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."
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.
close on the needle of the victrola, on the spinning record, as mr. gumb's fingers lift away. music continues in background.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 -
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.