The Silence of the Lambs Page #10

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

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.

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.

CATHERINE:

This stuff's givin' me the munchies.

Where's that bag of popcorn?

CODY:

Sh*t. 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:

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.

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