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."
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. What-
ever 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 (contd.)
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 (contd.)
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...
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...