The Silence of the Lambs Page #5

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.

DR. LECTER

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.

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 -

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

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 -

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