rises smoothly, crossing to stand before her;
the gracious host. His voice is cultured, soft.

                    DR. LECTER
          Good morning.

CUTTING BETWEEN THEM

as Clarice comes a measured distance closer.

                    CLARICE
          Doctor, we have a hard problem in
          psychological profiling. I want to ask
          for your help with a questionnaire.

                    DR. LECTER
          "We" being the Behavioral Science
          Unit, at Quantico. You're one of Jack
          Crawford's, I expect.

                       CLARICE
          I am, yes.

                    DR. LECTER
          May I see your credentials?

Clarice is surprised, but fishes her ID card from her bag,
holds it up for his inspection. He smiles, soothingly.

                    DR. LECTER
                 (continuing)
          Closer, please... clo-ser...
                                                        11.


She complies each time, trying to hide her fear. Dr.
Lecter's nostrils lift, as he gently, like an animal,
tests the air. Then he smiles, glancing at her card.

                    DR. LECTER
                 (continuing)
          That expires in one week. You're not
          real FBI, are you?

                    CLARICE
          I'm - still in training at the Academy.

                    DR. LECTER
          Jack Crawford sent a trainee to me?

                     CLARICE
          We're talking about psychology,
          Doctor, not the Bureau. Can you decide
          for yourself whether or not I'm
          qualified?

                    DR. LECTER
          Mmmmm... That's rather slippery of
          you, Officer Starling. Sit. Please.

She sits in the folding metal desk-chair. He waits
politely till she's settled, then sits down himself, faces
her happily.

                    DR. LECTER
                 (continuing)
          Now then. What did Miggs say to you?
                 (she is puzzled)
          "Multiple Miggs," in the next cell. He
          hissed at you. What did he say?

                    CLARICE
          He said - "I can smell your cunt."

                    DR. LECTER
          I see. I myself cannot. You use Evyan
          skin cream, and sometimes you wear
          L'Air du Temps, but not today. You
          brought your best bag, though, didn't
          you?

                    CLARICE
                 (beat)
          Yes.

                    DR. LECTER
          It's much better than your shoes.
                                                         12.


                    CLARICE
          Maybe they'll catch up.

                    DR. LECTER
          I have no doubt of it.

                    CLARICE
                 (shifting
                  uncomfortably)
          Did you do those drawings, Doctor?

                    DR. LECTER
          Yes. That's the Duomo, seen from the
          Belvedere. Do you know Florence?

                    CLARICE
          All that detail, just from memory...?

                    DR. LECTER
          Memory, Officer Starling, is what I
          have instead of view.

A pause, then Clarice takes the questionnaire from her
case.

                    CLARICE
          Dr. Lecter, if you'd please consider -

                    DR. LECTER
          No, no, no. You were doing fine, you'd
          been courteous and receptive to
          courtesy, you'd established trust with
          the embarrassing truth about Miggs,
          and now this ham-handed segue into
          your questionnaire. It won't do. It's
          stupid and boring.

                    CLARICE
          I'm only asking you to look at this,
          Doctor. Either you will or you won't.

                    DR. LECTER
          Jack Crawford must be very busy indeed
          if he's recruiting help from the
          student body. Busy hunting that new
          one, Buffalo Bill... Such a naughty
          boy! Did Crawford send you to ask for
          my advice on him?

                    CLARICE
          No, I came because we need -
                                                       13.


                    DR. LECTER
          How many women has he used, our Bill?

                    CLARICE
          Five... so far.

                    DR. LECTER
          All flayed...?

                    CLARICE
          Partially, yes. But Doctor, that's an
          active case, I'm not involved. If -

                    DR. LECTER
          Do you know why he's called Buffalo
          Bill? Tell me. The newspapers won't
          say.

                    CLARICE
          I'll tell you if you'll look at this
          form.
                 (he considers, then
                  nods)
          It started as a bad joke in Kansas
          City Homicide. They said... this one
          likes to skin his humps.

                    DR. LECTER
          Witless and misleading. Why do you
          think he takes their skins, Officer
          Starling? Thrill me with your wisdom.

                    CLARICE
          It excites him. Most serial killers
          keep some sort of trophies.

                      DR. LECTER
          I didn't.

                    CLARICE
          No. You ate yours.

A tense beat, then a smile from him, at this small
boldness.

                    DR. LECTER
          Send that through.

She rolls him the questionnaire, in his sliding food tray.
He rises, glances at it, turning a page or two
disdainfully.
                                                       14.


                    DR. LECTER
                 (continuing)
          Oh, Officer Starling... do you think
          you can dissect me with this blunt
          little tool?

                    CLARICE
          No. I only hoped that your knowledge -

Suddenly he whips the tray back at her, with a metallic
CLANG that makes her start. His voice remains a pleasant
purr.

                    DR. LECTER
          You're sooo ambitious, aren't you...?
          You know what you look like to me,
          with your good bag and your cheap
          shoes? You look like a rube. A well-
          scrubbed, hustling rube with a little
          taste... Good nutrition has given you
          some length of bone, but you're not
          more than one generation from poor
          white trash, are you Officer
          Starling...? That accent you're trying
          so desperately to shed - pure West
          Virginia. What was your father, dear?
          Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of
          the lamp...? And oh, how quickly the
          boys found you! All those tedious,
          sticky fumblings, in the back seats of
          cars, while you could only dream of
          getting out. Getting anywhere -yes?
          Getting all the way - to the F...B...I.

His every word has struck her like a tiny, precise dart.
But she squares her jaw and won't give ground.

                    CLARICE
          You see a lot, Dr. Lecter. But are you
          strong enough to point that high-
          powered perception at yourself? How
          about it...? Look at yourself and
          write down the truth.
                 (she slams the tray
                  back at him)
          Or maybe you're afraid to.

                    DR. LECTER
          You're a tough one, aren't you?

                    CLARICE
          Reasonably so. Yes.
                                                       15.


                    DR. LECTER
          And you'd hate to think you were
          common. My, wouldn't that sting! Well
          you're far from common, Officer
          Starling. All you have is the fear of
          it.
                 (beat)
          Now please excuse me. Good day.

                    CLARICE
          And the questionnaire...?

                    DR. LECTER
          A census taker once tried to test me.
          I ate his liver with some fava beans
          and a nice chianti... Fly back to
          school, little Starling.

He steps backwards, then returns to his cot, becoming as
still and remote as a statue. Frustrated, Clarice
hesitates, then finally shoulders her bag and goes,
leaving the questionnaire in his tray. But after just a
few steps, as she passes -

MIGG'S CELL

She sees that creature at his bars again, hissing at her.

                    MIGGS
          I b-bit my wrist so I c-can diiiieeee!
          S-ee how it bleeeeeeeeds?

The dark figure suddenly flings his palm towards her, and -

CLARICE

is spattered on the face and neck - not with blood, but
with pale droplets of semen. She gives a little cry,
touching her fingers to the wetness. Stunned, near tears,
she forces herself to straighten up and walk on, fumbling
for a tissue. From behind her, Dr. Lecter calls out, very
agitated.

                    DR. LECTER (O.S.)
          Officer Starling... Officer Starling!

Clarice slows, stops. She shudders, but makes the very
difficult choice to turn, walk back, stand again in front
of -
                                                       16.


                     DR. LECTER
           Who's shivering with rage. For an
           instant his face opens, and we catch
           a glimpse into hell itself. Then he's
           composed again.

                     DR. LECTER
                  (continuing)
           I would not have had that happen to
           you. Discourtesy is - unspeakably ugly
           to me.

                     CLARICE
           Then please - do this test for me.

                     DR. LECTER
           No. But I will make you happy... I'll
           give you a chance for what you love
           most, Clarice Starling.

                     CLARICE
           What's that, Dr. Lecter?

                      DR. LECTER
           Advancement, of course.
                   (beat)
           Go to Split City. See Miss Mofet, an
           old patient of mine. M-O-F-E-T... Now
           go. Go.
                   (a smile)
           I don't think Miggs could manage again
           so soon, even if he is crazy - do you?

                                          CUT TO:

EXT. THE HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - DAY

The grim gothic pile of the asylum looms overhead as
Clarice rushes out the front doors. She is badly shaken,
almost stumbling, as she rubs at her face. She looks
around for, and finally, with some relief, spots -

HER CAR

an old Pinto, parked nearby. This image begins to BLUR...

CLOSE ON

her face, fighting tears, as the CAMERA begins to WHIRL
AROUND her, almost dizzily. She is seeing, in her mind's
eye -
                                                       17.


IN FLASHBACK

a screen door banging open, on a wooden porch, and a 10-
year old girl - the young Clarice - rushing outside, down
the front steps, and running joyfully across her front
yard to -

MOVING ANGLE - THE GIRL'S POV

a car - late 60's vintage - parked in the dirt road. A
MAN, Clarice's father, is just climbing out. He's tall,
handsome, and has a marshal's badge pinned on his dark
suit. He grins, seeing her, and spreads his arms wide as...

THE YOUNG CLARICE

rushes into them, and he sweeps her up in a hug, spinning
her around, the CAMERA SPINNING with them, and capturing
both their laughing faces, before we abruptly return to -

THE ADULT CLARICE

alone in the parking lot, sagging against her car. Her
face is buried in her arms, she shoulders shaking. SOUND
UPCUT - a steady, rapid series of GUNSHOTS, as we

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FBI ACADEMY FIRING RANGE - DAY

Clarice, in a combat stance, and wearing a sound-muffling
headset, is squeezing off ROUND after ROUND at

A MOVING TARGET

The sillouette of a man, approaching along a track. Her
shots, tightly grouped, are all finding the center chest.
The target stops, quite close to her, still swaying.

Clarice stares at it, deftly working her speedloader. Then
she puts a final, emphatic shot right through THE FIGURE'S
FOREHEAD.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FBI ACADEMY LIBRARY - NIGHT

CLOSE ON a microfilm monitor - a grainy newsphoto of Dr.
Lecter, scrawling past, with an accompanying story ("New
Horrors in Cannibal Trial"), dated 1980.

Clarice is punching keys on the terminal. Other trainees
study at nearby tables.
                                                          18.


She pauses, jotting a note on her pad, as Ardelia comes
by, carrying an armful of books.

                    ARDELIA
          Phone call, Clarice. It's God.

                    CLARICE
          Thanks, Ardelia.

MOVING ANGLE

as Clarice rises, grabbing her notebook, and follows
Ardelia past high metal bookstacks.

                    ARDELIA
          You missed Fourth Amendment law.
          Unlawful seizure, real juicy stuff.
          Where were you all afternoon?

                    CLARICE
          Pleading with a crazy man, with come
          all over my face.

Ardelia stares at her, figures it's a put-on, laughs.

                    ARDELIA
          Damn. Wish I had time for a social
          life.

Clarice grins, as Ardelia indicates a phone receiver
resting on the check-out desk, then moves on. Clarice
picks it up.

                    CLARICE
                 (on phone)
          Mr. Crawford?

                                           CUT TO:

INT. CRAWFORD'S HOUSE - STUDY - NIGHT

Crawford, in a cardigan, sits in a wing chair in the book-
lined study of his suburban home. He turns the pages of
Clarice's memo as they talk. His tone is sharp.

                    CRAWFORD
          I've read your interim memo on Lecter.
          You sure you've left nothing out?
                                                      19.


INTERCUTTING

                    CLARICE
          It's all there, sir, practically
          verbatim.

                    CRAWFORD
          Every word, Starling? Every gesture?

                    CLARICE
                 (a bit heatedly)
          Right down to the kleenex I used.
                 (he is silent)
          Sir, why? Is something wrong?

                    CRAWFORD
          He mentioned a name, at the very end.
          "Mofet..." Any followup on her?

                    CLARICE
          I spent all evening on the mainframe.
          Lecter altered or destroyed most of
          his patient histories, prior to
          capture. No record of anyone named
          Mofet. But "Split City" sounded like
          it might have have something to do
          with divorce. I tracked it down in the
          library's catalogue of national yellow
          pages.
                 (glancing at her
                  notes)
          It's a mini-storage facility outside
          Baltimore, where Lecter had his
          practice.

She pauses, expecting some soft of approval for her
cleverness.

                    CRAWFORD
          Well? Why aren't you there right now?

                    CLARICE
          Sir, that's a field job. It's outside
          the scope of my assignment. And I've
          got a test tomorrow on -

                    CRAWFORD
          Do you recall my instructions to you,
          Starling? What were they?

                    CLARICE
          To complete and file my report by 0800
          Wednesday. But sir -
                                                        20.


                    CRAWFORD
          Then do that, Starling. Do just
          exactly that.

                    CLARICE
          Sir, what is it? There's something
          you're not telling me.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (beat)
          Miggs has been murdered.

                    CLARICE
                 (startled, upset)
          Murdered...? How?

                    CRAWFORD
          The orderly heard Lecter whispering to
          him, all afternoon, and Miggs crying.
          They found him at bed check. He'd
          swallowed his own tongue... Chilton is
          scared stiff the family will file a
          civil rights lawsuit, and he's trying
          to blame it on you. I told the little
          prick your conduct was flawless.
                 (beat)
          Starling...?

                    CLARICE
          I'm here, sir, I just - I don't know
          how to feel about it.

                    CRAWFORD
          You don't have to feel any way about
          it. Lecter did it to amuse himself.
          Why not, what can they do? Take away
          his books for awhile, and no jello...
                 (a bit softer)
          I know it got ugly today. But this is
          your report, Starling - take it as far
          as you can. On your own time, outside
          of class. Now carry on.

ANGLE ON CLARICE

as we hear the loud CLICK of Crawford hanging up. She
stares at her receiver, stung by his abruptness.

                    CLARICE
          Well God damn it! You old creep.
          Creepo son of a bitch. Let Miggs
          squirt you and see how you like it.
                                                          21.


She slams her receiver into its cradle.

ANGLE ON CRAWFORD

as he flips aside her memo, then rises, wearily. He leaves
his study, flicking off the lamp, and pads away in his
slippers.

                                          CUT TO:

INT. CRAWFORD'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

A private nurse, in white, stands marking a clipboard
chart, as Crawford enters his tidy bedroom.

                    CRAWFORD
          I'll take over, Patricia. You get some
          rest.

The nurse nods, hands him the chart, and goes. He glances
at it, then sets it aside. He crosses to -

BELLA CRAWFORD

who lies in an elevated hospital bed. Nearby are an oxygen
tank and mask, floral arrangements. Her breathing is
shallow, very labored. Crawford looks down at his comatose
wife for a long moment, tenderly brushes a strand of her
hair back into place, then bends over to kiss her
forehead. SOUND UPCUT - THUNDER and RAIN...

                                          DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. "SPLIT CITY MINI-STORAGE" - DUSK (RAINING)

An orange neon sign, streaked with rain, identifies out
location. It looms over a hurricane fence, topped with
barbed wire. Inside, row on row of garage-sized,
cinderblock sheds.

                    MR. YOW (V.O.)
          Unit 31 was leased for ten years. Pre-
          paid in full... The contract is in the
          name of "Miss Hester Mofet."

                                          CUT TO:

EXT. STORAGE UNIT NUMBER 31 - DUSK

Clarice, kneeling before a closed, roll-up metal door,
takes a FLASH photo of its sealed padlock. EVERETT YOW, a
fat, 60ish Chinaman, holds an umbrella over them both. He
looks unhappy.
                                                          22.


                    CLARICE
          So no one's been in here since - 1980?

She opens the padlock, using a fat ring of tagged keys,
then sets aside both keys and lock.

                    MR. YOW
          Not to my knowledge. Privacy is a
          great concern to my customers. But, if
          you say this is an FBI matter...

                    CLARICE
          I won't disturb anything, Mr. Yow, I
          promise. Be gone before you know it.

Slinging her camera over a shoulder, she tugs at the
handle, but the door won't budge. Another tug, harder - no
good. Mr. Yow stoops to help, puffing hard, but it's
firmly stuck. He sighs.

                    MR. YOW
          We could return tomorrow, with my son.
          Or perhaps some workmen...?

Clarice crosses to her Pinto, which faces the shed,
reaches in to turn on her headlights. Mr. Yow blinks in
the sudden brightness. Then she opens her truck, rummaging
inside, and returns with a bumper jack, a flashlight, and
a rubber floor mat.

                    CLARICE
          Would you hold these, please?

She gives him her flashlight and camera, drops the mat on
the ground, then sets the bumper jack in place, under the
center of the door. She pumps on the jack handle as the
door SQUEALS slowly up, but it won't go higher than about
18 inches, despite all her exertions. She spreads out the
rubber mat on the cement, takes the flashlight from Mr.
Yow, then lies on the mat.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. THE STORAGE SHED - DUSK (VERY DARK)

Clarice, backlit, peers under the door. She reaches in,
makes a sweep with her flashlight. We catch shadowy
outlines - boxes, then the flattened tires of a car...
SOUND of rain on the tin roof, and other noises, too -
small RUSTLINGS. Mr. Yow's chubby face appears down beside
Clarice's.
                                                          23.


                    MR. YOW
          It smells like mice... I think I hear
          them, too - don't you?

Clarice turns onto her back, starts squirming under the
door.

                    MR. YOW
                 (continuing)
          You're going in there?

                                         CUT BACK TO:

EXT. STORAGE UNIT NUMBER 31 - DUSK

Clarice pulls her head back out again, reaching to take
her camera from him. She hands him a card, trying to
appear nonchalant.

                    CLARICE
          Mr. Yow, if this door should fall
          down -ha ha! - or anything else -
          would you be kind enough to call this
          number? It's our Baltimore field
          office. They know you're here with
          me... Do you understand?

                     MR. YOW
          Might I suggest tucking your pants
          into your socks? To prevent mouse
          intrusion.

                     CLARICE
                 (beat)
          Good idea.

                                         CUT BACK TO:

INT. STORAGE SHED - DUSK (VERY DARK)

Clarice squirms, on her back, through the narrow opening.
As she squeezes all the way in, she snags one thigh on the
metal edge of the door. She curses softly, shining her
flashlight on her ripped khakis - there's a small streak
of blood.

                    MR. YOW (O.S.)
          Okay, Miss Starling?

                    CLARICE
          Okay, Mr. Yow...

She shines her light around. In its narrow beam, we see -
                                                       24.


CLARICE'S POV - UPWARD, SHIFTING

spiderwebs, everywhere... high stacks of cardboard
boxes... a few dusty pieces of furniture... the big car,
oddly long and tall, covered with a tarp... Suddenly
there's a scurrying of loud MUSICAL NOTES. Clarice turns,
scared, her beam capturing... an old upright piano.

                    MR. YOW (O.S.)
          You're playing a piano, Miss Starling?

                    CLARICE
          That wasn't me.

                     MR. YOW (O.S.)
          Oh.

Clarice crawls a bit further. There's hardly room to
stand, but she finally manages to wriggle upright, clawing
away cobwebs, next to the car. Holding her light under one
arm, she takes several FLASH photos of the shed's
interior, ending with the car. Then, slinging her camera
over the shoulder, she folds back the tarp, resting it on
the roof. The resulting clouds of dust make her cough.

THE CAR

is an antique beauty, a 1931 Packard. It's very dusty,
despite the tarp. Curtains close off the back passenger
compartment, but there's a narrow gap in them. More mousy
RUSTLINGS.

CLARICE

peers in through the gap, aiming her flashlight.

HER POV - SHIFTING

as the thin flashlight beam picks out: the broad back
seat... as open album of lacy, old-fashioned Valentines...
a crumpled lap rug, on the floor... and then a pair of
women's shiny, high-heeled pumps... Above these, the hem
of a fancy satin evening gown - and a pair of pale,
stockinged legs.

Clarice recoils, alarmed, then steadies herself.

                    CLARICE
          Mr. Yow? Oh Mr. Yow...? It looks like
          somebody is sitting in this car.
                                                         25.


                    MR. YOW (O.S.)
          Oh my! Oh my... Maybe you better come
          out now, Miss Starling.

                    CLARICE
          Not yet! - just wait for me.
                 (under the breath)
          Maybe in about two seconds.

She leans down with her camera, takes a FLASH through the
gap, then tries the door handle. Locked. So is the front
door. She looks around, aiming her light, and locates a
tangle of coat-hangers, sticking out of a carton of bric-a-
brac. She pulls out one of these, straightens it quickly,
bends the tip into a hook.

CLOSE ANGLE

as she jams this tool inside the join at the top of the
back passenger window, then fishes around till she can
snag the inside door latch, pulling up. A satisfying CLICK.

Clarice opens the door - it hits stacked boxes, and won't
open far -then very cautiously leans inside, aiming her
flashlight.

HER POV - MOVING LIGHT BEAM

revealing more of the evening gown... a pair of hands, in
white, elbow-length gloves - one rests on the lap, the
other atop a large, beaded, drawstring evening bag...
thick strands of costume pearls over the breasts... and
finally the white neck stub of a female mannequin. No face
or head.

CLARICE

sighs with relief. She takes a couple more FLASHES, then
very carefully lifts out the Valentine album, holding it
by the corners, and setting it atop the car. Then she
eases herself inside, onto the back seat, as the springs
SQUEAK loudly.

ONE GLOVED HAND slides off the lap, brushing Clarice's
thigh.

Clarice starts a bit, then pokes at the gloved arm, hard.
She peels back a bit of glove, revealing the white,
synthetic elbow. She smiles, shaking her head at her own
jumpiness, as she reaches over the mannequin's lap to
loosen the evening bag's drawstring.
                                                          26.


A SEVERED HUMAN HEAD stares back at her, as the beaded
material slides away.

Clarice lurches back, gasping loudly, and several long,
heart-pounding moments pass before she can make herself
look more closely.

The head bobs gently in a pool of alcohol, in a laboratory
specimen jar. It is a man's head, but grotesquely
transformed, by the addition of heavy makeup, earrings,
and a sodden wig, into a woman's face. Over the years the
makeup has smeared badly, and the pupils have gone almost
milky white.

CLARICE

staring at this terrible thing, is pleased to find herself
quickly regaining control. She murmurs to herself.

                    CLARICE
          Well, Toto, we're not in Kansas
          anymore.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT. QUINN'S HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - NIGHT (RAINING)

A loud clap of THUNDER, as a flash of LIGHTNING
illuminates the eerie towers and barred windows of the
asylum.

MOVING ANGLE on Clarice as she climbs from her car, runs
through heavy rain towards the main entrance, where a
guard admits her.

                                            CUT TO:

INT. DR. LECTER'S CELL AND CORRIDOR - NIGHT (DIM LIGHT)

On a noiseless TV screen, an evangelist rants, waving his
arms. Behind him, a swaying choir in gaudy robes.

                    CLARICE (O.S.)
          It's an anagram, isn't it, Doctor?

PAN TO Clarice, with her wet hair plastered flat, sitting
on the corridor floor to one side of this TV, which has
been stationed so that Dr. Lecter cannot avoid seeing it.

                    CLARICE
          Hester Mofet... "The rest of me." Miss
          The-Rest-of-Me... Meaning, you rented
          that place.
                                                        27.


HER POV

he's lost in shadows; we can't see him. He doesn't respond.

CUTTING BETWEEN THEM

Clarice and the darkened call - as she tries again.

                    CLARICE
          You put those - things in there. Paid
          for it in advance, ten years ago...
          Why, Dr. Lecter?

The food carrier suddenly SWISHES out of the cell, making
her jump up. In its tray is a clean, folded white towel.
She hesitates, then crosses, takes this.

                     CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          Thank you.

She sits again, rubbing her wet hair. When he finally
speaks, he's on the floor, too - a deeper, hunching
darkness in the shadows, occasionally striped by the
flickering TV light.

                    DR. LECTER
          Your bleeding has stopped.

                    CLARICE
          How did -
                 (she stops herself)
          It's nothing. A scratch.

                    DR. LECTER
          Why don't you ask me about Buffalo
          Bill?

                    CLARICE
                 (surprised, a beat)
          Why? Do you know something about him?

                    DR. LECTER
          I might if I saw the case file. You
          could get that for me.

                    CLARICE
          Why don't you tell me about "Miss
          Mofet?" You wanted me to find him. Or
          do I have to wait for the lab?
                                         28.


          DR. LECTER
       (sighs)
His real name is Benjamin Raspail. A
former patient of mine, whose romantic
attachments ran to, shall we say, the
exotic...? I didn't kill him, merely
tucked him away. Very much as I found
him, in that ridiculous car, in his
own garage, after he's missed three
appointments. You'd have him under
"Missing Person" - which, in poor
Raspail's case, could hardly be more
true.

          CLARICE
If you didn't kill him, then who did?

          DR. LECTER
Who can say...? Best thing for him,
really. His therapy was going nowhere.

          CLARICE
Wouldn't it have been easier to just
leave him for the police to find?

           DR. LECTER
And have them clomping about in my
life? Oh dear, no... At that time I
still had certain private amusements
of my own.
       (beat)
How did you feel when you saw him,
Clarice? May I call you Clarice?

          CLARICE
Scared, at first. Then - exhilarated.

          DR. LECTER
Ahhh... Why?

          CLARICE
Because you weren't wasting my time.

          DR. LECTER
Do you have something you use, when
you need to get up your courage?
Memories, tableaux... scenes from your
early life?

          CLARICE
I don't know. Next time I'll have to
check.
                                                          29.


                    DR. LECTER
          Jack Crawford is helping your career,
          isn't he? Apparently he likes you. And
          you like him, too.

                    CLARICE
          I never thought about it.

                    DR. LECTER
          Your first lie to me, Clarice. How
          sad. Tell me -do you think Crawford
          wants you, sexually? True, he's much
          older, but - do you think he
          visualizes... scenarios, exchanges...?
          Fucking you?

                    CLARICE
          That doesn't interest me, Doctor. And
          it's the sort of thing Miggs would ask.

                    DR. LECTER
          Not anymore.
                 (beat)
          Surely the odd confluence of events
          hasn't escaped you, Clarice. Crawford
          dangles you before me. Then I give you
          a bit of help. Do you think it's
          because I like to look at you, and
          imagine how good you would taste...?

                    CLARICE
          I don't know. Is it?

                    DR. LECTER
          Or doesn't this all begin to suggest
          to you a kind of... negotiation?
          There's something Crawford can give
          me, and I want to trade for it. I even
          wrote to him, offering my help. But he
          hates me, so he won't deal directly.

Dr. Lecter slowly turns up the rheostat in his cell. As
his lights rise, we see that the cell's been stripped
bare. Gone are his books, drawings, mattress - even his
toilet seat. She stands, too, startled. They face each
other.

                    DR. LECTER
                 (continuing)
          Punishment, you see. For Miggs. Just
          like that gospel program. When you
          leave, they'll turn the volume way up.
          Chilton does enjoy his petty torments.
                                                        30.


                    CLARICE
          Who killed Raspail, Doctor...? You
          know, don't you?

                    DR. LECTER
          I've been in this room for eight
          years, Clarice. I know they will
          never, ever let me out while I'm
          alive. What I want is a view. I want
          a window where I can see a tree, or
          even water. I want to be in a federal
          institution, away from Chilton - and
          I want a view. I'll give good value
          for it. Crawford could do that for me,
          but he won't. You persuade him.

                    CLARICE
                 (almost a whisper)
          Who killed your patient?

                    DR. LECTER
          Oh, a very naughty boy. Someone you
          and Jack Crawford are most anxious to
          meet.

                    CLARICE
          Buffalo Bill...?
                 (incredulous)
          Bill killed him, all those years
          ago...? That's impossible.

But Dr. Lecter only smiles, enigmatically.

                    DR. LECTER
          Who is he stalking right now, Clarice?
          I wonder, don't you? How many more
          young women will have to die, before
          you trade with me...?

As Clarice stares at him, unsure how to respond -

                                         DISSOLVE TO:

INT. CATHERINE MARTIN'S APARTMENT - MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE -
NIGHT

CATHERINE MARTIN takes a long toke from a bong pipe. She
is 21, a tall, big-boned, rather fleshy girl with long
brown fair. Her head is on the lap of her boyfriend, CODY;
they're sprawled on a couch in the den of her well-
furnished apartment. The TV in on, with low SOUND.
                                                       31.


                    CATHERINE
          This stuff's givin' me the munchies.
          Where's that bag of popcorn?

                    CODY
          Shit. Left the groceries in the car.

He starts to rise, but she pushes him back.

                    CATHERINE
          'S okay, I'll go.

She rises, goes out the front door.

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. PARKING LOT - THE APARTMENT COMPLEX - NIGHT

Catherine straightens, with her bag of groceries, shutting
her car's back door. She sees, a short distance away -

A MAN

standing at the open rear door of a brown panel truck. His
right forearm is in a cast and sling; he is struggling,
unsuccessfully, to hoist an armchair into the truck.
Parked nearby, other cars, RVs, a boat on a trailer. A
thin, breast-high fog fills the lot; arc lights make
yellow pools.

Catherine hesitates, then crosses towards the man.

                    CATHERINE
          Help you with that?

                    MAN
          Would you? Thanks.

His voice is odd, strained, very soft. A fog lamp, set on
end on the ground, distorts his features from below. We
can't get a good glimpse of his face, but his body is
plump, above average height; he's in his mid 30's. She
sets down the bag, then together they easily lift the
chair into the truck.

                    MAN (O.S.)
          Let's slide it up, you mind?

                                         CUT TO:
                                                         32.


INT. THE PANEL TRUCK - NIGHT

He climbs inside the truck, ducking under a small hand
winch, and grabs the chair. She hesitates again, but
climbs in after him; together they slide the chair
forward, behind the seats.

                    MAN
          Are you about a size 14?

                     CATHERINE
                  (surprised)
          What?

Suddenly, in the shadowy dark, he clubs her over the back
of her head with his cast. She moans, slumps unconscious,
sliding off the armchair to lie on her stomach. He pulls
off his cast and sling, tosses them aside, then hops out
of the truck, grabs his lamp, climbs back inside, and
pulls the door shut. He bends over her face with the lamp.
We hear her shallow BREATHING.

                     MAN
          Good.

He peels back the collar of her blouse, reading the size
tag.

                     MAN
                  (continuing)
          Good.

He carefully slits her blouse up the back, with a pair of
bandage scissors, peeling apart the two halves. There's no
bra strap. He strokes her bare skin delicately, very
happily.

                    MAN
                 (continuing)
          Gooood...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. THE PARKING LOT - NIGHT

LOW ANGLE - CLOSE - on Catherine's grocery bag, as her
blouse is tossed out beside it. SOUND of the truck's motor
starting. The truck backs up, one rear wheel knocking over
the bag, partly squashing it. Then is drives away,
taillights shrinking, as a lone orange rolls slowly away
from the bag...

                                         DISSOLVE TO:
                                                          33.


INT. FBI ACADEMY CLASSROOM - QUANTICO - DAY

CLOSE ON a large video screen, where a BLURRY image
gradually sharpens, resolving into two separate pieces of
fabric.

                    INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)
          Electron microscopy reveals fiber
          "signatures" that are nearly as
          distinct as fingerprints...

Clarice sits at a long table, with other trainees. Ardelia
is beside her. Other tables and students in the
background. Each trainee has his own microscope. Clarice
is tired, but straightens, hearing -

                     INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)
                  (continuing)
          Both of these blouses were worn by
          victims of Buffalo Bill. They were
          found in two different states, and
          four months apart. He always slits
          them up the back, like a funeral
          suit...

ON THE SCREEN

successively CLOSER VIEWS of the cut fabric edges, until
we are seeing individual threads, big as tree limbs. The
cuts match.

                    INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)
          The bunching you see - this
          compression - is characteristic of
          scissor cuts, rather than a single
          blade. And, as you see - Bill always
          uses the same pair...

ANGLE ON THE DOOR

as John Brigham, the gunnery instructor, sticks his head
in.

                    BRIGHAM
          Clarice Starling! Are you in here?

                                          CUT TO:

INT. HALLWAY - CLASSROOM BUILDING - DAY

Clarice and Brigham walk briskly down the hall, passing
other trainees. He carries a small canvas bag.
                                                         34.


                    BRIGHAM
          Get your field gear, take stuff for
          overnight. You're goin' with Crawford.

                       CLARICE
          Where?

                    BRIGHAM
          Some fishermen in West Virginia found
          an unidentified girl's body. It's a
          Buffalo Bill-type situation. Been in
          the water about a week, and Jack needs
          somebody that can print a floater.
          Think you can handle it?

                    CLARICE
                 (thinking quickly)
          I'll need the big fingerprint kit...
          and the one-to-one Polaroid, the CU-5,
          with film packs and batteries.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BRIGHAM'S JEEP CHEROKEE - DAY (DRIVING)

Brigham steers as they pass hangars, parked planes, an
airstrip. Clarice holds a big fingerprint kit and a
weekend bag.

                    BRIGHAM
          Jack's pretty tough on you, isn't he?
          Impatient...

                       CLARICE
          Sometimes.

                    BRIGHAM
          He's got a lot on his mind besides
          Buffalo Bill... His wife, Bella, is
          real sick. Comatose... I'm tellin' you
          about it now, 'cause he may never.

Clarice absorbs this in silence as they stop near an
ancient, rather dilapidated Beechcraft. Its door is open,
the twin props and beacons already turning. Brigham turns
to her, holding out his small canvas bag.

                    BRIGHAM
                 (continuing)
          You're goin' in the field, so you
          gotta have full kit. Take this - it's
          my own...
                                                       35.


Clarice opens the bag, stares at the big blue gun nestled
in its shoulder holster. She looks up at him, touched.

                    BRIGHAM
                 (continuing)
          Wear it, don't ever leave it in your
          purse. Dry fire it whenever you get
          the chance. And do your exercises.

                    CLARICE
          I will... I promise.

                    BRIGHAM
          Listen, I hope you never need a thing
          I've taught you. But you've got
          something... Jack sees it, I do too.
          If you ever need to, you can shoot.

She nods, climbs out. Then she looks back in at him.
They're both moved by this rite of passage, but a little
embarrassed.

                    BRIGHAM
                 (continuing)
          Bless you, Starling...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BEECHCRAFT PLANE - DAY (FLYING)

CLARICE'S POV - Out the plane's window, at the landscape
far below. Wisps of cloud, a quilt of farms.

Clarice turns from the window, looks at a think folder in
her lap. The cover reads "Case File: / BUFFALO BILL."
Clarice is moody, distracted. She hesitates, then opens
the file, begins to scan.

INSERTS - HER POV

Police forms, some handwritten... Typed lab reports; we
catch words, phrases: "Autopsy Protocols", "Histamine
Analysis"... Grainy enlargements of bullet slugs, showing
matched grooves... And then a stack of victim photos. The
first one, taken from a good distance away, shows a nude
female body, face down on a pebbly riverbank, surrounded
by bits of litter.

Clarice hesitates again, then flips this photo to look at
the next. It makes her flinch, just slightly. Quickly she
turns through several more photographs, trying hard to
concentrate.
                                                          36.


                      CRAWFORD (O.S.)
            He keeps them alive for three days.

NEW ANGLE

shows Crawford standing over her, swaying with the plane's
motion. Behind him, the open cockpit door, the pilot's
back. Crawford sits, removing sunglasses. He rubs his eyes.

                      CRAWFORD
            Why, we don't yet know... There's no
            evidence of rape or physical abuse
            prior to death. All the mutilation you
            see there is post-mortem.
                   (a beat; he glances
                    at her)
            I'm hot, are you hot? Bobby, it's too
            damned hot back here...

The pilot adjusts a valve. Crawford turns to her again.

                      CRAWFORD
                   (continuing)
            So. Three days. Then he shoots them,
            skins them -usually just the torsos -
            and dumps them. Each body in a
            different river, in a different state,
            downstream from an interstate
            highway. The water leaves us no
            fingerprints, fibers, DNA fluids - no
            trace evidence at all. That's Fredrica
            Bimmel, the first one...

A COLOR PHOTO - IN CLARICE'S HANDS

shows a pretty, plump-cheeked brunette, in her high school
graduation cap and gown. She smiles at us with touching
optimism.

                      CRAWFORD (O.S.)
            A big girl, like all the rest. Went
            about 160... Her corpse was the only
            one he took the trouble to weight
            down, so actually, she was the third
            girl found. After her, he got lazy...

NEW ANGLE

as Clarice stares at the girl's face, moved. Crawford
pulls a map from the file, spreads it out. It shows the
central and eastern U.S., with widely-spaced, hand-drawn
markings.
                                                       37.


                     CRAWFORD
          Blue square for Belvedere, Ohio, where
          the Bimmel girl was abducted. Blue
          triangle where her body was found -
          down here in Missouri. Same marks for
          the other four girls, in different
          colors. This new one, today... washed
          up here.
                 (he marks with a
                   Flair pen)
          Elk River, in West Virginia, about six
          miles below U.S. 79. Real boonies.

                    CLARICE
          There's no correlation at all between
          where they're kidnapped and where
          they're found...?
                 (he shakes his head)
          What if - what if you trace the
          heaviest-traffic routes backwards from
          the dump sites? Do they converge at
          all?

                    CRAWFORD
          Good idea, but he thought of it, too.
          We've run simulations, using different
          vectors and the best dates we can
          assign. You put it all in the
          computer, and smoke comes out. No,
          this one is different. Then one has
          seen us coming...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. RENTAL CAR - DAY (DRIVING)

Crawford steers, following a highway patrol car along a
winding mountain road. Clarice has the file open on her
lap. He glances at her, inscrutable behind his sunglasses.

                    CRAWFORD
          Talk about him, Starling. Tell me what
          you see.

                     CLARICE
                 (choosing her words
                  carefully)
          He's a white male... Serial killers
          tend to hunt within their own ethnic
          group. And he's not a drifter - he's
          got his own house, somewhere. Not an
          apartment.
                                                     38.


                     CRAWFORD
          Why?

                    CLARICE
          What he does with them - takes
          privacy... Time, tools... He's in his
          30's or 40's - he's got real physical
          strength, but combined with an older
          man's self-control. He's cautious,
          precise, never impulsive... This won't
          end in suicide, like they often do.

                     CRAWFORD
          Why not?

                    CLARICE
          He's got a real taste for it now. And
          he's getting better at his work.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (a beat; impressed)
          Maybe you've got a knack for this...
          I guess we're about to find out.

                    CLARICE
                 (quietly, evenly)
          Like I have a "knack" for Dr. Lecter?

He studies her a few moments, measuring her anger.

                    CRAWFORD
          Okay, Starling. Let's have it.

                    CLARICE
          You haven't said a word today about
          that garage. Or what I found there.

                    CRAWFORD
          What should I say? You did fine work.
          We'll wait on the lab.

                    CLARICE
          You knew. You knew from the start that
          Lecter held the key to this... But you
          weren't up front with me. You sent me
          in to him naked.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (beat)
          Are you finished?
                                                          39.


                    CLARICE
          He starts this - buzzing in me, in my
          head. He makes me feel violated... You
          used me, Mr. Crawford.

A shadow of regret passes over his face, but he answers
sternly.

                    CRAWFORD
          Number One. Maybe there's a
          connection, maybe not. Lying and
          breathing are the same thing to
          Lecter. Number Two. If I'd sent you in
          there with something to hide from him,
          he'd have known it, instantly. He'd
          never have trusted you.

She starts to answer, then is silent. He is right. By now
the two cars are entering a tidy little town - tree-lined
streets, wooden houses, one-story shops, mountains in the
background. They slow, turn.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          Number Three, I didn't bring you along
          today just because you can do first-
          rate forensics. If Lecter is becoming
          part of this case, you've got the most
          current read on him. And Number
          Four - you don't have to like me, or
          the way I do things. But you do have
          to keep a cool head. Especially now...
          Because from here on out, you'll know
          everything I do. Are we straight on
          that?

Clarice nods, silently; it's as close to an apology as
she's likely to get. She stares out the windshield.

JUST AHEAD OF THEM

the highway patrol cruiser noses into a curb, next to
other police cars, facing a big white frame house. Its
sign reads "Potter Funeral Home." Two troopers climb from
the car.

Crawford parks too, then kills the engine. He turns to
her, removing his sunglasses, gestures to the case file.
                                                        40.


                    CRAWFORD
                 (softly)
          You think about him long enough, you
          get a feel for him... Then, if you're
          lucky, out of all the stuff you know,
          one little part of it tugs at you,
          tries to get your attention... You let
          me know when that happens, Starling.
          Live right behind your eyes, today.
          Don't try to impose any patterns on
          this guy. Just stay open and let him
          show you...

One of the troopers, impassive in his sunglasses and hat,
peers in through Crawford's window. Crawford nods to him,
then turns back to Clarice.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          School's out, Starling.

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. SIDEWALK OF THE FUNERAL HOME - POTTER, WEST VA. - DAY

SOUND of organ music, as Clarice, carrying her fingerprint
kit, mounts some steps to the sidewalk. She stops, seeing -

COUNTRY PEOPLE

in their somber best, filing into the mortuary for a
service. The music - "Shall We Gather At The River?" - is
issuing from the open double doors. Several of the
mourners glance over at her curiously.

ANGLE ON CLARICE

staring back at the mourners, hearing the music, as a
sense memory is triggered in her...

IN FLASHBACK - LOW ANGLE, MOVING

as we approach, down the aisle of a country chapel, an
open wooden coffin. Sad country faces turn, looking at us
from the flanking pews. The b.g. organ hymn is "Shall We
Gather...?"

THE SAD, 10 YEAR-OLD CLARICE

in her best dress, is reluctantly approaching the casket.
Her hands are held by the plump hands of unseen matrons.
                                                       41.


CHILD'S POV

on the looming coffin... closer and closer... until
finally she can see, lying inside it... her dead father,
arms folded, his marshal's badge still pinned to his lapel.

                    CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          Starling...?

NEW ANGLE (PRESENT DAY)

as the grownup Clarice turns towards the impatient
Crawford. Like her, he carries a large case.

                    CRAWFORD
          We're around back.

                                          CUT TO:

INT. FUNERAL HOME - BACK CORRIDOR - DAY

A young deputy, several state troopers, and a SHERIFF are
all waiting, as Crawford and Clarice enter. The dim,
cluttered corridor doubles as storage space - there's a
treadle sewing machine, a soft-drink machine, a tricycle.
The MUSIC is closer. Crawford shakes hands with the
sheriff.

                    CRAWFORD
          Sheriff Perkins? Jack Crawford, FBI...
          This is Officer Starling. We
          appreciate your phoning us.

                    SHERIFF
                 (grim, unsociable)
          I didn't call you. That was somebody
          from the state attorney's office...
          'For you do a thing else, I'm gon'
          find out if this girl's local. It
          could just be somethin' that outside
          elements has dumped on us.

He casts a sidelong, unhappy glance at Clarice.

                    CRAWFORD
          Wellsir, that's where we can help. If -

                    SHERIFF
          I don't even know you, Mister... Now
          we'll extend you ever courtesy, just
          soon as we can, but for right now -
                                                       42.


                    CRAWFORD
          Sheriff, this, ah - this type of sex
          crime has some aspects I'd rather
          discuss just between the two of us.
          Know what I mean?

He indicates Clarice with his eyes. The sheriff hesitates,
nods, then lets Crawford guide him into a small office,
closing the door behind them. Muffled WORDS from there.

CLARICE

burning at this slight, is left alone with the troopers,
who peek at her with shy curiosity. She pulls her blazer
a bit tighter, self-conscious about her bulging shoulder
holster.

ANGLE ON THE OFFICE DOOR

as, after a few more moments, the sheriff and Crawford
emerge. The sheriff, still not very happy, addresses his
deputy.

                    SHERIFF
          Oscar, run fetch Dr. Akin from the
          chapel. And tell Lamar to come on when
          he's done playin' that music.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. EMBALMING ROOM - DAY

Crawford, in one corner of the room, has set up a Litton
Policefax fingerprint transmitter. SOUND of many men's low
voices, in background. He is on the phone, and has to
speak loudly.

                    CRAWFORD
          I need a six-way linkup! Chicago,
          Detroit, Cleveland, St. Louis,
          Atlanta, and Dallas... What?... Can
          you hear me...?

He looks around, frustrated by the noisy circus atmosphere.

CLARICE

is pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. She raises her
voice, turning up her natural accent by several notches.
                                                       43.


                    CLARICE
          Gentlemen. You officers and gentlemen!
          Listen here a minute, please. There's
          things I need to do for her...

WIDER ANGLE

as we see that the small room is very crowded with
deputies and troopers. They gradually fall silent, looking
at her.

                    CLARICE (O.S.)
          Y'all brought her this far, and I know
          her folks would thank you if they
          could. Now please - go on out and let
          me take care of her... Go on, now.

The men look at one another, a little bashfully, then
begin to to file out, whispering among themselves. As they
go, a bright green body bag is REVEALED, tightly zipped,
lying on a porcelain embalming table. It is almost the
only modern object in this Victorian room, with its glass-
paned cabinets and faded wallpaper, decorated with cabbage
roses.

FAVORING CRAWFORD

as he looks at Clarice with a new degree of respect. Men
brush by him, till finally only two are left: DR. AKIN, a
family g.p., and LAMAR, a lean, whiskey-reddened
mortician. SOUND of the door closing. Lamar dabs around
his nostrils with Vicks VapoRub.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (on phone)
          We're starting. Tell everybody to
          stand by for fingerprint transmission.

CLARICE

at a side counter, has turned back to her open fingerprint
kit. She is lifting out a camera when she hears the ZIPPER
of the body bag being slowly opened, behind her... One
gloved hand flies to her mouth as she reacts,
involuntarily, to the sudden smell. She blinks at her
reflection in the cabinet glass, then steels herself to
turn, look at the corpse.

                       CLARICE
                    (pause; softly)
          Bill...
                                                         44.


She steadies herself by raising her camera, takes a FLASH
photo.

LOW ANGLE - LOOKING UP, FROM BENEATH TABLE

as Dr. Akin gently lifts aside one of the dead girl's
arms. A piece of fishing line, with multiple hooks, is
still snagged around it, dangling. Crawford leans in for
a closer look.

                    DR. AKIN
          Wrongful death... She'll have to go to
          the state pathologist at Claxton when
          you're done.
                 (Crawford nods)
          I better - get on back for the rest of
          that service. Lamar'll help you.
                 (shaken)
          Lord almighty...

He leaves, and Clarice leans INTO SHOT, taking another
photo.

                    CRAWFORD
          What do you see, Starling?

                    CLARICE
          Well, she's not local. Her ears are
          pierced three times each, and she's
          wearing green glitter nail polish.
          Looks like town to me...

CLOSE ANGLE

on the calf of one of the girl's legs, as Clarice trails
the inside of her bare wrist along the skin.

                    CLARICE (O.S.)
          She waxed her legs, I think... A big
          girl, just like the others - but she
          was careful about her appearance...

UPWARD ANGLE AGAIN

as Lamar joins them for a closer look.

                    CLARICE
          Two of the fingernails are broken off,
          and there's - dirt or grit under the
          others. She tried to claw her way
          through something... I'll scrape out
          samples after I've printed her.
                                                       45.


She takes another FLASH, then quickly reloads film.

                    LAMAR
          Them fishhooks are set too close
          together. No wonder the Franklin boys
          was scared to say they found her.

                    CLARICE
          Think they were runnin' a trotline?

Crawford and Lamar both look at her curiously.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing; to
                  Crawford)
          It's a Fish and Game violation. Like
          poaching. There's a big fine.

                    LAMAR
          Right... Are you from around here?

                    CLARICE
          They do it lots of places.

                    CRAWFORD
          Get photos of her teeth. Then we'll
          fax her fingerprints to Washington,
          try to trace her through Missing
          Persons.

SIDE ANGLE - CLOSE ON THE DEAD GIRL'S FACE

staring blue eyes, short reddish hair. Clarice sets the
Polaroid, with its special attachments, against the face,
while Lamar gently retracts the lips. Each time the camera
FLASHES, there's a bright glow inside the cheeks.

NEW ANGLE - CHEST HIGH

as Clarice examines a developing print.

                    CLARICE
          She's got something in her throat.

She hands the print to Crawford; he and Lamar look at it,
as she searches in her kit.

                    LAMAR
          When a body comes out of the water,
          alots of times there's like, leaves
          and things in the mouth.
                                                          46.


Clarice holds up a pair of forceps. She glances at
Crawford, who nods. She bends over, partially OUT OF SHOT,
and after a few moments reappears, holding up a small,
brown cylindrical object. She turns this in the air, as
they all stare.

                    CRAWFORD
          What is it - some kind of seed pod?

                    LAMAR
          Nawsir, that's a bug cocoon. But how
          come that to get way down in there?
          'Less somebody shoved it in...

Clarice and Crawford exchange a glance.

                    CRAWFORD
          She'll be easier to print if we turn
          her over. Lamar, will you give me a
          hand?

                    LAMAR
          Yessir, I will.

Clarice takes a jar from her kit, carefully drops the
cocoon inside. SOUND of the men's heavy efforts as they
turn over the body, off screen. She seals the jar, staring
into it at the cocoon.

                    CRAWFORD (O.S.)
          Starling - what do you make of these?

She turns to look.

HER POV

low on the corpse's back, over the shoulders, two neat,
triangular patches of skin are missing.

NEW ANGLE - TWO SHOT

as Clarice looks at Crawford.

                    CLARICE
          I don't know. I didn't see those on
          any of the other girls...

                    CRAWFORD
          They weren't there. Get close-ups.

Clarice raises her camera, leans in for another FLASH.

                                          CUT TO:
                                                          47.


EXT. BACK STEPS OF THE FUNERAL HOME - DAY

Clarice sits outside, with her head on her knees, drained.
She looks up wanly as Lamar appears, offers her a can of
Coke.

                    CLARICE
          Thanks, I'm not thirsty.

                    LAMAR
          No, hold it under your chin, there,
          and on your temples. Cold'll make you
          feel better. It does me.

She smiles, touched, and takes the can. When Lamar sees
Crawford coming outside, he tactfully departs. Crawford
sits beside her; there's a brief silence. She soothes
herself with the can.

                    CRAWFORD
          When I told that sheriff we shouldn't
          talk in front of a woman, that really
          burned you, didn't it?
                 (she is silent)
          That was just smoke, Starling, I had
          to get rid of him. You did well in
          there.

                    CLARICE
          It matters, Mr. Crawford... Other cops
          know who you are. They look at you to
          see how to act... It matters.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (beat)
          Point taken.

She looks at him a moment, then offers the can. He opens
it.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          When we get back, I want you to run
          that bug by the Smithsonian, see if
          they can identify it. Maybe it's got
          some limited range, or it only breeds
          at certain times of year... You found
          it, Starling, you deserve the credit.
                                                          48.


                    CLARICE
          I'm wondering if he's done that
          before - placed a cocoon, or an
          insect. It would be easy to miss in an
          autopsy, especially with a floater...
          Can we check back on that?

                    CRAWFORD
                 (shakes his head)
          The other girls are in the ground.
          Exhumations are upsetting for the
          families. I'll do it if I have to,
          but -

                    CLARICE
          Then have the lab check Raspail's head.
                 (he looks at her)
          Dr. Lecter's patient - have them probe
          his soft-palette tissues... They'll
          find another cocoon.

                    CRAWFORD
          You seem pretty sure of that.

                    CLARICE
          Raspail was killed by the same man
          who's killing these girls. And Lecter
          knows him. Maybe even treated him...
          You think so, too, don't you? Or you'd
          never have sent me to that asylum.

He looks at her for a moment, then sips again.

                    CRAWFORD
          Before we caught him, Lecter had a big
          psychiatric practice in Baltimore. But
          he travelled all over the country -
          teaching, consulting... Christ, even
          testifying in murder trials. Who knows
          how many potential psychos he turned
          loose, just for the fun of it...?

                                           DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)

A shadowy male figure looks down at us, leaning over the
edge of a deep hole. He holds a little white poodle in his
arms, stroking it. This is MR. GUMB, aka "Buffalo Bill."
                                                         49.


                    MR. GUMB
                 (softly)
          Rub the cream on your skin. Rub it in
          gooood...

CATHERINE MARTIN

looks up at him. She is standing on the cement bottom of
the pit, or oubliette, about 15 feet below floor level.
The pit is bare, except for a futon and a plastic toilet
bucket, from which a thin string rises up to the basement.
She's soaking wet, in an orange jumpsuit, and holds a
squeeze bottle of skin lotion. She struggles to sound calm.

                    CATHERINE
          Mister... my family will pay cash.
          Whatever ransom you're askin' for,
          they -

REVERSE ANGLE - UP TOWARDS MR. GUMB

                    MR. GUMB
          Rub it in! Or you'll get the hose
          again.

The little dog squirms in his arms, BARKING excitedly.

                    MR. GUMB
                 (continuing)
          Yes, it will, Precious, won't it? It
          will get the hose!

SIDE ANGLE - AT PIT BOTTOM

as Catherine kneels, turning slightly away from him.

                    CATHERINE
                 (under her breath)
          Oh God... oh God...

She unzips her jumpsuit, part-way, then squeezes some of
the lotion onto a palm. She reaches inside her suit, rubs
it on.

                    CATHERINE
                 (continuing)
          Mister, if you let me go, I won't
          press charges, I promise. You've only
          has me here a couple days, and -

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
          No. Just one day...
                                                         50.


                    CATHERINE
          Is that all...? See - see, my mom is
          a real important woman... Well, I
          guess you already know that. She'll
          pay you, no questions asked. Whatever
          cause you represent - Iran,
          Palestine - she'll see that -

A sudden blinding glare of light silences her. She looks
up, shielding her eyes.

HER POV

a floodlamp is descending, attached to a small basket.

                    MR. GUMB
          Put the bottle in the basket. No funny
          business, or you'll be sorry...

NEW ANGLE - CATHERINE

as the basket stops, and she steadies it. But as she slips
the bottle in, she sees something, O.S., just at the
fringe of the light. She hesitates, looks closer... then
begins to scream, hysterically, again and again. Her
outflung hand hits the lamp, and in its swaying glare, we
see - high on the concrete walls, all around her -

BLOODY FINGER TRACKS

dried now, brownish - left by many pairs of frenzied
hands...

                                            CUT TO:

INT.CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - FBI ACADEMY - DAWN

Clarice is at her desk, exercising her right hand with the
grip flexer, while simultaneously studying a thick law
book. Ardelia sticks her head in the door, excited.

                    ARDELIA
          You better come see this.

                                            CUT TO:

INT. RECREATION ROOM - FBI ACADEMY - DAWN

CLOSE ON a TV screen, filled with a photo of Catherine
Martin.
                                                       51.


                    TV ANCHOR (V.O.)
          ... was listed at first simply as a
          missing person, but is now believed to
          have been kidnapped by the serial
          killer known only as "Buffalo Bill."

The photo disappears, replaced by the TV ANCHOR himself.

                    TV ANCHOR
          Memphis Police sources indicate that
          the missing girl's blouse has been
          identified, sliced up the back, in
          what has become a kind of grim calling
          card. Young Catherine Martin, as we've
          said, is the only daughter of U.S.
          Senator Ruth Martin -

CLARICE

looks at Ardelia, surprised. Other trainees are drifting
into the rec room, some whispering among themselves.
Clarice stares back at the TV intently.

                    TV ANCHOR (O.S.)
          ... the Republican junior senator from
          Tennessee. And while her kidnapping is
          not at this point considered to be
          politically motivated, nevertheless it
          has stirred the government -

BACK ON THE TV ANCHOR

                    TV ANCHOR
          ... to its highest levels, the
          president himself being said to be,
          and I quote, "intensely concerned."
          Just moments ago, Senator Martin made
          this dramatic personal plea...

SENATOR MARTIN (TV FOOTAGE)

fills the screen, in a halo of lens flare, as she speaks
to a jostling crowd of reporters on the front steps of her
Georgetown home. A tall woman, late 40's, with a strong,
taut face.

                    SEN. MARTIN
          I'm speaking now to the person who is
          holding my daughter. Her name is
          Catherine... You have the power to let
          Catherine go, unharmed. She's very
          gentle and kind - talk to her and
          you'll see. Her name is Catherine...
                                                          52.


Clarice is moved by what she sees. Other trainees are all
around her.

                    CLARICE
                 (whispers)
          Boy, is that smart...

                    ARDELIA
          Why does she keep repeating the name?

                    CLARICE
          Somebody's coaching her... They're
          trying to make him see Catherine as a
          person - not just an object.

ON THE TV AGAIN

                    SEN. MARTIN
          You have a chance to show the whole
          world that you can be merciful, as
          well as strong. Please - I beg you -
          release my Catherine...

NEW FOOTAGE

as we see (NIGHT, TELEPHOTO) - a taped-off section of
Catherine's parking lot. Technicians, with instruments,
are kneeling by the crushed grocery bag.

                    2ND TV ANCHOR (V.O.)
          Meanwhile. in Memphis, the
          investigation continued throughout the
          night, as state and local authorities
          were joined at the kidnap scene by
          agents of the FBI...

MOVING ANGLE (STILL TV FOOTAGE)

as Jack Crawford is seen striding towards the front door
of Catherine's apartment, followed by Burroughs and other
agents. One of them moves quickly towards the CAMERA,
waving it back.

REC ROOM ANGLE - FAVORING ARDELIA

as the other trainees send up a brief, ironic cheer. But
Ardelia turns sympathetically towards the troubled Clarice.
                                                       53.


                    ARDELIA
          I don't know whether to say "I'm
          sorry," or "Congratulations." But
          girl? - you just went prime time.

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. SMITHSONIAN - MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - DAY

The massive Victorian building looms over Constitution
Avenue. Clarice quickly mounts the steps, carrying a small
plastic box.

                    CRAWFORD
          I don't think he knew that she's a
          Senator's child. She's a big girl,
          Starling, like all the rest. We're
          going on the theory she was randomly
          targeted by size...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MUSEUM CORRIDOR - DAY

Clarice, now accompanied by a museum guard, walks through
an eerie landscape of dinosaur bones - crouching skeletons
with blank eye sockets, gaping fangs.

                    CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          By now, Bill's had her for 36 hours.
          That leaves us just 36 more, before he
          kills her... But maybe, just maybe,
          Starling, we caught a real break this
          time - thanks to you.
                 (beat)
          We found another bug, in Raspail's
          head.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MUSEUM OFFICE - DAY

CLOSE ON an live, enormous, rhinoceros beetle, as it
weaves its clumsy way among the men on a chessboard,
before finally stepping off the edge, onto a lettuce leaf.

                    RODEN (V.O.)
          Time, Pilch! My move.

                    PILCHER (V.O.)
          No fair! You lured him with produce.
                                                          54.


WIDER ANGLE

shows two entomologists, both 30ish, hunched over the
board. RODEN is a pudgy redhead; PILCHER is lean, quite
handsome.

                    RODEN
          Tough noogies! It's still my turn.

                    CLARICE (O.S.)
          If the beetle moves one of your men,
          does that count?

They look up, delighted to see Clarice in the doorway.
Both men are hopelessly smitten by her.

                    RODEN
          Of course it counts. How do you play?

                    PILCHER
                 (grins)
          Officer Starling. Welcome back.

                                            CUT TO:

INT. ENTOMOLOGY CORRIDOR - DAY

MOVING ANGLE as Clarice and the two men go briskly down a
hall lined with mounted insects, in all shapes and sizes.
Roden peers at Clarice's new cocoon, in its box.

                    RODEN
          Where the hell did this one come from?
          It's practically mush.

                    CLARICE
          You really don't want to know.

                    PILCHER
          Your West Virginia specimen gave us
          quite a bit of trouble, but I finally
          managed to narrow his species through
          chaetaxy - studying the skin.

                     RODEN
          I'm the one who found his perforating
          proboscis! Are you wearing a gun,
          right now?
                 (Clarice nods)
          Ooh, cool! Can I see it? Can I?
                                                       55.


                    PILCHER
          Just ignore him. He's not a Ph.D.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. LABORATORY - DAY

VERY CLOSE (MAGNIFICATION) on the sliced cocoon, as Roden
uses tweezers and a dental probe to ease out the sodden
chrysalis.

                    RODEN (O.S.)
          The whole trick is to remove the
          chrysalis without destroying it... The
          wings are just like wet tissue paper...

THE TWO MEN

are hunched over a formica table, peering through square
magnifiers into stainless trays. Clarice watches
curiously. Of their two specimens, Pilcher's moth is in
much better condition - a big brown creature, its wings
outspread on towel paper.

                    PILCHER
                 (without looking up)
          What do you do when you're not
          detecting, Officer Starling?

                    CLARICE
          I try to be a student, Dr. Pilcher.

                    PILCHER
          Ever get out for cheeseburgers and
          beer? The amusing house wine...?

                    CLARICE
                 (smiles)
          Not lately. But maybe someday.

He looks up at her, shyly. A little moment passes between
them, before Roden straightens, exultant.

                    RODEN
          Positive match!

                    CLARICE
          You're sure?
                                                        56.


                    RODEN
                 (points with his
                  dental probe)
          West Virginia... Baltimore. Officer
          Starling, meet Mister Acherontia styx.

He moves aside for Clarice to get a closer look at
Pilcher's specimen. She leans forward, intently.

HER POV (MAGNIFICATION)

the wide, furry, brown back of the moth. And there, right
between the wing bases - wonderful and terrible to see -
is nature's perfect reproduction of a ghostly human skull.

                    RODEN (O.S.)
          Better known to his friends as the
          Death's-head Moth...

                    PILCHER (O.S.)
          The Latin name comes from two rivers
          in Hell. Your man - he drops these
          girls into rivers, every time. Didn't
          I read that?

FAVORING CLARICE

as she looks up at him, awed, excited, almost trembling.

                    CLARICE
          And there's no way - no natural way -
          these could've wound up in the bodies?

                    PILCHER
                 (shakes his head)
          They live in Malaysia. In this
          country, they'd have to be specially
          raised, from imported eggs.

                    CLARICE
                 (pause, then softly)
          Dr. Lecter...

As the two men stare at her, puzzled, we hear a SOUND
UPCUT - the wail of police SIRENS - and...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. U.S. ROUTE 95 - DAY (AERIAL SHOT)

An awesome armada of police vehicles swings through an
intersection, while normal traffic is held back by highway
patrol cruisers.
                                                       57.


The lead cars turn off, hit the entrance ramp to the
freeway - SIRENS going, tires SQUEALING, red flashers...

CLOSER ANGLE

on a speeding surveillance van, with long antennas and a
small satellite dish, near the head of the motorcade.

                    CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          Maybe we can trace how he buys the
          bugs, starting with U.S. Customs...

                                            CUT TO:

INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (DRIVING)

The van is crammed with an impressive array of hi-tech
equipment, all CLICKING and HUMMING. Burroughs is talking
quietly on a scrambler phone, while another agent works a
computer.

                    CRAWFORD (O.S.)
          Maybe we can locate some of Raspail's
          old lovers. Maybe, someday...

CLARICE AND CRAWFORD

sit in swivel seats at the rear, by a big window. Clarice
can't resits an occasional peak at the trailing motorcade,
awed and a bit thrilled to be the center of so much
attention.

                    CRAWFORD
          But for Catherine Martin, it all comes
          down to you and Lecter. You're the one
          he talks to.

                    CLARICE
          He's already offered to help... What
          would happen if we just showed our
          cards - asked him for Bill?

                    CRAWFORD
          He offered to help, Starling, not to
          snitch. That wouldn't give him enough
          chance to show off. Remember, Lecter
          looks mainly for fun. Never forget fun.

                    CLARICE
          But if he knew we have so little time -
                                                   58.


                    CRAWFORD
          If we act too anxious, he'll make us
          wait. He'll let the Senator keep
          hoping, day after day, until Catherine
          finally washes up. That'd be the most
          fun of all.

                    CLARICE
          I think he means it, this time. I
          think he'll deal.

                    CRAWFORD
          What would it take?

                    CLARICE
          Transfer to a new prison. With a view
          of trees, he said, or even water...
          Can we swing that?

                    CRAWFORD
                 (shakes his head)
          State to federal jurisdiction... We
          can do it - eventually - but we'll
          never get all the clearances in time.
          Can you convince him a deal's already
          in place?

                    CLARICE
          You'll back me up with some paperwork?
                 (he nods)
          Then I'll try. But wouldn't this have
          more weight coming from the Senator
          herself?

                    CRAWFORD
                 (hesitates)
          She doesn't know what we're up to. And
          we can't afford to let her find out.

Clarice looks at him, surprised.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          She's the mother, Starling. She can't
          possibly comprehend what Lecter is.
          She'd make the mistake of pleading
          with him. Begging him... He'd feast on
          her pain till the last second of that
          girl's life...

                                         CUT TO:
                                                          59.


INT. BALTIMORE STATE HOSP. FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY

Chilton approaches, walking briskly down a corridor in the
administration wing. He looks quite agitated.

                    CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          We can't trust Frederick Chilton,
          either. He's greedy and ambitious. If
          he knew about Lecter's link to Bill,
          he's go straight to the newspapers...

Chilton falls into step beside Clarice, who has her
briefcase. He points his gold pen at her accusingly.

                    CHILTON
          What you're doing, Miss Starling, is
          coming into my hospital to conduct an
          interview, and refusing to share
          information with me. For the third
          time!

                    CLARICE
          Dr. Chilton, I told you - this is just
          routine follow-up on the Raspail case.

                    CHILTON
          He's my patient! I have rights!
                 (grabs her arm,
                  stopping her)
          I'm not just some turnkey, Miss
          Starling. I shouldn't even be here
          this afternoon. I had a ticket to
          Holiday on Ice.

She stares at him, with pity and distaste, till he lets go.

                    CLARICE
          I'm acting on instruction, Dr. Chilton.
                 (handing him a card)
          This is the U.S. Attorney's number.
          Now please - either discuss this with
          him, or let me do my job.

She walks away, leaving him speechless with frustration
and hostility. He clicks his pen, watching her go.

                                            CUT TO:

INT. DR. LECTER'S CELL AND CORRIDOR - DAY

Dr. Lecter sits at his table, languidly sketching with
charcoal on butcher paper.
                                                         60.


He uses his own hand and forearm as a model. His other
drawings, books, and bedding have been restored.

                    DR. LECTER
          Wouldn't you say, Clarice, that for a
          United States Senator, you're an odd
          choice of messenger?

Clarice, sitting again at the desk-chair, is taking papers
from her briefcase.

                    CLARICE
          I was your choice, Dr. Lecter. You
          chose to speak to me. Would you prefer
          someone else now? Or perhaps you don't
          think you can help us.

                    DR. LECTER
          That is both impudent and untrue...
          Tell me, how did you feel when you
          viewed our Billy's latest effort?
                 (beat; he smiles)
          Or should I say, his "next-to-latest"?

                    CLARICE
          By the book, he's a sadist.

                    DR. LECTER
          Life's too slippery for books,
          Clarice. Typhoid and swans came from
          the same God.
                 (beat)
          Tell me, Miss West Virginia - was she
          a large girl?

                    CLARICE
          Yes.

                    DR. LECTER
          Big through the hips. Roomy.

                    CLARICE
          They all were.

                    DR. LECTER
          Mmm. And what else...?

                    CLARICE
          She had an insect deliberately
          inserted in her throat. That hasn't
          been made public yet. We don't know
          what is means.
                                                          61.


                    DR. LECTER
          Was it a butterfly?

                    CLARICE
                 (pause; staring at
                  him)
          A moth... How did you predict that?

                    DR. LECTER
          I'm waiting for your offer, Clarice.
          Enchant me. Clarice looks down at her
          papers, taking a moment to collect her
          thoughts. She looks up at him again,
          evenly.

                    CLARICE
          If you help us find Buffalo Bill in
          time to save Catherine Martin, the
          Senator promises you a transfer to the
          V.A. hospital at Oneida Park, New
          York, with a view of the woods nearby.
          Maximum security still applies, but
          you'd have reasonable access to books.

He is silent. She rises, moves closer, carrying papers.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          Best of all, though - one week a year
          you'd get to leave the hospital and go
          here.
                 (points to a map)
          Plum Island. Every afternoon of that
          week you can walk on the beach or swim
          in the ocean for up to one hour. Under
          SWAT team surveillance, of course...

His face remains neutral. She puts the papers in his food
tray.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          Copy of the Buffalo Bill case file,
          copy of Senator Martin's terms. Her
          offer is final and non-negotiable. If
          Catherine dies -
                 (she slides his tray
                  through)
          You get nothing.

A measured beat, before he rises smoothly, crosses, and
looks down at the papers, without touching them.
                                                       62.


                    DR. LECTER
          "Plum Island Animal Disease Research
          Center." Sounds charming.

                    CLARICE
          That's just part of the island. It has
          a very nice beach. Terns nest there.

                    DR. LECTER
          Terns... If I help you, Clarice, it
          will be "turns" with us, too. Quid pro
          quo. I tell you things, you tell me
          things. Not about this case, though -
          about yourself. Yes or no?
                 (she is silent)
          Yes or no, Clarice. Catherine is
          waiting. Tick-tock, tick-tock...

She looks at him. A beat. They are standing uncomfortably
close.

                    CLARICE
          Go, Doctor.

                    DR. LECTER
          What's your worst memory of childhood?
                 (she hesitates)
          Quicker than that. I'm not interested
          in your worst invention.

                    CLARICE
          The death of my father.

                    DR. LECTER
          Tell me. Don't lie, or I'll know.

Clarice cannot bear the feverish excitement in his eyes.
She looks past him, hesitating again.

                    CLARICE
          He was a town marshal... one night he
          surprised two burglars, coming out the
          back of a drugstore... They shot him.

                    DR. LECTER
          Killed outright?

                    CLARICE
          No. He was strong, he lasted almost a
          month. My mother - dies when I was
          very young, so my father had become -
          the whole world to me... After he left
          me, I had nobody. I was ten years old.
                                         63.


          DR. LECTER
You're very frank, Clarice. I think -
it would be quite something to know
you in private life.

          CLARICE
Quid pro quo, Doctor.

          DR. LECTER
The significance of the moth is
change. Caterpillar into cocoon into
beauty... Billy wants to change, too,
Clarice. But there's the problem of
his size, you see. Even if he were a
woman, he'd have to be a big one...

          CLARICE
       (puzzled)
Dr. Lecter, there's no correlation in
the literature between transsexualism
and violence. Transsexuals are very
passive.

          DR. LECTER
Clever girl. You're so close to the
way you're going to catch him - do you
            realize that?

          CLARICE
No. Tell me why.

          DR. LECTER
After your father's death, you were
orphaned. What happened next?
       (Clarice drops her
        gaze)
I don't imagine the answer's on those
second-rate shoes, Clarice.

          CLARICE
I went to live with my mother's cousin
and her husband in Montana. They had
a ranch.

          DR. LECTER
A cattle ranch?

          CLARICE
Horses - and sheep...

          DR. LECTER
How long did you live there?
                                          64.


          CLARICE
Two months.

          DR. LECTER
Why so briefly?

          CLARICE
I - ran away...

          DR. LECTER
Why, Clarice? Did the rancher fuck you?

          CLARICE
       (angrily)
No.

          DR. LECTER
Did he try to?

          CLARICE
No...! Quid pro quo, Doctor.

          DR. LECTER
Billy's not a real transsexual, but he
thinks he is. He tries to be. He's
tried to be a lot of things, I except.

          CLARICE
You said - I was very close to the way
we'd catch him.

          DR. LECTER
There are three major centers for
transsexual surgery: Johns Hopkins,
the University of Minnesota, and
Columbus Medical center. I wouldn't be
surprised if Billy has applied for sex
reassignment at one or all of them,
and been rejected.

          CLARICE
On what basis would they reject him?

          DR. LECTER
The personality inventories would trip
him up. Rorschach, Wechsler, House-
Tree-Person... He wouldn't test like
a real transsexual.

          CLARICE
How would he test?
                                                       65.


Suddenly Dr. Lecter snarls, loudly, stretching. Clarice
take a sharp step backwards before he smiles, turning his
movement into an elaborate yawn. He gathers the papers
from his tray.

                     DR. LECTER
          That's enough, I think. Happy hunting.
          Oh, and Clarice - next time you will
          tell me why you ran away. Shall I
          summarize?

                    CLARICE
                 (shaken)
          Yes, Doctor. Please.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY

VERY CLOSE ON a cocoon, split along its back, as a living
Death's-head Moth wriggles torturously free. Trembling and
damp, the new creature clings to a sprig of nightshade.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          You should try to obtain a list of
          males rejected from all three gender
          reassignment centers...

PULLING BACK

we see a big wire cage, holding several of the moths. They
crawl over the humus floor or feed at honeycombs, wings
pumping lazily. In the distant background, the incongruous
SOUND of show music.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Check first the ones rejected for
          lying about criminal records...

CONTINUOUS MOVING ANGLE

at about knee level, as we leave the cage, and begin to
TRAVEL through this eerie, dimly-lit warren of a cellar.
As we go - occasionally TURNING corners, or skirting the
dark openings of unexplored passages - various objects
loom briefly INTO VIEW, overhead - a stainless-steel work
table... a big sink... jars of chemicals... neat racks of
gleaming knives...
                                                       66.


                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Among those who tried to conceal their
          past, look for severe childhood
          disturbances, associated with
          violence... Possibly you'll find a
          childhood incarceration... Then go to
          their personality tests...

We pass a row of female mannequins, some nude, some
wearing colorful leather jackets, designer knockoffs, in
various stages of completion... then a huge maroon
armoire, in Chinese lacquer; its double doors are slightly
ajar... The jaunty background. MUSIC is growing even
louder: Fats Waller singing "Bye Bye Baby." And now we
hear something else, too - the rapid CLICKING of a sewing
machine...

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
                 (continuing)
          Study their drawings, especially.
          Billy's house drawings will show no
          happy future... No baby carriage, out
          in the yard. No pets, no toys, no
          flowers, no sun...

We TURN another corner, and there is Mr. Gumb himself. As
we APPROACH, his wide back is to us; he's hunched over an
old-fashioned sewing machine, humming cheerfully, and
working a piece of material that we mercifully cannot see.
A female wig rests near him on a head form. He wears a
hairnet and a beautiful kimono, and pumps the treadle with
his bare feet.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
                 (continuing)
          His females will be more crudely
          sketched than him males - but he'll
          compensate by adding exaggerated
          adornments... jewelry, big breasts...
          And his tree drawings - oh, his trees
          will be frightful...

Next to Mr. Gumb is an antique phonograph - source of the
MUSIC. His little dog, Precious, perches by his plump
ankles. As we PASS Mr. Gumb, Precious scurries away from
him, panting happily, and we FOLLOW the little dog down
another corridor, the music starting to fade behind us...
                                                        67.


                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
                 (continuing)
          Billy hates his own identity, he
          always has - and he thinks that makes
          him a transsexual. But his pathology
          is a thousand times more savage... He
          wants to be reborn, Clarice. He will
          be reborn...

At the end of this final corridor, the cellar widens into
a low-ceilinged chamber, with two additional doorways, and
in the center of this is the gaping circle of the
oubliette. Precious sniffs her way over to the edge -
excited, tail wagging - than BARKS happily as we hear a
hoarse, ghostly moan from below.

                    CATHERINE (O.S.)
          Pleeeeeeeease.....!

                                         DISSOLVE TO:

INT. DR. LECTER'S CORRIDOR - DAY

MOVING ANGLE - CLOSE ON Dr. Lecter's slippered feet, which
rest on the shelf of a rolling hand truck. RISING along
his tilted form, we see that his ankles are linked by
steel restraints... his legs, waist, upper torso, and arms
are bound by heavy canvas webbing... beneath the webbing
is a strait-jacket... and over his face is a hockey mask.

                    CHILTON (V.O.)
          Bad news, Hannibal...

WIDER ANGLE

shows that Dr. Lecter, on the handtruck, is being pushed
down his corridor by Barney, and back into his open cell.

                    CHILTON (V.O.)
          Gourmet magazine has rejected your
          recipe for braised kidneys...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. DR. LECTER'S CELL - DAY

Chilton lounges on Dr. Lecter's cot, casually reading his
large stack of private correspondence, and making
notations with his gold pen on a little pad. Another
orderly mops the floor.
                                                          68.


                    CHILTON
          Perhaps you should have been less
          specific about what kind.
                 (to Barney)
          Stand him by the toilet. Then leave us.

Barney props the hand truck into position, then both
orderlies go. Chilton finishes another letter, sighs
happily.

                    CHILTON
                 (continuing)
          Such a lot of correspondence! I can
          hardly wait to analyze it in more
          detail... But first things first.

Tossing letters onto the cot, he rises, crosses out into
the corridor, and bends to remove a small tape recorder
from underneath Clarice's desk. He waggles it triumphantly
at Dr. Lecter.

                    CHILTON
                 (continuing)
          I thought she might be looking for a
          civil rights violation in Migg's
          death, so I bugged you... Not a word
          to me in all these years, Hannibal.
          Then Crawford sends his bit of fluff
          over here, and you just turn to jelly.
          It's too pathetic.

SIDE ANGLE - TWO SHOT

as Chilton, back in the cell, leans tauntingly close to
the front of Dr. Lecter's mask.

                    CHILTON
          You still think you're going to walk
          on some beach, and see the birdies? I
          don't think so, Hannibal... I called
          Senator Ruth Martin, and she never
          heard of any deal with you. She never
          heard of Clarice Starling, either.
          They scammed you, Hannibal...

CLOSE ON Dr. Lecter's glittering eyes, behind their slits.

                    CHILTON
                 (continuing)
          When Crawford gets through milking
          you, he's giving you to Baltimore
          Homicide for the Raspail murder.
                    (more)
                                                          69.


                    CHILTON (cont'd)
          And they're preparing some special
          surprises for you right now, in my
          electroshock room.

DR. LECTER'S POV (FRAMED BY EYE-SLITS)

first looking at Chilton's moving lips... then LOWERING to
his soft, white, inviting throat...

                    CHILTON
          The Starling bitch wants you to rot
          here, in this little box, till your
          teeth fall out and you're soiling
          diapers. You've seen the old ones,
          Hannibal. They weep when their stewed
          peaches get cold. That'll be you, too.
          Unless - you trade with me.

FAVORING CHILTON

as he sits chummily on the table.

                    CHILTON
          There never was a deal with Senator
          Martin - but there is now. I've been
          on the phone for hours, Hannibal, on
          your behalf. Here's what you get: if
          you identify Buffalo Bill, and the
          girl is found in time, Senator Martin
          will have you transferred to Brushy
          Mountain State Prison, in Tennessee...

CLOSE AGAIN ONDR. LECTER'S EYES

as they shift restlessly, away from Chilton - then
suddenly lock onto something. They widen with interest.

                    CHILTON (O.S.)
          The Governor has already agreed. You
          get books, a view of the woods, and
          plenty of exercise time...

DR. LECTER'S POV - EXTREME CLOSEUP

On the cot, carelessly left there, lying half-hidden under
the letters and the rumpled sheet... is Chilton's gold pen.

                    CHILTON (O.S.)
          And best of all, you'd be out of Jack
          Crawford's reach, forever. The Senator
          will verify these terms on the phone,
          and guarantee them in writing...
                                                       70.


BACK ON DR. LECTER

as he stares a moment longer at the pen, then shifts his
eyes towards Chilton. We can almost hear his brain
clicking.

                    CHILTON (O.S.)
          In exchange, I get your full
          cooperation in publishing a
          professional account of this - my
          successful interviews with you. You
          publish nothing. And I get exclusive
          access to any material from Catherine
          Martin... So. Do you accept my demands?
                 (pause)
          Answer me, Hannibal.

A beat. Dr. Lecter is silent. Chilton sticks his face INTO
SHOT, almost intimately close to the mask. He is agitated.

                    CHILTON
          You'll answer me now, or by God,
          you'll answer to Baltimore Homicide.
          Who is Buffalo Bill?

                    DR. LECTER
                 (pause; then softly)
          I'll tell the Senator herself. But
          only in Tennessee...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. JOHNS HOPKINS - GENDER IDENTITY CLINIC - DAY

MOVING ANGLE - as the very impatient Crawford, clutching
a folder, strides down a hall beside DR. DANIELSON - early
50's, severe, in a lab coat. Nurses, doctors, glance as
they pass.

                    DR. DANIELSON
          I'm not having a witch hunt here, Mr.
          Crawford! Our patients are decent, non-
          violent people with a real problem.

                    CRAWFORD
          Dr. Danielson, the man we want was
          never your patient. It would be
          someone you refused because he tries
          to conceal a record of criminal
          violence. Please, Doctor - time is
          eating us up. Just show me the ones
          you've turned away.
                                                       71.


Danielson enters a cramped, stainless steel nurse's
gallery, with Crawford following, and pours himself a cup
of coffee.

                    DR. DANIELSON
                 (adamantly)
          Examination and interview materials
          are confidential. We've never violated
          an applicant's trust, and we never
          will.

                    CRAWFORD
          You want to see a violation? This is
          a violation...

He takes a black & white photo from his folder, slaps it
down in front of Danielson. From our angle, we can't see
it clearly.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          Her name is Kimberly Jane Emberg, she
          was just ID'd. I met her on a slab in
          West Virginia. And sometime tomorrow,
          or tomorrow night, he's going to do
          the same thing to Catherine Martin.

                    DR. DANIELSON
          That's a childish, bullying stunt, Mr.
          Crawford. I was a battlefield surgeon,
          so you can put away your picture.

Burroughs sticks his head in, looking for Crawford.

                    BURROUGHS
          Phone, Jack. Director Burke.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (snaps)
          In a minute!

Burroughs hurriedly retreats. Crawford strains for
patience.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (continuing)
          Look... search your own records, if
          you prefer. You can do it a lot faster
          than us, anyway. If we find Buffalo
          Bill through your information, I'll
          suppress it. Nobody has to know this
          hospital cooperated.
                                                        72.


                    DR. DANIELSON
          I doubt very much that the FBI or any
          other government agency can keep a
          secret, Mr. Crawford. Truth will
          out... And then what? Will you give
          Johns Hopkins a new identity? Put a
          big pair of sunglasses on this
          building, and a funny nose?

                     CRAWFORD
          Oh, that's clever, Dr. Danielson. Very
          humorous. You like the truth? Try this.
                 (right in his face,
                   enraged)
          He kidnaps young women and kills them
          and rips their skins off. We don't
          want him to do that anymore. If you
          don't help me, just as fast as you
          can, then the Justice Department is
          going to ask publicly for a court
          order, We'll ask twice a day, just in
          time for the morning and evening news.
          And each one of our press conferences
          will focus on Dr. Danielson, over at
          Johns Hopkins, and how we're still
          hoping for his cooperation. And every
          time there's any news on the
          case -when Catherine Martin floats,
          when the next one floats, and the next
          one - why, we'll just issue another
          press release about good ol' Dr.
          Danielson, over at Johns Hopkins -
          complete with all his humorous fucking
          remarks.

                    DR. DANIELSON
                 (pause; stiffly)
          It may be that - I could confer with
          my colleagues on this. And get back to
          you.

                    CRAWFORD
          Would you, Doctor? That would be so
          kind.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY

Crawford is on the scrambler phone. Burroughs watches
silently.
                                                        73.


                    CRAWFORD
                 (on phone; stunned)
          Transferred...?

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FBI BUILDING - OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR - DAY

HAYDEN BURKE, the FBI Director, swivels in his big chair.
Lean, late 40's, very distinguished. His desk is flanked
by flags.

                    DIRECTOR BURKE
                 (on phone)
          Already airborne for Memphis. Senator
          Martin's meeting him at the airport.
                 (uneasily)
          Jack - did you make some soft of
          promise to Lecter, in the Senator's
          name?

Listening to the answer, he looks uncomfortably across his
desk at PAUL KRENDLER, the Deputy Attorney General - 40,
very tanned, modish haircut. Krendler is irritable,
impatient.

                    DIRECTOR BURKE
                 (continuing; on phone)
          We're going to have to talk about
          this, Jack. The Senator's mad as hell.
          Paul Krendler's over here from
          Justice, she's asking him to take
          charge in Memphis... I know that...
          But you're still in command of the
          task force, and Lecter's plane can
          still be ordered back. It's your call,
          Jack - but I want it now.

                                         CUT BACK TO:

INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY

Burroughs starts to make an objection, but Crawford stills
him with a hand motion. He is taut, frustrated. Long pause.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (into phone)
          Let him land.

                                         CUT TO:
                                                       74.


INT.CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - DOORWAY - DAY

Clarice opens her door, stares out at Crawford. She's just
slipping on her blazer, over her shoulder holster. She's
furious.

                    CLARICE
          Chilton has killed her, hasn't he?
          That slimy little bastard! We were so
          close with Lecter - and now her last
          chance is gone.

                    CRAWFORD
          Let's get some coffee and talk.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS - QUANTICO - DAY

MOVING ANGLE on Clarice and Crawford, as they walk along
a sidewalk, sipping from paper cups. The surveillance van
trails them slowly, radios CRACKLING.

                    CLARICE
          Are you in trouble over this, Mr.
          Crawford? Can Senator Martin do
          something to you?

                    CRAWFORD
          I'm 53, Starling. If I found Jimmy
          Hoffa on national TV, I'd still have
          to retire in two years. It's not a
          consideration. But you are...
                 (beat)
          You've done enough. If I keep you out
          of school any longer, you'll be
          recycled. Cost you six months, at
          least. I can guarantee you readmission
          here, but that's about it.
                 (he stops,
                  looks at her)
          Now's your chance, Starling. Go back to
          class. Leave Bill to me.

                    CLARICE
          If you didn't want me chasing him, you
          shouldn't have taken me to that
          funeral home.

He looks at her steadily, then nods. They walk on.
                                                       75.


                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          Lecter is still the key, I know he is.
          Whatever he told me about Bill is just
          as good now as it was before.

                    CRAWFORD
          Or just as worthless. But I want you
          in Memphis, close to him. Maybe when
          he gets tired of toying with Senator
          Martin, he'll talk to you again.
          There's a plane waiting for you now at
          the airstrip.

She smiles at this acknowledgment; he never thought she's
quit.

                    CLARICE
          I lied to Lecter. I'll need some kind
          of peace offering... Can I get the
          drawings from his cell?

                    CRAWFORD
          Good idea. Meantime, try to get a feel
          for Catherine Martin. Her apartment,
          her friends... how he might've stalked
          her. I'm going to the other two
          clinics, Minnesota and Ohio.
                 (he crumples his cup,
                  tosses it)
          Now's the hardest part, Starling. Use
          your anger, don't let it keep you from
          thinking. Just keep your eyes on
          Catherine. We've got less than 30
          hours.

                    CLARICE
                 (hesitates)
          Mr. Crawford... can those cops down
          there handle Dr. Lecter?

                    CRAWFORD
                 (grimly)
          They'll use their best men. But they
          better by paying attention...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. AIR NATIONAL GUARD HANGER - MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE - DAY

CLOSE ON Dr. Lecter. Behind his mask, the alert, searching
eyes.
                                                        76.


                       CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          He will...

OFFICERS PEMBRY AND BOYLE

two sturdy, well-armed, veteran prison guards - are
checking Dr. Lecter's restraints with clever, careful
fingers.

                    BOYLE
          Welcome to Memphis, Dr. Lecter. I'm
          Officer Boyle, this is Officer Pembry.
          We aim to treat you just as nice as
          you treat us. Act like a gentlemen,
          you'll get three hots and a cot.

                    PEMBRY
          But we ain't pussy-footin' with you,
          buddy ruff. You get cute, try to bite
          somebody? - we'll tie your asshole in
          a knot. You savvy?

                    DR. LECTER
          Oh yes, Officer Pembry. I certainly do.

The officers turn away, Boyle signing a clipboarded form.

                    PEMBRY
                 (under his breath)
          Shit, he's just an ol' broke-dick.
          Won't be no trouble as all if he don't
          flip out.

                    BOYLE
          Dr. Chilton...?

NEW ANGLE - WIDER

as we see that we're in a vast, dusty hangar. Parked to
one side: an EMS ambulance and four highway patrol
cruisers; a dozen troopers stand quietly chatting and
smoking over there. Prentiss is pacing impatiently,
casting anxious glances towards the open hanger doorway.

                    BOYLE
          If you'll please sign right here, sir,
          we'll have us a legal transfer.

Chilton instinctively pats his shirt pocket for his gold
pen; it's gone. He searches other pockets, with growing
unhappiness.
                                                       77.


                    BOYLE
                 (continuing)
          Use mine.

                    PEMBRY
          Here they come.

TWO BLACK STRETCH LIMOSINES

glide smoothly into the hangar, stop. Secret Service
agents pour out of the lead car, form a cordon. A driver
opens the rear door of the second car, and Krendler steps
out, followed by the Senator's assistant, with a
briefcase, followed, as last, by the Senator herself.
Barely glancing around, she strides towards Lecter.

NEW ANGLE -DR. LECTER AND SEN. MARTIN

as she stops, struck by the bizarre spectacle of his
restraints. The others instinctively keep a distance, but
Chilton, with theatrical relish, unstraps and removes Dr.
Lecter's mask.

                    CHILTON
          Senator Martin, meet Dr. Hannibal
          Lecter.

They stare at one another for a long moment: the Senator
tense, almost haggard, the madman with his unearthly poise.

                    SEN. MARTIN
          Dr. Lecter, I've brought an affidavit
          guaranteeing your new rights... You'll
          want to read it before I sign.

He assistant unsnaps his briefcase, reaches for the form.

                    DR. LECTER
          I won't waste your time and
          Catherine's time bargaining for petty
          privileges. Clarice Starling and that
          awful Jack Crawford have wasted far
          too much already. I only pray they
          haven't doomed the poor girl... Let me
          help you now, and I'll trust you when
          it's all over.

                    SEN. MARTIN
          You have my word. Paul?

Krendler raises a pad, poised to take notes.
                                                        78.


                    DR. LECTER
          Buffalo Bill's real name is William
          Rubin. I met him just once. He was
          referred to me in April or May, 1980,
          by my patient Benjamin Raspail. They
          were lovers, but Raspail had become
          very frightened. Apparently Rubin had
          murdered a transient, and - done
          things with the skin. He thought if I
          could cure Billy, then Billy'd be safe
          from the police, and he's be safe from
          Billy... Obviously, he was wrong.

                    KRENDLER
          We need his address, a physical descr-

                    DR. LECTER
          Did you nurse Catherine?

                    SEN. MARTIN
                 (pause; startled)
          What...?

                    DR. LECTER
          Did you breast-feed her?

He flicks his tongue obscenely.

                    KRENDLER
          You son-of-a -

The Senator stills him with a hand. She is trembling.

                    SEN. MARTIN
          Yes... I did.

                    DR. LECTER
          Toughened your nipples, didn't it...?
                 (a beat; then
                  rapidly, bored)
          Six foot one, strongly built, about
          190 pounds. Hair brown, eyes pale
          blue. He'd be about 35 now. He said he
          lived in Philadelphia, but may have
          lied. That's really all I can
          remember, Senator - but if I think of
          any more, I'll let you know.

                    SEN. MARTIN
                 (to the others)
          Let's go with it.

They start towards the car, but he calls out, stopping her.
                                                           79.


                      DR. LECTER
            Senator Martin...! You can't trust
            Jack Crawford or Clarice Starling.
            It's such a game with these people.
            They're determined to get the arrest
            for themselves. The "collar," I think
            they say.

                      SEN. MARTIN
            Thank you, Doctor. I'll keep it in
            mind.

                      DR. LECTER
            Oh, and Senator...? Love you suit.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S BASEMENT - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

CLOSE ON scraps of food - peas, chicken bones - lying on
the cement floor of the pit, near the foil tray of a TV
dinner.

                       CATHERINE (O.S.)
                    (muttering, feisty)
             Close enough to fuck is close enough
             to fight...

CATHERINE

is hunched over in concentration. The plastic toilet
bucket is on her lap, and she has yanked down its cotton
string.

                       CATHERINE
             Get my legs round your neck, you
             goddamn creep, I'll send you home to
             Jesus...

HER FINGERS

are tying a chicken bone to the bucket's handle, where it
meets the string. The other end of the string is tied to
her wrist.

SHE STANDS

gathers the coiled string in one hand, and swings the
bucket by its handle, calculating this distance up to the
basement floor.

                       CATHERINE
             Okay, Precious. Time for a treat...
                                                          80.


She hurls the bucket upwards.

AT THE LIP OF THE OUBLIETTE

the bucket sails out, bounces LOUDLY, then falls back
inside.

ANGLE ON THE DOG, PRECIOUS

who is elsewhere in the basement, worrying a toy. She
cocks an ear, making a low GROWL, then sets off to
investigate.

DOWN IN THE PIT

Catherine swings the bucket again, trying another cast.

THE BUCKET LANDS

two feet beyond the pit's edge, rolls a bit, stops.

PRECIOUS TROTS UP

then pauses, staring curiously towards...

VERY LOW ANGLE (DOG'S POV)

the enticing chicken bone, six feet away. It twitches as
Catherine tugs on the string, edging the bucket back
towards the pit.

Precious with her tail wagging, BARKS - greedy but
suspicious.

CATHERINE

staring upwards, pulls again, even so gently, at the
string.

                      CATHERINE
                   (softly)
            Preeeeecious...! C'mon, boy, nice
            yummy bone... c'mon, you little shit...

PRECIOUS

edges reluctantly closer... then suddenly rushes in,
seizing the bone in her teeth. She tries to run away with
it, but Catherine is pulling her towards the hole, working
her like a hooked fish. Her toenails scrabble as she tries
to stop.
                                                          81.


CATHERINE

stares desperately, unable to see how she's doing.

                      CATHERINE
            Hang on, boy... hang on...

PRECIOUS

still fights for the bone, GROWLING, as the bucket rocks
precariously on the edge of the pit. A long, seesaw
battle... until finally, when one of her forelegs slips
momentarily into the hole, she panics and lets go. The
bucket flops over the edge.

CATHERINE

crouches, covering her head as the bucket bounces off her.

                         CATHERINE
            Nooooo...!

THE LITTLE DOG

furious, BARKS down at her, then trots away in disgust.

CLOSE ON CATHERINE

as she sinks to the cold cement. She slaps aside the foil
tray, the scraps of food, sobbing in utter despair...

                                         DISSOLVE TO:

INT. CATHERINE MARTIN'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - DAY

CLOSE ON a framed photo of Sen. Martin and Catherine, held
in Clarice's cotton-gloved hands. Powdered fingerprints on
the glass.

Clarice glances up from the photo, smiles disarmingly at -

A young STATE TROOPER sitting in Catherine's easy chair.
He smiles back at her, then relaxes, returns to his
newspaper. He also wears gloves.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN

Clarice closes the refrigerator door, glances around.
                                                        82.


A big REEL-TO-REEL TAPE RECORDER has been set up on the
breakfast counter, attached to Catherine's phone. Two new
red phones are hooked up as well.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BATHROOM

Clarice slides open the medicine cabinet's mirror, looks
inside. She reaches in, pokes carefully amongst the
lotions.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. ATTIC CRAWL-SPACE

A ceiling hatch bangs open, sending up dust clouds.
Clarice, lit from underneath, pokes her head through,
looking around.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM

Flat on her back, Clarice wriggles out from under
Catherine's bed. She sits up, brushing dust from her face
and hair.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM

CLOSE ON an open, multi-tiered jewelry box, resting atop
a bureau, as Clarice's fingers pick through costume
jewelry.

Clarice closes the box, and is just turning away when a
figure suddenly looms INTO SHOT, giving her a bad start;
she cries out softly.

Senator Martin is revealed, staring at her suspiciously.

                    SEN. MARTIN
          Who are you, please? I thought the
          police were through in here.

                    CLARICE
          I'm Clarice Starling, Senator. FBI.
                                                          83.


                     SEN. MARTIN
                 (softly, very angry)
          Clarice Starling...
                 (calls out)
          Paul? Would you come in here,
          please...?

Krendler enters from the hallway, looks at Clarice.

                    SEN. MARTIN
                 (continuing)
          Miss Starling, you may know the Deputy
          Attorney General, Mr. Krendler. Paul,
          this is the trainee that Jack Crawford
          sent to Lecter... She lied to him,
          pretending to have my authority, and
          thus jeopardized this entire
          investigation. Now she has the further
          gall to invade my daughter's privacy,
          again without permission. If her
          little games have killed my baby...

Overcome, she hurries from the room. Krendler shuts the
door behind her, points sternly at Clarice.

                    KRENDLER
          You're out of line, Starling, and
          you're off this case. Back to Quantico.

                    CLARICE
          Sir, Mr. Crawford instructed me -

                    KRENDLER
          Your instructions are what I'm giving
          you now. Jack Crawford answers to the
          Director, and the Director answers to
          me. My God, Crawford's losing it...!
          He shouldn't even be on this, with his
          wife sick as she is... How the hell
          did you get in here, anyway? He gave
          you -what? Some kind of special ID?
          Let's have it.

                    CLARICE
                 (stubbornly)
          I need the ID to fly with my gun. The
          gun belongs in Quantico.

                    KRENDLER
          Gun. Jesus. Turn in the ID as soon as
          you get back. The gun, too. Be on the
          next plane, Starling, there's one in
          90 minutes.
                                                          84.


Clarice, burning, starts for the door, then turns back.

                    CLARICE
          Mr. Krendler... Dr. Lecter trusts me.
          Or at least, he used to. If I could
          just -

                    KRENDLER
          Lecter has already named Buffalo Bill.

Clarice reacts, surprised. Krendler takes a folded
computer sheet from his pocket, shoves it at her. She
takes it, reads.

                    KRENDLER
                 (continuing)
          He gave us a perfectly good
          description, and we're on it now, so
          we won't be needing your little
          novelty act any longer - or his,
          either. He's under close guard at the
          courthouse, pending a prison transfer.
          The next plane, Officer.

                    CLARICE
          Sir, doesn't this "William Rubin"
          strike you as - I don't know - kind of
          vague?

Krendler moves in very close to her, pale with anger.

                    KRENDLER
          Do you need a police escort, Starling?
          Or do you think you can find the
          airport by yourself?

                    CLARICE
          Yes sir. I can find it by myself.

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. SHELBY COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY

The old courthouse is a massive Gothic stronghold, with an
armada of police cruisers parked at the curb.

Clarice climbs from her rented car, SLAMMING the door
angrily. Holding a rolled-up pile of papers - Dr. Lecter's
drawings - she starts determinedly up the steps. A nearby
commotion makes her pause.

Dr. Frederick Chilton in a sea of interviewers and mini-
cams, is preening grandly.
                                                          85.


Clarice carefully avoiding his gaze, slips up the steps
and inside.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. COURTHOUSE - GROUND FLOOR - DAY

SGT. TATE, a Memphis policeman, is studying Clarice's ID.
He looks up at her from his command desk, a bit doubtfully.

                    SGT. TATE
          Are you with Mr. Krendler's people?

                    CLARICE
          I just left him.

                    SGT. TATE
          Access to Lecter is strictly limited.
          We've been getting death threats.
                 (hesitates again)
          Log in, and check your weapon.

He picks up a phone, murmurs into it. As he does so,
Clarice glances around this main ground floor lobby.

HER POV

The building looks like an armed fort. Cops with shotguns
guard the front door, both ends of the hall, the foot of
the stairs, the single elevator. More of them are coming
and going.

                    MURRAY (V.O.)
          Shoot, we haven't had this kinda
          security since the President came
          through town...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. ELEVATOR - MOVING

Clarice and OFFICER MURRAY, a young patrolman, ride up in
an old-fashioned, CREAKING, metal-cage elevator. He is
excited.

                    MURRAY
          Every cop in Tennessee wants a look at
          this guy. 'Sit true what they're
          sayin' - he's some kinda vampire?
                                                       86.


                    CLARICE
                 (beat)
          I don't have a name for what he is.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM - 5TH FLOOR

Pembry, at a desk by the door, looks up from examining the
unrolled pile of Dr. Lecter's drawings.

                    PEMBRY
          You know the rules, ma'am?

                    CLARICE
          Yes, Officer Pembry. I've questioned
          him before.

He waves her on her way, but retains the drawings for now.

MOVING ANGLE - WITH CLARICE

as she crosses the big, spare, white octagonal room. A
massive, temporary iron cage has been installed; Officer
Boyle sits facing its barred door. He rises, nods, moving
away to allow her privacy.

INSIDE THE CAGE

a cot and a small table, each bolted to the floor, and a
limsy paper screen, hiding a toilet. Dr. Lecter sits at
the table, his back to her, studying the Buffalo Bill case
file. He now wears a green prison jumpsuit. A small
cassette player is chained to the steel table.

                    DR. LECTER
                 (without turning)
          Good afternoon, Clarice.

She stops at a striped police barricade, before his bars.

                    CLARICE
          I thought you might want your drawings
          back... Just until you get your view.

                    DR. LECTER
          How very thoughtful... Or did Crawford
          send you here for one last wheedle -
          before you're both booted off the case?

                    CLARICE
          Nobody sent me. I came on my own.
                                                       87.


He spins in his swivel chair, stops neatly. A coy smile.

                    DR. LECTER
          People will say we're in love.
                 (beat)
          Pity you tried to fool me, isn't it?
          Pity for poor Catherine. Tick-tock...

He spins again in his chair, playfully.

MOVING ANGLE - FAVORING CLARICE

as she circles the cage, trying to keep his face in sight.

                    CLARICE
          Dr. Lecter, you find out everything.
          You couldn't have talked with this
          "William Rubin", even once, and come
          out knowing so little about him... You
          made him up, didn't you?

                    DR. LECTER
          Clarice... you're hardly in a position
          to accuse me of lying.

                    CLARICE
          I think you were telling me the truth
          in Baltimore - or starting to. Tell me
          the rest now.

                    DR. LECTER
          I've studied the case file, have
          you...? Everything you need to find
          him is right in these pages. Whatever
          his name is.

                    CLARICE
          Then tell me how.

                    DR. LECTER
          First principles, Clarice. Simplicity.
          Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each
          particular thing, ask: What is it, in
          itself, what is its nature...? What
          does he do, this man you seek?

                    CLARICE
          He kills w-

                    DR. LECTER
                 (sharply, as he stops)
          No! That's incidental.
                                                       88.


CLOSE ANGLE - TWO SHOT

as he rises, pained by her ignorance, and crosses to the
bars.

                    DR. LECTER
          What is the first and principal thing
          he does, what need does he serve by
          killing?

                    CLARICE
          Anger, social resentment, sexual frus-

                    DR. LECTER
          No, he covets. That's his nature. And
          how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do
          we seek out things to covet? Make an
          effort to answer.

                    CLARICE
          No. We just -

                    DR. LECTER
          No. Precisely. We begin by coveting
          what we see every day. Don't you feel
          eyes moving over your body, Clarice?
          I hardly see how you couldn't. And
          don't your eyes move over the things
          you want?

                    CLARICE
          All right, then tell me how -

                    DR. LECTER
          No. It's your turn to tell me,
          Clarice. You don't have any more
          vacations to sell, on Anthrax Island.
          Why did you run away from that ranch?

                    CLARICE
          Dr. Lecter, when there's time I'll -

                     DR. LECTER
          We don't reckon time the same way,
          Clarice. This is all the time you'll
          ever have.

                    CLARICE
          Later, listen, I'll -
                                                          89.


                    DR. LECTER
          I'll listen now. After your father's
          murder, you were orphaned. You were
          ten years old. You went to live with
          cousins, on a sheep and horse ranch in
          Montana. And - ?

                    CLARICE
          And - one morning I just - ran away...

She turns from him. He presses closer, gripping the bars.

                    DR. LECTER
          Not "just," Clarice. What set you off?
          You started what time?

                    CLARICE
          Early. Still dark.

                    DR. LECTER
          Then something woke you. What? Did you
          dream...? What was it?

IN FLASHBACK

The 10-year old Clarice sits up abruptly in her bed,
frightened. She is in a Montana ranch house; it almost
dawn. Strange, fearful shadows on her ceiling and walls...
a window, partly fogged by the cold; eerie brightness
outside.

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          I heard a strange sound...

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          What was it?

THE CHILD RISES

crosses to the window in her nightgown, rubs the glass.

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          I didn't know. I went to look...

HIGH ANGLES (2ND STORY) - THE CHILD'S POV

Shadowy men, ranch hands, are moving in and out of a
nearby barn, carrying mysterious bundles. The mens' breath
is steaming... A refrigerated truck idles nearby, its
engine adding more steam. A strange, almost surrealistic
scene...
                                                         90.


                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          Screaming! Some kind of - screaming.
          Like a child's voice...

THE LITTLE GIRL

is terrified; she covers her ears.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          What did you do?

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          Got dressed without turning on the
          light. I went downstairs... outside...

THE LITTLE GIRL

in her winter coat, slips noiselessly towards the open
barn door. She ducks into the shadows to avoid a ranch
hand, who passes her with a squirming bundle of some kind.
He goes into the barn, and she edges after him reluctantly.

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          I crept up to the barn... I was so
          scared to look inside - but I had to...

THE LITTLE GIRL'S POV

as the open doorway LOOMS CLOSER... Bright lights inside,
straw bales, the edges of stalls, then moving figures...

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          And what did you see, Clarice?

A SQUIRMING LAMB

is held down on a table by two ranch hands.

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          Lambs. The lambs were screaming...

A third cowboy stretches out the lamb's neck, raises a
bloody knife. Just as he's about to slice its throat -

BACK TO THE ADULT CLARICE

staring into the distance, shaken, still trembling from
the child's shock. We see Dr. Lecter, over her shoulder,
studying her intently.

                    DR. LECTER
          They were slaughtering the spring
          lambs?
                                                          91.


                    CLARICE
          Yes...! They were screaming.

                    DR. LECTER
          So you ran away...

                    CLARICE
          No. First I tried to free them... I
          opened the gate of their pen - but
          they wouldn't run. They just stood
          there, confused. They wouldn't run...

                    DR. LECTER
          But you could. You did.

                    CLARICE
          I took one lamb. And I ran away, as
          fast as I could...

IN FLASHBACK

a vast Montana plain, and crossing this, a tiny figure -
the little Clarice, holding a lamb in her arms.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Where were you going?

                   CLARICE (V.O.)
         I don't know. I had no food or water.
         It was very cold. I thought - if I can
         even save just one... but he got so
         heavy. So heavy...

The tiny figure stops, and after a few moments sinks to
the ground, hunched over in dispair.

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
                 (continuing)
          I didn't get more than a few miles
          before the sheriff's car found me. The
          rancher was so angry he sent me to
          live at the Lutheran orphanage in
          Bozeman. I never saw the ranch again...

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          But what became of your lamb?
                 (no response)
          Clarice...?
                                                        92.


BACK TO SCENE

as the adult Clarice turns, staring into his feverish
eyes. She shakes her head, unwilling - or unable - to say
more.

                      DR. LECTER
            You still wake up sometimes, don't
            you? Wake up in the dark, with the
            lambs screaming?

                      CLARICE
            Yes...

                      DR. LECTER
            Do you think if you saved Catherine,
            you could make them stop...? Do you
            think, if Catherine lives, you won't
            wake up in the dark, ever again, to
            the screaming of the lambs? Do you...?

                      CLARICE
            Yes! I don't know...! I don't know.

                      DR. LECTER
                   (a pause; then, oddly
                    at peace)
            Thank you, Clarice.

                      CLARICE
                   (a whisper)
            Tell me his name, Dr. Lecter.

                      DR. LECTER
            Dr. Chilton... I believe you know each
            other?

NEW ANGLE

as Clarice turns, startled, and the fuming Chilton seizes
her elbow. Pembry and Boyle are beside him, looking grim.

                      CHILTON
            Out. Let's go.

                      PEMBRY
            Sorry, ma'a m - we've got orders
            tohave you put on a place.

Clarice struggles, pulling free of them for a moment.
                                                         93.


                    DR. LECTER
          Brave Clarice. Will you let me know if
          ever the lambs stop screaming?

                    CLARICE
                 (moving closer to the
                  bars)
          Yes. I'll tell you.

                    DR. LECTER
          Promise...?
                 (she nods. He smiles)
          Then why not take your case file? I
          won't be needing it anymore.

He holds out the file, arm extended between the bars. She
hesitates, then reaches to take it.

VERY CLOSE ANGLE - SLOW MOTION

as the exchange is made, his index finger touches her
hand, and lingers there, just for a moment.

DR. LECTER'S EYES

widen, crackling at this touch, like sparks in a cave.

                    DR. LECTER
          Good-bye, Clarice.

CLARICE

hugging the case file to her chest, stares back at him as
the men crowd in on her, pushing her away.

HER POV - MOVING

as Dr. Lecter, head cocked in a smile, slowly recedes...

                                         DISSOLVE TO:

INT. GARMENT SWEATSHOP - DAY

MOVING ANGLE - MR. GUMB'S POV as he pushes a rolling rack
of completed leather garments, each wrapped in plastic,
down as aisle. SOUND of many sewing machines, all
clattering at once, as he passes row on row of work
tables. The seamstresses, mostly black or Hispanic, glance
up as he passes, then quickly avert their eyes, his
presence disturbing them in some nameless way.
                                                          94.


A thin FOREMAN in a flowery shirt, sees him approaching.
He rises from his desk and comes over cheerfully, as the
rack rolls to a stop.

                    FOREMAN
          Hello, dear! Punctual as always. And
          what have you brought us today?

He seizes one of the dangling jackets, pulling up the
plastic wrapper. He examines it, stroking the sleeve.

                    FOREMAN
                 (continuing)
          Oh, marvelous... You know, I always
          say you're the Leonardo of leather.

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
                 (a harsh whisper)
          Oil.

                       FOREMAN
          Pardon...?

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
          You're leaving oil on the skin.

The foreman quickly releases the jacket.

                    FOREMAN
          Of course... You'll be wanting your -

Mr. Gumb's hand reaches INTO SHOT, snatching an envelope
from him. The foreman is watching him walk away, as a
seamstress comes over to take the rack of garments. The
foreman is vaguely troubled, but shakes it off. He strokes
the jacket again, admiringly.

                    FOREMAN
                 (continuing; to
                  seamstress)
          I wish we had a dozen like him...

SOUND UPCUT - Glenn Gould playing Bach's Goldberg
Variations...

                                            CUT TO:

INT. MEMPHIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - LOUNGE AREA - DUSK

Clarice, in a line of other passengers, is moving slowly
towards a departure ramp. Through a huge plate glass
window, we can see her plane. She glances back over her
shoulder at
                                                          95.


A pair of UNIFORMED COPS brawny and impassive, their arms
folded, waiting to make sure she board the flight.

Clarice sighs, turning wearily back towards the jetway.
The BACH CONTINUES, as we...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. SHELBY CO. COURTHOUSE - HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM -
NIGHT

CLOSE ON a steaming, rather elegant dinner tray, being
carried by Pembry, as he approaches Dr. Lecter's cell.

                    PEMBRY
                 (shouts)
          Ready when you are, Doc!

IN THE CELL

the BACH is issuing from the cassette player. Beside it,
on the table, the pile of Dr. Lecter's drawings. The top
one is an accurate, sensitive portrait, from memory, of
Clarice. Beyond the table, we see Lecter's shadowy form,
seated behind the paper screen. He calls out from there.

                    DR. LECTER (O.S.)
          Just another minute, please!

Pembry grunts, sets the tray down. Boyle joins him,
handing him a riot baton and a Mace cannister, which
Pembry fastens to belt clips. Boyle is similarly armed,
and carries a ring of keys.

                    PEMBRY
          Sumbitch demanded lamb chops for
          dinner, extra rare.

                    BOYLE
                 (laughs)
          What you reckon he'll want for
          breakfast - some fuckin' thing from
          the zoo?

INSIDE THE SCREEN

Dr. Lecter sits fully clothed on the toilet - swaying
slightly, eyes closed, lost in the music, tongue working
in his cheek. Suddenly, like magic, a little shiny piece
of metal protrudes from his lips. He plucks it out, opens
his eyes.
                                                       96.


IN EXTREME CLOSEUP

he is holding the pocket clip from Prentice's disassembled
pen - a straight, thin strip of metal, with a circular
collar at one end, a square edge at the other.

DR. LECTER

lines up his thumbnail just shy of the square edge, then
braces it against the stainless steel toilet rim. He
pushes down, hard, using both hands for leverage. After a
moment he smiles, holding up the result, and twirling it
before his eyes.

IN EXTREME CLOSEUP

the straight end of the clip now forms a tiny right angle,
and the circular end anchors nicely between his fingers.

OUTSIDE THE CELL

Pembry and Boyle turn as the toilet FLUSHES, and Dr.
Lecter reappears, looking jaunty.

                       PEMBRY
             Okay, Doc, grab some floor. Same drill
             as lunchtime.

Dr. Lecter sits on the floor, legs straight, then wriggles
backwards. He stretches his arms behind him, hands and
wrists through the bars, with two bars between them, and
clasps his hands.

                       DR. LECTER
             I'm ready when you are, Officer Pembry.

Pembry comes around the cell to squat behind Dr. Lecter.
He tugs his hands farther out, rather roughly, handcuffs
his wrists. He shakes the cuffs, making sure of them, then
nods to Boyle.

NEW ANGLE - AT CELL DOOR

as Boyle picks up the dinner tray, and Pembry crosses
around. Pembry takes the keys from Boyle, unlocks the cell
door, and pushes it inward. Boyle goes inside with the
tray.

DR. LECTER

watches as Boyle approaches the table, above five feet
from him. Boyle has to set his tray down on the floor to
clear off some of the mess of drawings. The MUSIC plays on.
                                                          97.


VERY CLOSE ON

... Dr. Lecter's hands, outside the bars, as the makeshift
key, held between the tips of his right index and middle
fingers, searches for the keyhole of the cuffs. And finds
it.

NEW ANGLE - FAVORING BOYLE

as he finishes clearing the drawings, then turns back
towards Dr. Lecter, stooping to pick up the tray.

BOYLE'S RIGHT HAND

is just inches from the tray when Dr. Lecter's hand darts
INTO SHOT, snapping a handcuff onto his wrist.

BOYLE

looks up, astonished, to find himself right in the
grinning face of Dr. Lecter - who just as quickly rolls
sideways, and snaps -

THE OTHER CUFF

around the bolted leg of the table. And suddenly all
natural SOUND and MOTION are suspended, as the MUSIC soars
much louder, each separate note of it now echoing
distinctly, and we see...

VARIOUS ANGLES - EACH BLURRING INTO STOP-ACTION

Pembry starting into the cell, reaching for his riot
baton...

Dr. Lecter smashing against the cell door, driving it into
Pembry, pinning him across the chest, against the door
frame...

Boyle, on one knee on the floor, digging desperately in
his pants pocket for his handcuff key...

Pembry's hand, mashed against his body by the door, as he
strains frantically to reach the baton at his waist...

Pembry's eyes, widening in horror as he stares at...

Dr. Lecter's bared teeth, flashing towards him...

Dr. Lecter gripping Pembry's face in his jaws, shaking it
like a dog shakes a rat...

Boyle finding his key, but in his terror dropping it...
                                                         98.


Dr. Lecter yanking the mace can and riot baton from the
dazed Pembry's belt, spraying him in his bloody face, then
clubbing him to his knees...

Boyle, mouth open in a silent scream, finding his key
again, unlocking the handcuff, but then, as he starts to
rise, seeing...

Dr. Lecter standing over him, with the riot baton raised
high; he swings it viciously down, again and again and
again... Then normal SOUND and MOTION are restored as we
go to -

CLOSE ANGLE ON

the cassette player, and the portrait of Clarice, both now
flecked with blood. In addition to the Bach, we now hear
soft PANTING, close by, and whimpering SOBS in the
background.

ANGLE ON DR. LECTER

eyes closed, lost in a favorite passage of the music. His
bloody fingers drift airily with the notes, as his
breathing slows to normal. He opens his eyes, sighs
contentedly, looks down.

HIS POV

By the sprawled legs of Boyle lie various objects that
spilled from his pants pocket - coins, a comb, a big
pocketknife.

DR. LECTER

picks up the pocketknife, examines it happily. About a
four-inch blade. He becomes aware of the WHIMPERING, off
screen, turns.

LOW ANGLE ON PEMBRY

as he crawls, with torturous slowness, towards the command
desk, and the phone. He is crying, but frantically
determined.

PEMBRY'S POV - PARTIALLY BLURRED, THEN CLEARING

Above the desk, hanging from pegs, are his and Boyle's
holstered revolvers...

                                         CUT TO:
                                                          99.


INT. COURTHOUSE - GROUND FLOOR LOBBY - NIGHT

The bronze arrow above the elevator swings towards "5,"
then indicates a stop there, at the top floor.

FAVORING SGT. TATE

at his command desk, as he stares at the indicator.
Another cop, JACOBS, sits on the desk's edge, flipping
through a magazine; many more cops can be seen beyond
them, idling in the lobby.

                    SGT. TATE
          What is this shit...? Did somebody go
          up to five?
                 (Jacobs shakes his
                  head)
          Call Pembry, ask him what -

A GUNSHOT, and then, moments later, TWO MORE quick ones,
echo down the nearby stairwell. Sgt. Tate jumps to his
feet, grabs a radio mike, as the other cops stir, confused
and noisy.

                    SGT. TATE
                 (continuing; into
                  mike)
          CP, shots fired on five! Repeat, shots
          fires on five! Outside posts look
          sharp, we've got a... Ho-ly shit.

THE BRONZE ARROW

has begun to descend. Down to 4, then past 4...

BACK ON SGT. TATE

as he reacts. The other cops, behind him, are now in a
full uproar, shouting, pulling out guns.

                    SGT. TATE
                 (to the others)
          SHUT UP...! Guard mount, double up on
          your outside posts. Bobby, get the
          vests. Rainey, Howard, cover that
          fucking elevator if it comes all the
          way to -

                    A COP (O.S.)
          It stopped!
                                                       100.


THE BRONZE ARROW

has, indeed, frozen at 3.

Sgt. Tate lifts the microphone again.

                      SGT. TATE
                   (into mike)
            Seal off a ten-block radius. Get me
            the SWAT team and an ambulance, double
            quick. We're going up.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. STAIRWELL - NIGHT (DIMLY LIT)

HIGH ANGLE on Sgt. Tate as he leads a five-man squad, all
in bulletproof vests, up the stone stairs. They move fast
but carefully, covering each other from landing to landing
with drawn revolvers, shotguns. The distant Back MUSIC
makes a ghostly echo in here...

                                           CUT TO:

INT. THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT (DIMLY LIT)

A thin rectangle of light on the floor from the open
elevator door. We can't see inside. The MUSIC sounds
closer.

SGT. TATE

approaches very cautiously, gun aimed. The other cops,
behind him, fan out silently to set up angles of fire,
checking the various office doors - all locked - as they
creep up.

MOVING ANGLE - OVER TATE'S SHOULDER

as he reaches the side of the elevator, hesitates, then
spins to point his gun inside. It's empty. He backs away.

                      SGT. TATE
                   (shouts at ceiling)
            Pembry? Boyle...?

                                           CUT TO:

INT. HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM - NIGHT (BRIGHTLY LIT)

ANGLE on the door, from inside, its lettering reversed on
the frosted glass. The Bach is VERY LOUD.
                                                          101.


After a moment the door is shouldered open, hard enough
for the glass to shatter, Tate following his gun inside,
moving low, then other cops appearing behind him in the
doorframe. They all freeze, staring in utter horror.

                      SGT. TATE
            Oh no... no...

THEIR POV

is a brief snapshot from hell. The two uniformed bodies,
one sprawled on its back near the door, the other still in
the cell, have been savaged by a knife. Blood and gore
everywhere. The faces are unrecognizable.

SGT. TATE

struggles for control, as the other cops move grimly
around him, into the room. He pulls his walkie-talkie from
his belt.

                      SGT. TATE
                   (into mike)
            Command post... Two offi-
                   (a beat; clears his
                    throat)
            Two officers down. Prisoner is
            missing. Repeat, Lecter is missing...
            He's stripped the bed, might be making
            a rope, check all windows. Where the
            fuck is my ambulance?

IN THE CELL

a cop angrily punches OFF the music. Jacobs kneels with
his fingers on Boyle's neck.

                      JACOBS
            Boyle is dead, Sarge. His gun's gone...

AT THE OTHER BODY

a cop gently removes a revolver from the bloody fist.
Murray, the young patrolman, brings his ear reluctantly
close to the gory face. A bloody bubble appears there; the
wreckage GROANS, very softly.

                      MURRAY
            This one's alive!

Tate crosses, kneels to see for himself. Murray looks
green.
                                                        102.


                    SGT. TATE
          Take ahold of him where he can feel
          your hands, son. Talk to him.

                    MURRAY
          What's his name, Sarge?

                     SGT. TATE
          It's Pembry, now talk to him, God
          dammit.
                  (into radio, looking
                   around)
          Boyle's dead, Pembry's read bad.
          Lecter is missing and armed - he took
          Boyle's gun...

The other cop, checking the cylinder of Pembry's gun,
holds up one finger to Tate.

                    SGT. TATE
                 (continuing; into
                  radio)
          Pembry got off one round - there's a
          chance Lecter was hit. We heard a
          total of three shots fired, so he's
          got four left... He's got a knife, too.

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF COURTHOUSE - NIGHT

VARIOUS ANGLES on a floodlit scene of barely controlled
pandemonium. Flashing red lights, men shouting commands,
SIRENS in the distance. SWAT members, in full gear, leap
from a black van... fan out... swarm up the steps... EMS
orderlies unload a gurney from an ambulance... Cops kneel
for cover behind cars, aiming guns and rifles up at the
windows...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. HISTORICAL SOCIETY ROOM - NIGHT

A trio of EMS orderlies work fast over the body, already
strapped on its gurney. Then bandage a big plastic airway
into place, over the butchered face, checking for a pulse
at the neck. Young Murray crouches, sickened, gripping a
bloody fist.

                    MURRAY
          You're just fine, Pembry, lookin'
          good, buddy, you're gonna make it...
                                                          103.


One orderly massages the heart. Another is popping a
plasma bag, ready to insert the needle, when the body
starts convulsing.

                      ORDERLY
            Downstairs - let's go!

Quickly the gurney is elevated, wheeled out of the room,
with cops rushing forward to open the doors, help push,
SWAT men are running by in the hall, automatic rifles at
the ready...

                                           CUT TO:

INT. THE ELEVATOR - DESCENDING - NIGHT

Sgt. Tate, riding down with Jacobs, has his radio out.

                      SGT. TATE
                   (into mike)
            Ten-four, Lieutenant. I'm on the
            elevator, bringing it down. Pembry and
            Boyle are both cleared, top three
            floors secured, main stairwell
            secured. He's somewhere on -

A spot of blood falls on his cheek. He and Jacobs stare at
each other. Another spot hits his shoulder. They look up.

THEIR POV

Blood is dripping slowly from the corner of the service
hatch.

Sgt. Tate motions for silence, as both men draw their guns.

                      SGT. TATE
                   (into mike)
            Uh, we're pretty sure he's somewhere
            on two, sir... That's all for now,
            over.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. GROUND FLOOR LOBBY - NIGHT

The elevator doors open, and Tate and Jacobs hurry out,
stepping quickly to the side. Tate reaches back in and -

CLOSE ANGLE

Locks the elevator into position, with its doors open.
                                                        104.


OTHER COPS are rushing up to them, curious, as Tate
frantically pushes them aside, gesturing for silence.

                     SGT. TATE
                  (whispers)
           He's on the roof of the elevator!

                                             CUT TO:

INT. THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Two SWAT officers, PETERSON and KUBELL, turn a key,
unlocking and opening this floor's elevator doorway. The
shaft is dark. Lying prone, they inch up to the edge,
Peterson extends a mirror, on a long pole, out into the
shaft.

IN THE MIRROR (DISTORTED BY THE ANGLE)

Is a distant figure, in a green prison jumpsuit, lying on
his stomach, atop the elevator. A shiny revolver is near
one hand.

PETERSON

whispers into a radio, as Kubell carefully tips an assault
rifle, with a flashlight taped to its barrel, over the
edge.

                     PETERSON
           I see him... There's a weapon by his
           hand. He's not moving...

                     RADIO VOICE
           Can you get the drop?

                     PETERSON
           We got the drop.

                     RADIO VOICE
           One warning. Then take him out.

Peterson nods to Kubell, who switches ON the flashlight,
as Peterson shouts down the shaft.

                     PETERSON
           Quinn!! put your hands on your head!!

IN THE MIRROR

the green figure shows no movement.
                                                          105.


ANGLE ON THE COPS AGAIN

as Peterson mutters to Kubell.

                     PETERSON
           Put one in his leg.

VERY CLOSE ON

The figure below, as Kubell's gunshot ROARS, echoing
hugely in the shaft, and a slug rips through the
jumpsuited leg. The figure doesn't stir.

PETERSON

staring down the shaft, raises his mike again.

                     PETERSON
           No movement.

                     RADIO VOICE
           Okay, Johnny, hold your fire...

                                             CUT TO:

INT. GROUND FLOOR LOBBY - NIGHT

A small army of cops is now covering the elevator doorway,
from both sides. Tate crouches next to the SWAT COMMANDER.

                     SWAT COMMANDER
                  (into radio mike)
           We're coming into the car, we're
           opening the hatch. Watch his hands.
           Any fire will come from us. Affirm?

                     PETERSON'S VOICE
           Got it.

The SWAT commander hands his radio to another cop, then
looks at Tate. A long, tense moment. Then he waves a
signal.

MOVING ANGLE

as we follow a picked team of four SWAT cops, in full body
armor, rushing into the elevator car. Two men move to the
corners, aim assault rifles at the ceiling. A third man
sets a stepladder in place, and the fourth man, armed with
a big Colt, hurries up the ladder and unclips the hatch.
                                                         106.


CLOSE ON

... the service hatch, as the hinged cover drops open, and
a body tumbles through, dangling head first, until it's
caught at the waist. We see the back of the head.

SGT. TATE

shoulders through the SWAT cops for a closer look. He
turns towards the SWAT commander, astonished.

                      SGT. TATE
            That's Pembry!

                                           CUT TO:

INT. EMS AMBULANCE - MOVING

In the rear chamber, a young EMS ATTENDANT is braced
against the vehicle's sway. Behind him, the stretchered
form of his patient, and, through a curtained opening, the
driver. SOUND of the siren.

                      ATTENDANT
                   (into radio mike)
            He's comatose, but his vital signs are
            good. Pressure's 130 over 90... Yeah,
            90! Pulse 85...

Behind him, in slightly BLURRED FOCUS, the bloody figure
sits slowly upright...

                      ATTENDANT
                   (continuing)
            His convulsions have stopped, but he's
            got so much loose skin on his face,
            it's hard to tell if -

Suddenly he stops, becoming aware of a strange HISSING. He
turns, puzzled...

THE POCKETKNIFE BLADE

in Lecter's fist, flashes high in the air...

                                           CUT TO:

EXT. SIX-LANE FREEWAY - NIGHT (ARC LIGHTS)

MOVING ANGLE on the EMS ambulance, as it races along
normally, its SIREN blazing, the heavy flow of traffic
parting to make way for it.
                                                          107.


Then suddenly it begins to weave erratically, changing
lanes, before drifting dangerously to a full stop, almost
side-ways. Cars swerve to avoid hitting it, HONKING
angrily...

CLOSER ANGLE

on the stopped ambulance. After a long, still moment, the
wind-shield wipes come one, incongruously, then stop. Then
the SIREN is shut OFF, and the flashers. The ambulance
starts rolling again - at first jerkingly, then with
increasing speed. We follow it for several more moments,
until is passes - and we LINGER on...

A BIG GREEN INTERSTATE SIGN

... that reads "Memphis International Airport / 2 miles."

CLOSE ANGLE - THROUGH AMBULANCE WINDSHIELD

Dr. Lecter's face is slowly REVEALED, as he wipes across
it with a fistful of gauze, tossing it aside...

                                         DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MONTANA PLAIN - DUSK - (IN FLASHBACK)

MOVING ANGLE, rushing with dizzy swiftness over the
prairie, over waving grasses... a long passage... before
we come at last to the girl Clarice, sitting with her
lamb, hunched in despair. She rises, her face tear-
stained, and turns from us. Holding the lamb, she starts
back the way she came...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. COUNTRY DIRT ROAD - NIGHT - BRIGHT MOONLIGHT

MOVING ANGLE, very rapid, down this road... coming at last
to a stopped highway patrol car. Clarice, with her lamb,
is standing in the car's headlights. She starts wearily
towards the sheriff...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. RANCH BARNYARD - NEAR DAWN

CRANE ANGLE - sweeping rapidly DOWN into the barnyard
towards the arriving highway patrol car, as it stops...
RUSHING to the little girl as she steps from the car,
holding the lamb.
                                                       108.


The dark figure of the rancher ENTERS FRAME. As he roughly
takes the lamb from her, we HOLD on a CLOSEUP of her
face - stunned, blank. She EXITS FRAME...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. BARN - NIGHT

MOVING ANGLE - CLARICE'S POV as she walks towards the open
barn doorway... It looms CLOSER... The rancher is
revealed, a shadowy figure, pinning the lamb on the
killing table. His knife hand sweeps up high, then
holds... He turns TO CAMERA, his face breaking into the
light - and it is the face of Dr. Lecter. He smiles his
terrible smile at the young Clarice...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FBI DORM - PAY PHONE IN HALLWAY - NIGHT

MOVING ANGLE - coming in very CLOSE on the adult Clarice's
face -shocked, devastated - as she stands alone by the
dangling receiver...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. SHOWER STALL - FBI DORM - NIGHT

CLOSE ON a shower head, as water suddenly blasts out.
Clarice moves INTO SHOT, as she scrubs her face and hair
compulsively, almost desperately, unable to get clean...

                    ARDELIA (V.O.)
          They found the ambulance...

                                         CUT TO:

INT.CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - NIGHT

Clarice is hunched on her cot, in a bathrobe, her hair
wet. The Buffalo Bill case file, a think bundle, rests by
her feet. Ardelia hovers anxiously nearby.

                    ARDELIA
          In the parking garage at Memphis
          airport. The crew was dead. He killed
          a tourist, too. Got his clothes,
          cash... By now he could be anywhere.

Clarice looks up. Her eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion,
and something close to despair. She reads Ardelia's
thought.
                                                          109.


                    CLARICE
          No. He won't come after me.

                     ARDELIA
          Why not?

                    CLARICE
                 (bitterly)
          It would be rude. And he wouldn't get
          to ask any more questions...

Ardelia sits beside her, touches her arm.

                    ARDELIA
          Clarice - you did the best anybody
          could have for Catherine Martin. You
          stuck your neck out for her and you
          got your butt kicked for her and you
          tried. It's not your fault it ended
          this way.

                     CLARICE
          The worst part - the thing that's
          making me crazy - is that Bill is
          right in front of me. Only I can't see
          him...
                 (touching the case
                   file)
          Lecter said, everything I need to
          catch him is right here, in these
          pages...

                    ARDELIA
          Lecter said a lot of things.

                    CLARICE
                 (shakes her head)
          He's here, Ardelia.

Ardelia stares back at her. SOUND UPCUT - the low throb of
a washing machine...

                                            CUT TO:

INT. LAUNDRY ROOM - ACADEMY DORM - NIGHT (VERY LATE)

Clarice has spread out the case file across two washing
machines. Ardelia, cross-legged on a dryer, studies
another pile of forms. Nearby is their laundry basket,
detergent box.
                                                          110.


                    ARDELIA
                 (surprised)
          Hey, is this Lecter's handwriting?

She holds up the map, with its location markings for the
kidnapping and body dump sites. Clarice takes it, looks.

INSERT - THE MAP

with newly inked words in Dr. Lecter's precise, elegant
hand.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Clarice, doesn't this random
          scattering of sites seem overdone to
          you? Doesn't it seem desperately
          random - like the elaborations of a
          bad liar? Ta... Hannibal Lecter.

NEW ANGLE - TWO SHOT

as Clarice looks up at Ardelia, puzzled but excited.

                    CLARICE
          "Desperately random." What does he
          mean?

                    ARDELIA
          Not random at all, maybe. Like there's
          some pattern here...?

                    CLARICE
          But there is no pattern. There's no
          connection at all among these places,
          or the computers would've nailed it!
          They're even found in random order.

                    ARDELIA
          Well, except for the one girl.

                     CLARICE
                 (beat)
          What girl?

                    ARDELIA
          The one that was weighted down. Where
          is she...? Fred something.

They search among the inserts. Clarice finds the
graduation photo.
                                                         111.


                    CLARICE
          Fredrica Bimmel, from Belvedere, Ohio.
          The first girl taken, but the third
          body found... Why?

                    ARDELIA
          'Cause she didn't drift. He weighted
          her down.

                    CLARICE
          But why? He didn't weight the others.

Clarice moves, on fire, unable to keep still.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          The first, what the hell did Lecter
          say about... "First principles," he
          said. Simplicity... What does this guy
          do, he "covets." How do we first start
          to covet? "We covet what we see -"

She stops, turns. She grabs the photo of Fredrica from
Ardelia, stares at it. She looks up, trembling.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          "- every day."

                    ARDELIA
                 (softly)
          Hot damn, Clarice.

                   CLARICE (V.O.)
         He knew her...!

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FBI BUILDING - OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR - DAY

Clarice and Crawford are seated in front of Director
Burke, who's at his desk. Another chair is empty, because
Krendler is pacing. All four are nearing their boiling
points.

                    CLARICE
          Maybe he lives in this, this
          Belvedere, Ohio, too! Maybe he saw her
          every day, and killed her sort of
          spontaneously. Maybe he just meant
          to... give her a 7-Up and talk about
          the choir. But then -
                                                       112.


                       KRENDLER
          Starling -

                    CLARICE
          But then he had to cover up, make her
          seem just like all the rest of them.
          That's what Lecter was hinting!

                    KRENDLER
          The market in Lecter hints is way
          down, today, okay? I've got two good
          men dead in Memphis, and three
          civilians. I've got -

                    CRAWFORD
          Who the hell's fault is -

                    KRENDLER
          - a U.S. Senator who's half out of her
          head because her daughter's going to
          be murdered today! And all because of
          your mind games with fucking Lecter!

                    CRAWFORD
          If you hadn't interfered, he'd still
          be in custody in Baltimore!

                       BURKE
          Jack -

                    KRENDLER
          You sent in a green recruit, with a
          phony goddamn offer -

                    CRAWFORD
          You're just trying to cover your ass
          for letting him escape!

                    BURKE
          THAT'S ENOUGH! All of you...

A long silence, as they all struggle to regain composure.
Crawford, who was at the point of striking Krendler,
finally retakes his seat. Burke looks sadly at Crawford
and Clarice.

                    BURKE
                 (continuing; very
                  reluctantly)
          Starling, I'm afraid I have no choice.
          You're suspended from the Academy.
                    (more)
                                                        113.


                    BURKE (cont'd)
                 (Crawford starts to
                  interrupt)
          Not another word!
                 (to Clarice)
          This is pending a reevaluation of your
          fitness for the service. I promise
          you'll get a fair hearing.
                 (pause)
          Jack... you're ordered to take
          compassionate leave. You'll spend the
          rest of the day briefing the AG's
          office, then transfer command of the
          task force, effective by 1800 hours.
                 (beat)
          I'm sorry, Jack... Go home. Take care
          of Bella.

Clarice and Crawford stare back at him, drained. A long
and very painful silence. Not even Krendler looks happy.

                                           CUT TO:

EXT. SIDEWALK OUTSIDE FBI BUILDING - DAY

Clarice and Crawford walk out slowly, stand there a
moment, not knowing what to say, not wanting to face each
other.

                    CLARICE
          All his victims are women... His ob-
          session is women, he lives to hunt
          women. But not one women is hunting
          him - except me. I can walk in a
          woman's room and know three times as
          much about her as a man would.
                 (beat)
          I have to go to Belvedere.

                    CRAWFORD
          You heard them. I don't have that
          authority anymore.

                    CLARICE
          You do until six p.m.

He stares at her sadly. He looks, for the first time,
defeated, old beyond his years.

                    CRAWFORD
          Ohio is cold ground. Picked over, ten
          months ago. Our people worked it, so
          did the locals.
                                                       114.


                    CLARICE
          But not from this angle. Not thinking
          he knew her. You've got to send me!

                    CRAWFORD
          I'm Bureau for 28 years, Starling. I
          won't disobey orders, not even now.

                    CLARICE
          But I just became a private citizen.
          I can go anywhere I want to.

                    CRAWFORD
          With ID and a gun...? Impersonating a
          federal agent is a felony.

                    CLARICE
          He's going to kill her, Mr. Crawford.
          This morning, or maybe at noon, but
          today, and Belvedere's our last
          chance. I'm flying there, right now,
          unless you stop me. You want my ID?
          Here - take it...

He stares at her, a long moment. Catherine's life.
Clarice's passion, and future. His loyalty to the Bureau.
Call it.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (pulls out his wallet)
          There's about $300 here... And a
          hotline code number. They'll patch you
          through to me, wherever I am.

She raises her hand to him. She wants to touch him face,
or his neck, but can't. Finally she takes his money and
card.

                       CLARICE
          Thank you.

He watches, frightened for both of them, as she backs
away, smiles, then turns, racing towards the surveillance
van.

SOUND UPCUT - the scratchy recording of Fats Waller
SINGING, as we...

                                         CUT TO:
                                                          115.


INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)

CLOSE ON the needle of the Victrola, on the spinning
record, as Mr. Gumb's fingers lift away. MUSIC continues
in background.

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
                 (calling out)
          Preeeeecious...!

CLOSE ON the moth cage, as Mr. Gumb's fingers search
through the humus, and find a plump new cocoon, lifting it
out. The door of the cage is left open, and one or two of
the adult moths flutter out.

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
                 (continuing)
          Precious, come on Precious! Busybusy
          day today...

CLOSE ON a clean towel, beside the sink. The cocoon is
gently placed in readiness alongside four shiny skinning
knives.

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
                 (continuing)
          Momma's gonna be sooo beautiful!

CLOSE ON a stainless steel Colt Python, with a six-inch
barrel, as the cylinder is spun, and the hammer gets a
practice cock. The metallic CLICK is deep and loud. A note
of alarm has entered Mr. Gumb's voice.

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
                 (continuing)
          You come here this minute, you little
          scamp!

LOW ANGLE on Mr. Gumb, wearing the kimono, as he walks
through his sewing workroom. His back is to us; he is
looking anxiously under the furniture. He stops,
straightens. Genuinely scared.

                    MR. GUMB
          Precious...?

LOW ANGLE - OVER THE PIT OPENING

Towards Mr. Gumb, as he stops at one of the doorways of
the oubliette chamber. He stares inside; his face in
shadows.
                                                          116.


                    MR. GUMB
          Sweetheart...?

From the distant bottom of the pit, we hear Catherine's
voice.

                    CATHERINE (O.S.)
          She'd down here you sack of shit.

Mr. Gumb's fist flies to his mouth, and he sags against
the doorframe. A little groan escaped him; the dog answers
with a series of YIPS.

UPWARD ANGLE, FROM THE PIT BOTTOM

as Mr. Gumb's dark shape leans cautiously over the edge.

                    MR. GUMB
          Precious, are you all right?

REVERSE ANGLE ON CATHERINE

crouched to one side, clutching the dog to her chest.
Seeing Mr. Gumb, the dog squirms frantically, BARKING.

                    CATHERINE
          Get me a telephone. Lower it down to
          me. Do it now, mister! I don't want to
          have to hurt this little dog.

UPWARD ANGLE

on Mr. Gumb, as, with a cry of fury, he whips the Colt
from inside his kimono. The muzzle gleams as he takes aim.

Catherine yanks the dog up, into his line of fire,
screaming at him,.

                    CATHERINE
          You shoot motherfucker you better kill
          me quick or I'll break her fucking
          neck, I swear to God!

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
                 (wails)
          Nooooooo!

Tucking the dog under one arm, she grabs its muzzle,
twisting the head. The dog WHINES piteously.

                    CATHERINE
          Back off, you son of a bitch! Back off!
                                                          117.


UPWARD ANGLE

as Mr. Gumb cries out again - a terrible, inarticulate
scream of rage and anguish. But then he slowly lowers his
gun.

REVERSE ANGLE

On Catherine, as she maintains her grip.

                      CATHERINE
            That's better... Now get me a live
            telephone. Get a long extension and
            lower is down here... And you better
            do it fast, too, 'cause I think her
            leg's broken. She's in pain, mister,
            she need a vest.

MR. GUMB

stares down at her, a long beat, breathing heavily.

                      MR. GUMB
            You think she's in pain? You don't
            know what pain is. But you're going to
            find out...

And abruptly he vanishes. SOUND of his footsteps, rushing
off.

CATHERINE

begins shaking, hands and arms twitching uncontrollably.
She hugs the little dog tight to her chest, buries her
face in its fur, sobbing...

                                           DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - BELVEDERE, OHIO - DAY

HIGH ANGLE as a rented sedan pulls up to the curb, stops.
After a moment Clarice climbs out, a bit stiffly. Double-
checking this address, she glances up from a folded street
map to -

AN OLD, THREE-STORY WOODEN HOUSE

in a row of similarly shabby homes, all backing onto a
narrow river. A path of boards, laid over mud, leads back
along this house towards the brown water. SOUND of
hammering from there.

                                           CUT TO:
                                                       118.


EXT. BIMMEL HOUSE - BACK YARD - DAY

An awesome huddle of pigeon coops sprawls by the brackish
water. The birds' COOING mixes with the HAMMERING. A tall,
gaunt man in a knit cap is obsessively pounding nails into
a new coop.

CLARICE

approaches him, and the man lowers his hammer. He has red-
rimmed eyes of watery blue. His face is deeply seamed.

                    CLARICE
          Mr. Bimmel...?

He stares back at her, warily.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BIMMEL HOUSE - STAIRCASE - DAY

HIGH ANGLE - LOOKING DOWN as Mr. Bimmel leads Clarice up
a steep flight of steps. The bannister is worn, sags a bit.

                    MR. BIMMEL
          I don't know nothin' new to tell ya.
          The police been back here so many
          times already... Fredrica went into
          Columbus on the bus to see about a
          job. She left the interview OK. She
          never come home.

Clarice pauses, at the landing, to look at a framed photo:
the familiar graduation portrait. Others pictures show
Fredrica as a young girl, toddler, infant - plump and
hopeful at each age.

                    MR. BIMMEL
                 (continuing)
          Her room's how she left it. Just shut
          the door when you're done.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FREDRICA'S BEDROOM - DAY

CLARICE'S POV - MOVING SLOWLY as she takes in flowery
chintz curtains... posters of Madonna and Blondie... a
twin bed, with worn, stuffed animals on the pillow... . a
big sewing machine in the corner.
                                                         119.


CLARICE

turns, absorbing nuances. There is loneliness here, an
echo of desperation under this steeply pitches ceiling. A
shrill MEOW, and she looks down...

A BIG TORTOISESHELL CAT

is rubbing against her ankles.

CLARICE

picks up the cat, scratches behind his ears. She glances
up.

IN A FULL-LENGTH MIRROR

she and the cat stares back at their own reflection...

                                         CUT TO:

CLARICE

sitting at the desk, turns the pages of a high school
yearbook. The cat is curled on her lap...

                                         CUT TO:

CLARICE

kneeling by the old Decca record player, flips through LPs
and singles. The cat has wandered off...

                                         CUT TO:

CLARICE

pulling a string to light up the closet. She is surprised
and intrigued to see an extensive wardrobe, groaning from
the rod. A shelf above the rod is stacked high with sewing
supplies, in clear plexiboxes. She flips through the
hanging clothes, pulls out one dress, on its hanger, for
a closer look.

THE DRESS

is very big, to fit Fredrica, but beautifully cut. Some of
the seams still look unfinished. She turns it around, sees
a blue tissue dressmaker's pattern still pinned to the
back.
                                                        120.


FAVORING THE SEWING MACHINE

as Clarice turns, looks towards it. She hangs the dress on
the closet door knob, crosses to sit at the machine. She
takes off its dust cover. She runs one hand over the cool
metal, as a taunting memory forms in her mind.

                     DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Billy wants to change, too, Clarice.
          But there's the problem of his size,
          you see...

She turns, looks again at the unfinished dress. Suddenly
she straightens, her attention riveted by something...

CLARICE'S POV

On the printed pattern, down at the lower back of the
outlined dress, are two bold black triangles. We RUSH
CLOSER to there shapes, before jumping back to -

CLARICE

who stares at them, starting to tremble.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Even if he were a woman, he'd have to
          be a big one...

IN FLASHBACK

those missing triangles of skin on the dead girl's back,
in the funeral home in West Virginia...

CLOSE ON CLARICE

as she jumps to her feet, with a fierce joy.

                    CLARICE
          Sewing darts. You bastard.

                                           CUT TO:

INT. BIMMEL PARLOR - DOWNSTAIRS - DAY

Clarice paces, in an exuberant rush, amidst the worn
furniture.

                    CLARICE
                 (into phone)
          He's making himself a "woman suit,"
          Mr. Crawford - out of real women!
                    (more)
                                                       121.


                    CLARICE (cont'd)
          And he can sew, this guy, he's really
          skilled. A dressmaker, or a tailor -

                       CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          Starling -

                    CLARICE
          That's why they're all so big -
          because he needs a lot of skin! He
          keeps them alive to starve them
          awhile - to loosen their skin, so
          that -

                    CRAWFORD (V.O.)
          Starling, we know who he is! And where
          he is. We're on our way now.

                      CLARICE
                   (pause; surprised)
          Where?

                                         CUT TO:

INT. FBI TURBOJET - FLYING - DAY

Crawford sits at a communications console, with Burroughs,
in headphones, by his side. This forward section of the
cabin is crammed with hi-tech equipment, all lit up and
WHIRRING. Through a window we see clouds, part of the
jet's wing.

                    CRAWFORD
                 (into speaker phone)
          Calumet City, edge of Chicago. I'll be
          on the ground in 45 minutes with the
          Hostage Rescue Team. I'm back in
          charge, Starling. He's mine.

INTERCUTTING

as Clarice reacts; her happiness for Crawford is tinged
with disappointment at being so suddenly out of the hunt.

                    CLARICE
                 (on phone)
          Sir, that's great news. But how -

                    CRAWFORD
          Johns Hopkins finally came up with a
          name for us. We fed him into Known
          Offenders, and he came up cherries.
                    (more)
                                                       122.


                    CRAWFORD (cont'd)
                 (takes a paper from
                  Burroughs)
          Subject's name is "Jamie Gumb," AKA
          "John Grant." Lecter's description was
          accurate, he just lied about the name.

INSIDE THE JET - MOVING ANGLE

from the rear of the cabin forward, as we slowly PASS the
twelve-man HRT. They're seated in full gear, hardshell
armor, quietly checking and rechecking their bulging cases
of weapons - silencer automatics, shotguns, stun
grenades...

                    CRAWFORD (O.S.)
          This Gumb's a real beauty. Slaughtered
          both his grandparents when he was
          twelve, and did nine years in juvenile
          psychiatric. Where, Starling, he took
          vocational rehab, and learned a useful
          trade...

INTERCUTTING

                      CLARICE
          Sewing...

                    CRAWFORD
          Take a bow. Customs had some paper on
          his alias. They stopped a carton two
          years ago at LAX - live caterpillars
          from Surinam. The addressee was "John
          Grant." Calumet Power & Light's given
          us two possible residences under that
          alias. We're hitting one, Chicago
          SWAT's taking the other.

                    CLARICE
                 (eagerly)
          Chicago's only about 400 miles from
          here. I could be there in -

                    CRAWFORD
          No, Starling, there isn't time. And
          you've still got crucial work to do in
          Ohio. We want him for murder, not
          kidnapping. I'm counting on you to
          link him to the Bimmel girl, before
          he's indicted.

Clarice tries hard to swallow her disappointment.
                                                       123.


                       CLARICE
             Yes sir... I'll do my best.

                       CRAWFORD
                    (pause; gently)
             Starling - you've earned back your
             place in the Academy. We never
             would've found him without you, and
             nobody's ever going to forget that.
             Least of all me.

                       CLARICE
             Yes sir. Thank you, sir...

CRAWFORD

switches off, feeling bad for her. On the console near
him, the fax machine starts to CHATTER. He turns, looks.

                       BURROUGHS (O.S.)
             Here he comes, Jack.

CLOSE ON

an emerging sheet, as Gumb's face is printed out. We see
just his hair, then the top of his forehead, before we...

                                            CUT TO:

EXT. BIMMEL BACK YARD - DAY

Clarice walks slowly across the yard, absorbing all this
news, before suddenly leaping into the air and pumping her
fist in triumph, with a happy yelp. Then she sees -

MR. BIMMEL

staring at her in surprise. He sits by his coops, smoking.

CLARICE

somewhat embarrassed, crosses over to him.

                       CLARICE
             Mr. Bimmel... did Fredrica ever
             mention a man named Jamie Gumb, from
             Calumet City? Or John Grant?
                    (he shakes his head)
             Did she know any men that sew?
                                                          124.


                    MR. BIMMEL
          She sewed for everybody. Stores,
          ladies, whatever. I don't know about
          men.

                    CLARICE
          Who was her best friend, Mr. Bimmel?
          Who'd she hang out with?

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. AN ISOLATED RUNWAY - O'HARE AIRPORT - DAY

The FBI turbojet is parked, its gangway down. Crawford,
Burroughs, and the HRT squad, carrying their bags of
weapons, CLATTER rapidly down the metal steps...

                    STACY (V.O.)
          Freaked me out. Get your skin peeled
          off, is that a bummer...?

                                         CUT TO:

INT. SAVING & LOAN - BELVEDERE - DAY

STACY HUBKA - short, perky, early 20's - sits nervously at
her desk, talking to Clarice, who jots in her notebook. In
the background. beyond them, bank tellers, lines of
waiting customers, MUZAK.

                     STACY
          They said she was just rags, like
          somebody -

                    CLARICE
          Stacy, did Fredrica ever mention a man
          named Jamie Gumb? Or John Grant?
                 (Stacy shakes her
                  head)
          Do you think she could've had a friend
          you didn't know about?

                    STACY
          No way. She had a guy, I'da known,
          believe me. Sewing was her life, she
          was really great at it. Poor Freddie.

                    CLARICE
          Did you ever work with her?
                                                         125.


                    STACY
          Oh sure, me'n Pam Malavesi used to
          help her do alterations for old Mrs.
          Lippman. Lots of people worked for
          her, she had the business from all
          these retail stores? But she was like,
          totally old, it was more'n she could
          handle.

                    CLARICE
          Where does Mrs. Lippman live? I'd like
          to talk to her.

                     STACY
          She died. She went to Florida to
          retire, like two years ago? She dies
          own there.

Clarice reacts, disappointed at the ending of this trail.

                    STACY
                 (continuing; beat;
                  shyly)
          Is that a pretty good job, FBI agent?

                    CLARICE
          I think so.

                    STACY
          You get to travel around and stuff? I
          mean, better places then this?

                    CLARICE
          Sometimes you do.

                    STACY
          Freddie was so happy for me when I got
          this job. This - toaster giveaways,
          and Barry Manilow on the speakers all
          day - she thought this was really hot
          shit. What did she know, big dummy...

Suddenly she's fighting tears. Clarice reaches to hug her.

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - CALUMET CITY, ILLINOIS - DAY

WIDE ANGLE on what appears to be, at first, a calm,
ordinary neighborhood of working class two- and three-
story houses. But the street is strangely quiet, deserted.
                                                          126.


After a few moments, we become aware of movement - armed,
dark-clad figures creeping swiftly and in silence from
shrubs to garage corners, from parked cars to porches,
appearing and then disappearing...

                                           CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)

CLOSE ON Mr. Gumb, as he settles a big pair of infra-red
night-vision goggles over his eyes. Moths flutter past his
face. His mouth is set in a grim line...

                                           CUT TO:

EXT. STREET IN CALUMET CITY - FRONT YARD - DAY

An HRT cop, prone beneath a hedge, is joined by a 2nd HRT
Cop, who throws himself to the grass beside him. They both
take aim with their scoped rifles at -

TELEPHOTO ANGLE (WITH RIFLE CROSSHAIRS)

The front door of a big, nearby, split-level house...

                                           CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)

CLOSE ON a fuse box, as Mr. Gumb reaches in, flips a
switch. The lights go out. SOUND of a second switch, and
the cellar is bathed in a green glow...

                                           CUT TO:

EXT. STREET IN CALUMET CITY - NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE - DAY

A little boy, riding his tricycle in his driveway, is
suddenly startled to find himself staring into the grim
face of -

A MEMBER OF THE HRT

crouched by his garage, armed to the teeth. As the little
boy starts to cry, the cop pulls him into the shadows,
covering his mouth.

                                           CUT TO:
                                                          127.


INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)

Mr. Gumb, in his kimono and goggles, creeps silently
through his workrooms - knees bent, painted toes places
ever so delicately, the Colt held aloft - as more moths
flutter past him in the eerie light...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. STREET IN CALUMENT CITY - DAY

A florist's van turns the corner, comes slowly down the
street and stops at the curb in front of the split-level.
The driver, in a gray deliveryman's uniform and cap,
climbs out of the cab, walks briskly to the panel door, on
the street side of the van, and slides it open. He leans
in, comes out with a long, thin red-ribboned floral box,
starts calmly towards the house...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)

MR. GUMB'S POV - MOVING ANGLE on the top of the oubliette,
a glowing green circle in the dark, as it draws closer and
closer... and then Catherine comes INTO VIEW, at the
bottom of the pit. She is crouched, exhausted, staring
straight up at him - but she can't see him in this infra-
red darkness. Precious is curled into her stomach, asleep.
The futon is up to Catherine's waist, but there's a clear
shot at her head and neck.

MR. GUMB

Looking down at her, smiles...

                                         CUT TO:

EXT. STREET IN CALUMET CITY - SUSPECT'S HOUSE - DAY

MOVING ANGLE on the "deliveryman," seen from behind, as he
mounts three steps to the split-level's front porch.
Tucked into the small of his back if a 9 mm. automatic.

CRAWFORD AND BURROUGHS

have slipped out of the van, and are crouched behind it
now, with drawn guns, watching tensely as -
                                                        128.


THE "DELIVERYMAN"

settles the floral box in the crook of his left arm,
reaches out with his right hand towards the buzzer...

                                          CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)

Slowly, savoring the moment, Mr. Gumb aims the big Colt,
which is already cocked, using both hands... He is just
about to squeeze the trigger, when we hear his DOOR
BUZZER, surprisingly loud and close by. He turns,
startled, and sees -

A DUSTY BLACK METAL BOX

the extension buzzer, mounted high on the wall, which is
making the hideous, grating JANGLE. It finally stops, but
not before waking Precious, who starts frantically
BARKING, off screen., as -

MR. GUMB

raises his gun again, spinning back towards -

HIS POV - THE PIT BOTTOM

where Catherine, hearing but still not seeing him, quickly
yanks the futon over both herself and the dog. Instantly
the two of them become one squirming, indistinguishable
mass.

MR. GUMB

bites his lip, his aim wavering, as he can't decide where
to safely place his shot. The maddening BUZZER sounds
again, even more insistently, and he cries out with
frustration and fury. But as the BUZZER continues, he
reluctantly uncocks his gun, looking up angrily towards
his front door...

                                          CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT DOOR - DAY

The door opens, on a chain, and Clarice peers in, smiling.

                     CLARICE
           Good afternoon... I wonder if you
           could help me. I'm looking for Mrs.
           Lippman's family?
                                                          129.


Mr. Gumb frowns out at Clarice. For the first time ever,
we get a well-lit view of his bland, pale-eyed moon of a
face.

                    MR. GUMB
          They don't live here anymore.

                                          CUT TO:

EXT. FRONT DOOR OF SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMET CITY

The "deliveryman" yanks a 12 lb. sledgehammer from the
floral box, swings it with all his might against the door
knob, blowing it through as -

MOVING ANGLE

Crawford and Burroughs race towards the door, guns up...

                                          CUT TO:

EXT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT DOOR - DAY

Mr. Gumb starts to close the door, only to have Clarice
push back against it, politely but firmly. She holds up
her ID.

                    CLARICE
          Excuse me, but I really do need to
          talk to you. This was Mrs. Lippman's
          house. Did you know her?

                    MR. GUMB
                 (beat)
          Just briefly. What's the problem,
          Officer?

                                          CUT TO:

INT. SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMENT CITY - DAY

A bedroom window disintegrates as a flash grenade is shot
through it, EXPLODING on the floor. An instant later, a
black-clad HRT cop dives through the shattered glass,
rolls across the floor, comes up on one knee swivelling
his sawed-off shotgun...

                                          CUT TO:

EXT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT DOOR - DAY

Clarice and Mr. Gumb, still eyeing each other through the
door crack...
                                                          130.


                    CLARICE
          I'm investigating the death of
          Fredrica Bimmel. Who are you, please?

                    MR. GUMB
          Jack Gordon.

                    CLARICE
          Mr. Gordon, did you know Fredrica when
          she worked for Mrs. Lippman?

                    MR. GUMB
          No. Wait... Was she a great, far
          person? I may have seen her, I'm not
          sure...

                                            CUT TO:

INT. SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMET CITY - DAY

MOVING ANGLE as Burroughs moves quickly down a hallway and
enters the living room, where Crawford is standing, with
his gun held down by his side, surrounded by several other
cops. Burroughs shakes his head: Nothing here...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S FRONT HALLWAY - DAY

Mr. Gumb glances briefly over his shoulder, towards his
kitchen, then turns back to Clarice with a smile.

                    MR. GUMB
          Mrs. Lippman had a son, maybe he could
          help you. I have his card somewhere.
          Do you mind stepping inside, while I
          looks for it?

                    CLARICE
          Thanks.

ANGLE FAVORING THE COLT PYTHON

which rests on a counter, just inside the open kitchen
doorway. THROUGH this doorway, we watch as Mr. Gumb, at
the end of his front hall, slips the chain. Clarice
enters, closing the door behind her.

                                         CUT TO:
                                                          131.


EXT. FRONT YARD OF SUSPECT'S HOUSE - CALUMET CITY - DAY

MOVING ANGLE - towards the front door, as frustrated HRT
cops file out of the empty house, rifles slung across
their shoulders.

WE PICK OUT CRAWFORD

walking across the grass towards the van, when all at once
he stops in his tracks, shaken by a sudden flash of
intuition.

CAMERA RUSHES VERY CLOSE

on his stricken face...

                       CRAWFORD
          Clarice.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S PARLOR - DAY

Clarice, pulling her notebook from her shoulder bag,
glances around the musty-looking room.

                    MR. GUMB (O.S.)
          That horrible business, I shiver every
          time I think about it...

Overstuffed furniture, porcelain figurines. One archway
onto the front hall, another onto a dining alcove, and
through there, the kitchen. Mr. Gumb is crossing to a
rolling desk, raising the top. He bends over, begins
poking through cubby holes. His tone is casual, neutral.

                    MR. GUMB
          Are they close to catching somebody,
          so you think?

                    CLARICE
          I think we may be, yes.

Mr. Gumb stiffens, almost imperceptibly. His back is to
her, as he continues opening drawers, rustling papers.

                    CLARICE
                 (continuing)
          Mr. Gordon, did you take over this
          place after Mrs. Lippman died?
                                                       132.


                      MR. GUMB
           Yes. I bought the house from her, two
           years ago.

                      CLARICE
           Did she leave any records here? Tax or
           business records? Maybe a list of
           employees?

CLOSE ON MR. GUMB'S BACK

as he continues his rummaging.

                     MR. GUMB
           No, nothing at all. Has the FBI
           learned something? Because the police
           here don't seem to have the first
           clue...

Out of the folds of his kimono crawls a Death's-head Moth.
It creeps slowly to the center of his back, raising its
wings.

                     MR. GUMB
                  (continuing)
           Do you have his description yet, or
           some fingerprints...?

CLARICE

unaware, is still glancing around the room. For several
agonizing moments, we think she won't see the moth - but
then she turns, does see it, and her eyes freeze. A beat
of pure fear. A tremendous struggle to keep her voice calm.

                     CLARICE
           No... no, we don't.

Very carefully, she drops her notebook back into her bag,
lowers the bag to the floor. With her fingertips she
brushes back the edge of her blazer, loosening its drape.

MR. GUMB

turns back towards her cheerfully, holding out a business
card.

                     MR. GUMB
           Ahhh. Here's that number.

CLARICE

keeps her distance. They are about ten feet apart.
                                                        133.


                     CLARICE
           Good, thank you. Mr. Gordon, do you
           have a phone I can use?

MR. GUMB

is about to reply when the moth suddenly flies up from
behind him, flutters past his face. He turns, looking at
it. He looks back at Clarice, his mouth still open.

HER EYES

are unmoving, locked on his.

HIS EYES

stare back at her, widen. And they know each other.

                     MR. GUMB
                  (softly)
           In the kitchen. I'll show you.

CLARICE

whips her gun out, gripping it in both shaking hands.

                     CLARICE
           Freeze!

MR. GUMB

slowly tilts his head to one side, smiles at her.

CLARICE

tries to force more authority into her voice.

                     CLARICE
           Okay... Okay, Mr. Gumb, you're under
           arrest. Down on the floor, hands and
           legs spread, move it.

MR. GUMB

turns, then all at once, in two quick steps, he is gone,
disappearing into his dining alcove, then kitchen.

CLARICE

hesitates, just a split second, to shoot him in the
back - and then it's too late.
                                                          134.


                     CLARICE
          Shit!

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S KITCHEN - DAY

Clarice hurries inside, moving low, swivelling her gun.

HER POV - MOVING

The kitchen is empty. To one side, a door still shuddering
on its hinges...

CLARICE

rushes to this - pauses - then elbows the door aside,
aiming her gun down -

AN EMPTY STAIRWELL

brightly lit, leading to the cellar. Two doors facing the
bottom, both open. No sign of Mr. Gumb.

CLARICE

hates this, hates this, which door, it's a trap, what to
do: she is very scared, but suddenly hears -

The distant SCREAM of Catherine Martin, somewhere down
there in that killing maze.

CLARICE

rushes through the doorway, and down the stairs.

BEHIND HER, ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER

there's an empty space; the Colt Python is gone.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY

MOVING ANGLE - WITH CLARICE - hurrying down the steps.
More SCREAMS; they seem to be coming from the left door.
Clarice goes that way, entering a brick-walled passage -
pipes over-head, naked bulbs. The lighting, though dim, is
incandescent; Mr. Gumb has switched off his infra-red
system. Clarice comes to a T-shaped intersection, stops.
Another SCREAM, again to her left, and the BARKING of a
dog...
                                                        135.


CLARICE

follows her gun around the corner, looking right.

EMPTY PASSAGEWAY

but doors opening off it - he could be lurking behind any
of them. She looks left... sees an opening onto some kind
of chamber. The noises are LOUDER, coming from there.

CLARICE

moves cautiously towards this chamber...

                                           CUT TO:

INT. OUBLIETTE CHAMBER - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

Clarice moves in, hugging the wall, gun swivelling...

HER POV - MOVING

the open top of the pit... beyond it, the other two
doorways, opening onto this room - Jesus, he could come
through either one of them, or come up behind her... She
moves to the pit, looks down, very briefly, sees Catherine
SCREAMING, hysterical, and a little white dog BARKING...

CLARICE

kneels, staring up from one door to another, she can't
cover them all, she's totally exposed - and what's a dog
doing there?

                    CLARICE
          FBI, Catherine, you're safe.

                    CATHERINE
          Safe, SHIT, he's got a gun! Getmeout.
          GET ME OUT!

                    CLARICE
          You're all right! Where is he?

                    CATHERINE
          Get me out!

                    CLARICE
          I'll get you out! Just be quiet so I
          can hear. Shut that dog up.
                 (still swivelling)
          Is there a ladder? Is there a rope?
                                                         136.


                    CATHERINE
          I don't know! get me out!!

                    CLARICE
          Catherine. Listen to me. I have to
          find a rope. I have to leave this
          room, just for a minute, but -

                    CATHERINE
          NOOOOO! You fucking bitch don't you
          LEAVE ME down here, DON'T YOU-

                    CLARICE
          Shut UP!
                 (then, louder)
          The other officers will be here any
          minute! you're perfectly safe now!

Ignoring Catherine, whose shouts turn to sobs, she backs
away, turns, picks one of the other doorways, moves into
it quickly.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. NEW PASSAGEWAY - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

CLARICE'S POV - MOVING down this passageway, towards a new
room... pausing at the doorway, straining to hear... no
sound except Catherine's CRYING, not in the background.,
and Clarice's own RAPID BREATHING. Then she crouches -
LOWER ANGLE - bursts forward, through the doorframe,
sidestepping...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. WORKROOM - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

Clarice weaves back and forth, half-crouched, gun out,
back to the wall. Her face glistens with sweat, as she
takes in...

HER POV - MOVING NERVOUSLY

Mr. Gumb's sewing machine... his swivel chair... the old
Victrola... Big moths are crashing into the light bulbs,
overhead; they're everywhere. Suddenly, from just behind
her, a CLICK and a HUM, and -

CLARICE

spins, almost shoots, before seeing -
                                                       137.


A SMALL REFRIGERATOR

with its thermostat just switching ON.

CLARICE

gasps for breath, fighting for calm. She turns again,
slashing her free hand at the moths, moving quickly on...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. SKINNING ROOM - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

Clarice moves past the mannequins, all of them naked
now... then quickly past the huge Chinese armoire, ready
to shoot into it. Its doors yawn open; it is empty except
for several padded hangers... She moves on, past the big
sink, with its DRIPPING faucet... the counter, with its
gleaming knives... the rows of chemical jars. At the end
of this room is

A CLOSED DOOR

Clarice starts to open it, then hesitates. Looking around,
she seizes a wooden chair, wedges it under the door know,
sealing off this section of the cellar. With her back thus
defended, she turns, softly retracing her steps.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. WORKROOM - DAY (DIMLY LIT)

Passing again through the workroom, Clarice pauses, seeing
a half-curtained door, to one side, that she had
previously skirted. She crosses to the door, listens and
hears no sound inside, takes a deep breath and reaches for
the knob. She twists it, and, as it turns, shoves hard and
follows her gun inside, all in one quick move...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. BATHROOM - DAY (BRIGHTLY LIT)

An old-fashioned bathroom: tiled floor, sink, toilet - and
a big, free-standing tub. An opaque shower curtain,
suspended from an oval ring, hides whatever might be
inside.

CLARICE

centers her gun on the curtain, at chest height, and yanks
it aside with her left hand. No one standing there.
Something lower down catches her eye.
                                                       138.


She leans in, stares more closely, not understanding, at
first, that she's seeing -

A FEMALE HAND AND WRIST

sticking up from the tub, which is filled with hard red-
purple plaster. The hand is dark and shrivelled, with pink
nail polish and a dainty wristwatch. As -

CLARICE

is reacting with horror to this sight, the lights go out,
to be replaced, a split-second later, by the eerie green
glow of Mr. Gumb's infra-red system. Clarice cries out,
turns blindly, reaching for the door, can't find it, free
hand clawing desperately into what is, for her, utter
darkness. SOUND of Catherine KEENING again, in the far
distance. Clarice stumbles, goes to her knees, rights
herself, finally clutches the door frame...

                                         CUT TO:

INT. MR. GUMB'S WORKROOM - DAY (GREEN LIGHT)

Clarice emerges from the bathroom in a half-crouch, arms
out, both hands on the gun, extended just below the level
of her unseeing eyes. She stops, listens. In her raw-
nerved darkness, every SOUND is unnaturally magnified -
the HUM of the refridgerator... the TRICKLE of water...
her own terrified BREATHING, and Catherine's faraway,
echoing SOBS... Moths smack against her face and arms. She
eases forward, then stops again, listens... She eases
forward again, following her gun, and creeps directly in
front of, and then past -

MR. GUMB

who has flattened himself against a wall, arms spread like
a high priest, Colt in one hand. He wears his goggles and
kimono, and under that - draping down over his naked arms,
like some hideous mantle - his terrifying, half-completed
suit of human skins. This is an exquisite moment for
him - a ritual of supreme exhaltation. He smiles at
Clarice as, completely unaware, she moves beyond him,
exposing her back. Very slowly and quietly he steps out
behind her, taking his gun in both hands, aiming...

CLOSE ON

the Colt Python as - in SLOW MOTION - his thumbs cock the
hammer, the SOUND registering as a LOUD METALLIC CLICK,
and -
                                                          139.


CLARICE

spins, still in SLOW MOTION, flame already leaping from
her gun muzzle, as we see -

THE TWO FIGURES

almost at point-black range, guns ROARING hugely, one
FLASH from Mr. Gumb, and onetwothreefour FLASHES from
Clarice, overlapping his, and then, as the ECHOES crash
deafeningly -

CLOSE ONCLARICE - LOW ANGLE -

with NORMAL SPEED RESTORED, as the side of her face hits
the floor, and she is gasping, stunned by the noise and
flames; there is blood on her check, and an ugly powder
burn, but she ignores them, twisting to yank her
speedloader from her jacket pocket, locking it blindly
onto her gun's cylinder, reloading, right in front of her
face, then rolling onto her stomach, aiming her gun upward
again, blinking her dazzled eyes, straining to locate him
in the darkness... Where is he, where...? Then, as the
ECHOES finally fade, she hears something else - a
tortured, sucking, WHISTLE from perhaps eight feet away...

MOVING ANGLE - WITH CLARICE

as she crawls forward, on her elbows, following her gun,
until it bumps against Mr. Gumb's shoulder. He is lying on
his back, chest a bloody mess. She slides her muzzle
against his head, hard, but he doesn't move; another shot
isn't needed. He stares upwards, through his goggles,
bloody lips working. He tries to speak, but cannot. One
hand reaches slowly upwards, the fingers twitching, as if
to seize something, overhead... Then a final, ghastly
groan, his hand drops, he is head. Clarice feels for a
pulse at his neck, making sure. Then, and only then, does
she permit herself to roll over, collapsing onto her back
beside him.

OVERHEAD ANGLE

down at the two faces - intimately close together, like
lovers on their pillow. Then, as we PULL SLOWLY AWAY, we
see that her staring eyes, and his dead gaze, are both
locked onto -
                                                        140.


A DEATH'S-HEAD MOTH -

perched on an infra-red bulb, overhead, its wings pumping
slowly. SOUND UPCUT - wailing SIRENS, many excited VOICES,
as we...

                                         DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MR. GUMB'S HOUSE - DUSK

The front porch of the tall Victorian house is bathed in
a glare of TV lights, police and ambulance flashers. Cars
and vans and even a firetruck choke the street; cops,
reporters, EMS workers and curious civilians swarm around
the ineffective barricades. The BUZZ of their voices goes
even higher as

CLARICE

dazed, her face bandaged - comes out of the house, walking
protectively beside Catherine, who is wheeled on a gurney.
They are followed out by uniformed cops, then two firemen
with an extension ladder. Catherine, blinking in
confusion, is still clutching the little dog, and refuses
to give her up even as she's trundled into an ambulance.
Clarice sways with exhaustion; everyone seems to be
shouting at her at once, pulling her sleeve. She tries to
fight free of them, desperate for a familiar face.

AN OHIO HIGHWAY PATROL CAR

pulls up, stops, and Crawford climbs out of the back seat.
He makes his way anxiously through the press of bodies,
stopping when he sees Clarice.

THEY LOOK AT ONE ANOTHER

for a long moment, Crawford choked with pride for her,
with sorrow for her ordeal, with love, but unable to find
any words. And then he does.

                    CRAWFORD
          Starling... your father sees you.

And then all at once she is sobbing, her knees giving way,
but he is there to catch her, he is hugging her fiercely.
HOLD ON them for a long beat.
                                                           141.


                     DIRECTOR BURKE (V.O.)
                  (over loudspeaker)
           Congratulations! You are now officers
           of the Federal Bureau of
           Investigation...

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. GROUNDS OF THE FBI ACADEMY - WEEKS LATER - DAY

The forty members of Clarice's class, resplendent in their
best dark suits and dresses, rise, cheering themselves,
then turn happily to wave to their audience, as APPLAUSE
mounts. Beyond them, on a gaily tented platform, the
Director stands behind his podium.

CLARICE AND ARDELIA

look at one another solemnly. Ardelia holds up both fists,
in a power shake, and Clarice taps them with her own. She
is radiantly beautiful in a navy dress and pearls, the
thin scar on her cheek almost healed. Ardelia turns,
waving towards the crowd, the Clarice's thoughts are
elsewhere. She turns, searching among the dignitaries on
the platform, till she locates

CRAWFORD

who smiles back at her with quiet pride, and offers a
little salute.

CLARICE

grins - more happy than we've ever seen her - then turns
to wave towards the crowd with the others.

MOVING ANGLE

over the admiring sea of spectators, several hundred of
them, still rising from their folding chairs, APPLAUDING
in celebration of these special young people, this
perfect, sunlit day. SOUND UPCUT - rock music, laughter -
as we...

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

INT. ACADEMY DORM - REC ROOM - THAT NIGHT

A LOUD party is underway - food, beer, dancing - as the
new grads celebrate ferociously. Ardelia weaves her way
through the crowded room, reaches Clarice, who is flanked
by her special guests - Pilcher and Roden, the two ardent
scientists. Ardelia has to shout at Clarice over the din.
                                                       142.


                    ARDELIA
          Agent Starling! Telephone!

                    CLARICE
                 (surprised)
          Agent Mapp! Thank you!

She nods to Pilcher, leaves them. Roden, who is quite
happily drunk, grabs the startled Ardelia around the waist.

                    RODEN
          Hel-lo, gorgeous! Let's get down.

Ardelia looks at Pilcher, confused.

                    PILCHER
          Just ignore him. He's not a Ph.D.

                                         CUT TO:

INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

Clarice picks up the dangling pay phone, speaks happily.

                      CLARICE
          Starling.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Well, Clarice, have the lambs stopped
          screaming...?

She freezes, stunned by the familiar voice. Then she
turns, waving frantically towards

ARDELIA

who is just inside the rec room door, at the end of the
hall, lost in conversation with Pilcher and Roden. Ardelia
glances at her briefly but misunderstands, waves
cheerfully back.

                    DR. LECTER (V.O.)
          Don't bother with a trace, I won't be
          on long enough.

CLARICE

turns back, gripping the phone more tightly.

                    CLARICE
          Where are you, Dr. Lecter?

                                         CUT TO:
                                                         143.


EXT. A CLEAR NIGHT SKY

Very beautiful, glittering with countless stars.

                       DR. LECTER (O.S.)
             Where I have a view, Clarice...

MOVING DOWN

we see a rolling lawn, a curving bay. Boats ride at
anchor, lights shimmering...

                       DR. LECTER (O.S.)
             Orion is looking splendid tonight, and
             Arcturus, the Herdsman, with his
             flock...

DR. LECTER

smiles into his mobile phone. He is stretched out on a
lounger, on a tiled patio, languidly paring an orange with
a penknife. His appearance is quite altered - a beard,
glasses, lighter hair. He's has some cosmetic surgery, as
well.

                       DR. LECTER
                    (into phone)
             Your lambs are still for now, Clarice,
             but not forever... You'll have to earn
             it again and again, this blessed
             silence. Because it's the plight that
             drives you, and the plight will never
             end.

                       CLARICE
             Dr. Lecter -

                       DR. LECTER
             I have no plans to call on you,
             Clarice, the world being more
             interesting with you in it. Be sure
             you extend me the same courtesy.

                    CLARICE (V.O.)
          You know I can't make that promise.

                    DR. LECTER
          Goodbye, Clarice...
                 (and then, softly)
          You looked - so very lovely today, in
          your blue suit.

                                               CUT TO:
                                                           144.


INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

As Clarice reacts, the fill weight of his words sinking in.

                       CLARICE
             Dr. Lecter... Dr. Lecter...!

But only a DIAL TONE comes from the phone. She is still
staring at her receiver, in shock, as we -

                                            CUT BACK TO:

EXT. THE MOONLIT PATIO

Dr. Lecter sighs, sets his phone down, then rises. Popping
an orange section into his mouth, he turns towards the
brightly lit house. Stepping delicately over the sprawled
body of a uniformed security guard, he walks in through
open french doors.

                                            CUT TO:

INT. A BOOKLINED STUDY

In a swivel chair, amidst the wreckage of his papers and
books, is the writhing figure of Dr. Frederick Chilton.
The extreme intricacy of his bindings recalls Dr. Lecter's
own former restraints. His screams are muffled by the tape
over his mouth; he stares at Dr. Lecter like a rabbit
trapped in headlights.

DR. LECTER

Considers him for a genial moment, then raises the little
pen-knife. His eyes are twinkling.

                       DR. LECTER
             Well, Dr. Chilton. Shall we begin?

FADE OUT

THE END
