NIGHT OF A SCRIPTED DREAM
By
J.Willard
Precursor:
I fell into a drug-induced sleep, drowning in the blackness of my weariness, only to emerge into an ephemeral place of fantastical plotlines and miasmic creativity and euphoric inspiration. Bit by bit, these ideas dribbled from the synapses of my mind and scattered themselves onto the hard drive, to manifest themselves here – snippets of stories, undeveloped scripts, the nascent breaths of intriguing, tragic and horrifying characters.
Int. a dark hallway
A MAN proceeds down it, then stops right before reaching the lit foreground. He reaches down and appears to be scratching his balls.
But it’s hard to tell. And before we can really get a glimpse of what he’s doing…
He lights up a cigarette and his face, pock-marked and yellowish, glows in the dark.
He takes a few puffs, smiles with rotten teeth, and laughs.
MAN
So you all want to be writers? Good luck with that.
He blows out some smoke and drops an ember upon the floor.
He jams the butt back into his mouth. He flips the bird, all so quickly.
man
Well then, get used to the fact that your brain will be clogged up, consumed with, burning with a lot of strange undeveloped ideas.
He sighs and rolls the butt around in his mouth.
MAN
I guess burning is the operative word.
He yanks the butt out of his mouth and flicks it contemptuously onto the floor.
MAN
Bear witness to the mess your flaccid attempts at creativity will produce.
EVERYTHING GOES BLACK, THEN:
A Short Screenplay
by
Jim Willard
Based Upon The Short Story ‘Ligeia’
by
Edgar Allen Poe
DARK LUSTROUS EYES stare out from a computer screen.
EDGAR (V.O.)
I can’t even remember when I first met her. It’s so long ago. But from that moment, it was determined that she was to be my wife…Lydia.
The screen changes to the face of LYDIA. She is striking: pale, high angular cheekbones, raven-black hair. Her eyes, deep black, shimmer with significance.
EDGAR
Or so I thought.
EXT. EDGAR’S HOME – NIGHT
A vine-covered Georgian house with peeling shutters and angry dormers.
The WIND SLAMS the oaks surrounding the house, whipping the branches.
EDGAR
I suppose we were -Lydia, and myself -bound together somehow, in Eternity’s Matrimony.
INT. THE BEDROOM – NIGHT
EDGAR sits by a canopy bed where his wife, RACHEL, lies dying. She is connected to IVs, backlit by glowing medical equipment on a metal cart.
The room is dimly lit by a single wall lamp located in a far away corner.
Edgar is tall, with long hair swooping over his shoulders, and an exhausted, haunted expression on his face.
EDGAR (V.O.)
Now…Now!…my actual wife, is now, also…
Rachel, covered by a white sheet, sweats and moans. Her auburn hair streams over the pillow.
EDGAR
(gently)
Rachel…
Rachel opens her eyes. They are blue and piercing.
RACHEL
Edgar…
EDGAR
My sweetheart. I’m…
RACHEL
Are you still here?
edgar
I never left.
RACHEL
I can’t see you.
Her eyes roam wildly, peering into the gloom. The glow of the computer screen from across the room is reflected in a large oval mirror in the corner.
EDGAR
I’m right here, by your side. Where I’ve been all night.
Edgar’s face looms before Rachel: gaunt, pale, anguished. He bends forward and kisses her on the lips.
She smiles, then grimaces.
RACHEL
Where’s Doctor Glenwill?
EDGAR
He’ll be here, early in the morning.
Rachel smiles weakly. She tries to speak but can only get out a wheeze. She tries again, with exhaustive force.
RACHEL
That’s good!…He said I have a chance.
(dozing off)
He said that. He’s a fine…
She falls asleep. Her breath rattles.
The NURSE enters, carrying wipecloths. She smiles slightly at Edgar as she takes the patient’s pulse and checks the IVs.
She then applies a cloth to Rachel’s forehead.
NURSE
Has she been asleep all this time?
EDGAR
No. She just spoke to me.
The nurse nods, adjusting one of the IV drips.
NURSE
That’s quite good, actually.
Edgar sits up straight, his long hair sweeping back away from his face. His eyes are wild; his face contorted with rage.
EDGAR
How can any of this be good!
The nurse puts her finger to her lips and ‘SHUSHES’ him.
NURSE
(whispering)
She’s aware of your presence. Knowing a loved one is near makes it easier.
EDGAR
Easier! For what?
The nurse puts her hand on his shoulder, trying to put it as gently as she can.
NURSE
For her to make the transition.
EDGAR
(bitterly)
The transition!
The nurse glances at him with pity, then leaves. Edgar slumps back into his chair and stares dejectedly at Rachel.
EDGAR(V.O.)
Dying!
Rachel’s lips flutter for a moment. Edgar presses his fingers against them.
EDGAR
Dying. Now, you too, again, are dying.
INT. THE BEDROOM, LATER – NIGHT
Edgar paces across the room, sihouetted by the light from the window.
He goes over to the window and looks out. The oaks’ branches flail wildly.
He turns and looks at the computer screen. He sees the screensaver image changing in a SLOW DISSOLVE.
INSERT SCREEN
MONTAGE IMAGES
Edgar and Lydia in sweaters, smiling and embracing beneath a red-blazing maple tree
In tank tops and shorts, smiling, holding each other on the beach, the vast ocean beyond
Surrounded by LAUGHING FRIENDS at an outdoor patio party, deck lights blazing over them
On a porch swing, huddled together under a blanket, Rachel’s auburn tresses entwined with Edgar’s long hair
Rachel relaxing on a lawn blanket, looking demure and dreamy
The two of them kissing in front of their wedding cake, surrounded by FAMILY and FRIENDS beneath an outdoor tent
A SOFT CLOSE SHOT of Rachel, her eyes tender and expressive
FLASH to LUSTROUS BLACK EYES
END MONTAGE
Edgar catches his breath. The screensaver pattern begins over again, the image of he and Rachel in front of the oak appearing.
Edgar leans forward and touches the mouse. The screensaver pattern completes and starts again. This time, he does not see the BLACK EYES.
He CLICKS on a desktop folder marked PICTURES. He selects a file named PANORAMA and double clicks. The file opens.
He scrolls across a shotboard, mainly pictures of Edgar and Rachel. They are happy snapshots of the them: riding bikes, posing with FRIENDS, kissing, laughing, etc.
He keeps scrolling across the digital panorama, flashes of color. He scrolls and scrolls, and there is a feverish light in his eyes, as if he expects…
A SHADE OF BLACK FLASHES by.
Edgar’s hand releases the mouse. He stops breathing. He has stopped on another close shot of Rachel. This time, her expression shows anxiety, her blue eyes wide open.
Edgar pauses for a moment, then moves the cursor back one shot. The image is too small to determine what it is.
He pauses again, the cursor poised over the unidentifiable image. He glances into the oval mirror and watches Rachel’s chest rising and falling, breathing with effort, rattling.
Her reflection is pale and ghost-like. Edgar tears himself away from the mirror and looks again at the screen.
He right clicks and positions the cursor over ENLARGE.
Rachel groans. Edgar glances again at her in the mirror. Her chest rises and falls in rhythm to the wind howling outside.
Shadows of flailing branches slash Edgar’s face. He stares at the screen, then clicks.
The BLACK EYES stare back at him. He staggers back and nearly falls onto the floor. Rachel gasps.
Edgar is transfixed by the BLACK EYES on the screen. For he knows those eyes. He knows them all too well.
Rachel groans. Edgar turns away from the screen and goes to her. He bends down over his wife and strokes her forehead.
EDGAR
I’m here. I’m here, darling.
RACHEL
Edgar…stay here, by my side.
edgar
I will. I’m here.
RACHEL
I don’t want you to leave me.
edgar
I won’t, Rachel. I promise! I’m here…
rachel
(hoarsely)
Not like you did before.
Edgar stares at her, perplexed. And he has noticed the change in her voice.
EDGAR
I’ve never left you, Rachel.
Rachel’s eyelids are almost closed, but there is a slight smile on her face, almost a smirk.
She tries to say something, only getting out a gutteral sound at first. She makes a few attempts, coughing weakly, and then is able to speak.
RACHEL
(deeply)
Oh yes, you have. Yes, you did, my darling…
She falls back to sleep. Edgar’s fingers tremble upon her forehead. He pulls back slowly, sweat beading upon his brow.
He turns around slowly, the GLOW of the computer screen forming a halo above his head.
The BLACK EYES are gone. Rachel’s blue eyes, part of a close shot of her face, gaze back. She is smiling and mischievous.
EXT. EDGAR’S HOME, LATER – NIGHT
The wind has died down. A crescent moon shimmers between moving clouds.
INT. THE BEDROOM
Edgar is seated in front of the computer. He clicks a folder named ARCHIVE. He drags the cursor to another folder called 1995 and clicks.
Tentatively, he directs the cursor down the list of subfolders, stopping on one simply named L.
PAUSE.
He clicks on L.
Hundreds of files, many with graphical extensions, reside in this folder. All of them start with the name LYDIA.
Edgar opens the LYDIA_PARTY file. She appears in the background, reclining against the corner of an outdoor deck, a black strapless gown covering her pale skin.
He opens LYDIA_BOAT file. It is a digital copy of a black-and-white photo. Edgar’s face looms in the foreground; Lydia stands at the far end of the deck in a dark gown, holding a champagne glass.
She is looking at Edgar in the photo, with a strange sadness. He is returning her gaze with solemnity.
DISSOLVE.
tHE BOAT – DUSK
Edgar, in the FOREGROUND, leans against the edge of the party boat, surrounded by PEOPLE milling about with drinks. LYDIA stretches herself demurely at the BACK of the boat, the champagne glass in hand, staring at Edgar.
A PHOTOGRAPHER puts his hand on Edgar’s shoulder and gestures to Lydia with a telephoto lens.
PHOTOGRAPHER
Edgar, get Lydia down here. Let’s get a nice picture of you two.
EDGAR
Lydia!
She smiles ever so slightly and shakes her head. The photographer gestures again with the lens, smiling back at her. She takes a sip of her drink and remains in her spot.
Edgar shrugs.
EDGAR
You know, that’s her. She does what she wants.
PHOTOGRAPHER
That’s all right. I’ve got a backup plan. Stand over here.
The photographer positions Edgar in front of him, with Lydia in the background.
PHOTOGRAPHER
Now, Edgar, if you could look lovingly back at your fiancee. That would be perfect.
Edgar turns his head to Lydia. The photographer adjusts his lens for the shot.
PHOTOGRAPHER
That’s it.
Lydia’s smile fades, and her sadness appears. The photographer snaps the picture.
INT. THE BEDROOM
Edgar closes the LYDIA_BOAT file and opens one called LYDIA_CAFE.
Her eyes and mysterious face fill the frame.
EXT. A CAFE – NIGHT
Lydia’s slight smile and eyes gaze at the lens of Edgar’s digital camera.
LYDIA
You know what they say about taking pictures on the third date?
EDGAR (O.S.)
What’s that?
Edgar, dressed semi-formally and his long hair tied back into a piggy tail, aims the camera at Lydia. She wears a black low-cut gown. It accentuates her long pale neck.
Edgar snaps the picture and sits down. Lydia has not answered her question.
EDGAR
Well, now, you have me in suspense. It’s got to be something like, ‘Third one’s the charm’, or something like that?
Lydia sips from a drink and looks out to the bustling street, musing. She smiles, but her black eyes betray a deep sadness.
LYDIA
No…no, it’s not something like that. I was thinking of another expression, that seems to have eluded me.
Edgar leans forward, pressing his hands in hers.
EDGAR
It doesn’t matter. I’m not counting dates, or anything.
Lydia raises his hand to her lips and kisses it.
EDGAR
I’m in love with you, Lydia.
She smiles sadly and lowers his hands.
EDGAR
I just want to be with you, forever.
Lydia shakes her head slightly and stares into his eyes.
LYDIA
Forever, Edgar? Do you really?
EDGAR
Yes! Absolutely! Positively! Yes!
She looks down and frowns.
LYDIA
I remember it now. The saying. But it’s not really about pictures.
She returns her gaze to Edgar.
LYDIA
It’s about trying to remember. Or capturing something in our memories. It goes, “All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.”
A SOUND of the surf beneath her voice.
EXT. THE BEACH BY THE OCEAN – DUSK
The waves crash upon the sand and drag it back out to sea. Lydia and Edgar, sitting upon a blanket, and both wrapped in sweaters, watch the motion of the waves.
Lydia pours a handful of sand into Edgar’s palm, and some of it seeps through his fingers onto the beach.
LYDIA
“And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand – How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep…”
Edgar looks into her lustrous eyes, black and bottomless, feeling her sadness, even through he does not understand it.
LYDIA
I’ve forgotten some of the words. But it ends. It ends with:”Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?”
EDGAR
This is not a dream, Lydia. This is us. This is real. This is us. Together.
Lydia gazes at him for a long time. Her expression slowly changes from deep melancholy, to puzzlement, to realization.
Then, to scorn.
Edgar doesn’t know what more to say. He is perplexed, frustrated, horrified.
The disappearing sun BLACKENS his face.
INT. THE BEDROOM
Edgar frantically opens more LYDIA files, one on top of another, the shots overlaying upon the computer screen.
He glances into the oval mirror. Rachel’s chest slowly rises and falls, her body lit by the glow of the medical monitors.
He opens a file, LYDIA_ROADTRIP. It is digital film. Edgar is at the driver’s wheel of a sporty car and grinning. He glances at the camera.
EDGAR
Back off, Mario Andretti!
Lydia laughs O.S.
EXT. A COUNTRY ROAD – DAY
A sports car zips along a windy road past frosty hills and blaze-orange foliage.
INT. SPORTS CAR – DAY
Lydia, snuggled in a turtleneck sweater, wearing a strange cynical expression. She holds a digital camera, aiming it at Edgar. A tripod rests against her leg, near the stickshift.
The light between the trees cuts across her face, making her image appear to vanish and re-appear.
Edgar grips the wheel with one hand, the stickshift with the other. He grins, relishing the feel of the car taking the curves, working the road.
EDGAR
Lydia, I swear to God, girl! This is what you need!
Lydia smiles without a word, the landscape flying by.
EDGAR
A good fast drive in the country!
LYDIA
I think it’s what you need!
He downshifts.
EXT. A COUNTRY ROAD
The car hugs the curve and rips past the shoulder in a swirl of blue smoke. It accelerates uphill, overlooking a small lake.
INT. SPORTS CAR
Edgar grabs the wheel with both hands and stomps the gas pedal. He laughs roughly and tips his head back.
In the windshield, the crest of the hill swoops towards them. The blue lake sparkles below.
Lydia turns and her LUSTROUS BLACK eyes catch Edgar’s attention. She raises the camera to film him again.
ext. a COUNTRY ROAD
The car sails over the hill and drops down the other side, precariously close to the edge of an embankment. The lake is below, feeding a backwater canal.
int. spORTS CAR
Edgar works the stickshift, his eyes flashing.
EDGAR
Why can’t you live a little, Lydia? You know, I would die for you. Literally! I would!
From behind the camera, she guffaws, then answers him coldly.
LYDIA
No you won’t.
Exasperated, Edgar stomps the gas pedal. An iron bridge and black water fly at them.
EXT. The bridge
Black canal water rushes in from the lake, roiling beneath the bridge. A sharp hillside curve flanks one side of the bridge.
The car barrels at the bridge, from the other side.
EXT. A COUNTRY ROAD, the Curve
A bus rounds the curve and heads towards the bridge.
A split second later, the car tears onto the bridge.
INT. SPORTS CAR
Edgar gasps, the bus looming before him in the windshield.
Lydia drops the camera. She is transfixed upon the sight of the bus’s gaping grill.
EXT. THE BRIDGE
The car swerves right to avoid the bus, strikes the rail of the bridge and flips into the canal.
ext. the canal
The car sinks beneath murky water. The bus screeches to a halt on the other side of the bridge.
INT. SPORTS CAR – UNDERWATER
UPSIDE DOWN – Edgar shakes his head in a daze, the brown water pouring in over his face. Riverweed flutters against the windshield.
He manages to rip his seat belt off, just as the water engulfs him. He reaches for Lydia, grabbing her shoulder, trying to undo her belt.
She stares at him, the strange expression devoid of any panic: deep, BLACK LUSTROUS eyes swimming in the murkiness.
Edgar rips at her belt. It won’t come unlatched. He is disoriented from being upside down, and his face swells with the effort of holding his breath.
A long piece of white rope floats in front of him, tapping the side of his face. He pushes it aside in a stream of bubbles.
Panicking, he whirls around and tries to open his door – it won’t budge.
He presses the electric window switch. Of course, it has no effect. Then, he bangs the window with his fist and it cracks.
The camera floats in front of him and around his head. He punches it away and continues to bang on the window, thrashing, bubbles spewing out of his mouth, gurgling.
Lydia’s hand grabs his shoulder; he turns, and she floats the tripod towards him. He grabs it and smashes it against the window, coughing, wild-eyed, his lungs exploding.
The window breaks open. Edgar grabs the edge of the opening, cutting his hand, and rips himself out of the car.
EXT. BOTTOM OF THE RIVER
Edgar starts to launch himself to the surface, then turns back, peering through the window. Lydia stares back at him, bubbles pouring out of her mouth, her eyes transfixed upon him.
She is drowning – Edgar reaches in with his hand. As he does, the camera floats out of the car along with other debris, hitting him in the head. Lydia presses her pale fingers into his palm.
He pulls, but only for a moment, then chokes as water starts to pour into his mouth, his breath just about out. He lets go.
His last view of Lydia is of her eyes: BLACK, LUSTROUS, DEAD.
He shoots to the surface, bubbles spewing behind him.
EXT. RIVER BANK – DAY
Edgar breaks the surface and struggles and gags his way to the shoreline. Blood and muddy water streams over his brow.
A BUS DRIVER scrambles down the bank to meet him.
He grabs Edgar’s hand and yanks him up onto the bank.
Edgar collapses face first, coughing up water. The bus driver bends down and pats his back.
BUS DRIVER
You’re okay, buddy. You’re gonna be all right.
The water bubbles and debris floats the surface behind him.
BUS DRIVER
Lucky no one else was in the car with you.
EDGAR
(gagging)
There was!
The bus driver shakes his head.
BUS DRIVER
Buddy, I was right on top of you. I didn’t see anyone else.
EDGAR
There was, you goddamned idiot!
The bus driver pulls back and looks hard at Edgar.
BUS DRIVER
Okay, okay. Maybe so.
EDGAR
There was! There was!
INT. POLICE STATION, WAITING ROOM
Edgar, seated at a table, presses his face into his hands.
A FEMALE OFFICER enters carrying a plastic bag of possessions, shutting the door behind her. Edgar doesn’t look up. She carefully places them on the table in front of him.
OFFICER
We retrieved these items during the search, sir.
Edgar sighs but still doesn’t look up.
OFFICER
The canal was dragged for almost twenty-four hours. The car was brought up and checked. We didn’t find anyone else.
Now, Edgar raises his head and glares at the officer.
OFFICER
I know you said she was in there with you. But we haven’t been able to find any…
EDGAR
Lydia was in the car! With me! She was there! She was there!
The officer looks at him with sympathy. She’s about to say something else but SOMEONE KNOCKS ON THE DOOR.
The officer opens the door slightly, whispers to the person on the other side and closes the door. She brings an object over to the table.
OFFICER
We also got this. Not sure if it still works.
She places the camera on the table. It is still streaked with brown water and mud.
She presses her hand on his shoulder.
OFFICER
I’ll be back in a little while.
The officer leaves.
Edgar picks up the phone and stares at it for awhile. Then he presses the power button. A light blinks, then the viewfinder flashes on.
Edgar doesn’t know what to do, at first. His eyes, watery and distant, peer at the yellow surface of the table in the viewfinder.
Then he taps the review button.
And there he is, on the screen, clutching the wheel, laughing, trees blurring by, glancing over at the screen every so often.
EDGAR
(on camera)
Lydia, I swear to God, girl! This is what you need
He grins at the camera. There is no answer.
EDGAR
(on camera)
A good fast drive in the country!
Still no answer. A REFLECTION of the treeline flashing by through the passenger side window is visible momentarily in Edgar’s window.
The interior of the car darkens for a moment as the car passes beneath some low-hanging trees.
As the interior brightens, the REFLECTION reveals something odd, only for split second.
EDGAR
(on camera)
Why can’t you live a little, Lydia? You know, I would die for you. Literally! I would!
No answer.
EDGAR
What in God’s name!
Edgar pauses the camera, then rewinds it a few seconds. He presses the review button.
Something strange flits by in the REFLECTION’S image. Before Edgar can pause it –
EDGAR
(on camera)
Why can’t you live a little, Lydia? You know, I would die for you. Literally! I would!
Edgar rams his thumb down on the pause button. He freezes for a moment. He sees his own images: snarling, desperate, angry. And the REFLECTION in his window, something blurry.
He rewinds the scene for one second. And there it is:
The REFLECTION reveals the camera – not held by anybody, but attached to the tripod, which appears strapped down by a piece of white rope.
Edgar stares at the image, transfixed upon the camera on the tripod, and the whiteness of the rope, which now matches the pallor of his expression.
EXT. EDGAR’S HOME, VERY LATE – NIGHT
The crescent moons vanishes behind fast moving clouds and lightning cracks in the distance.
The tree branches start to flail again.
INT. THE BEDROOM – NIGHT
REFLECTION in the oval mirror: Rachel breaths, her chest rising and falling in agonized, halting gasps.
Edgar, seated in front of the computer, stares at screen, scanning the list of folders starting with LYDIA in the name.
He moves the cursor to a folder towards the top of the list: LYDIA_BEGINNING. He clicks, but nothing happens. He clicks again, and the screen blinks.
Lightning cracks outside and the tree branches thrash in front of the window, throwing wild shadows across the bedroom walls.
Edgar frantically taps the mouse, trying to open the folder. The computer screen blinks and fades.
EDGAR
Don’t do this, goddamned you!
He bangs the side of the monitor. The screen image comes back. But not everything returns with it.
Folder upon folder, one after each other, vanishes. Each time, the message box pops up: ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE?
And each time, quickly, the arrow selects: YES. But Edgar is not doing this.
He slides and shakes the mouse, pounds the keyboard, and watches in disbelief as each folder – LYDIA_BEACH, LYDIA_PARK, LYDIA_PICTURES, LYDIA_BOATING – disappears, quickly, systematically.
Edgar yanks the mouse chord so hard that he pulls the workstation over and rips out the chord. And the folders keep DELETING.
Edgar groans; Rachel moans, and her body shudders in the mirror. The lighning crashes and wind rattles the window.
Edgar bends down and presses the power button on the computer. He holds his finger on it. And holds it. And holds it. The power does not go off, and the LYDIA folders continue to vanish from the screen.
The THUNDER CLAPS and WIND now intensify, and Rachel MOANS in agony. Edgar hears her but is transfixed by the computer screen.
A folder OPENS and for a split-second, BLACK LUSTROUS EYES appear, and LYDIA’S LAUGH OFF-SCREEN, pierces the cacaphony. Edgar stumbles backwards. The EYES are gone.
The folders, too, have all gone. But the video play box materializes in the middle of the screen and a black background appears.
An image FADES IN. It is the inside of the car, underwater, bits of weeds and silt floating by over the dash and front windshield. Edgar becomes three shades paler, his jaw dropping.
Rachel moans louder. Despite her misery, he cannot pull himself away from the screen.
The image PANS across the dash and stops on EDGAR’S CORPSE, still strapped into his seat, a weed flapping against his chin.
LYDIA (O.C.)
This is what you promised me, Edgar!
Edgar staggers backwards, falling onto the floor. Lightning cracks and the computer screen flickers, the picture going black.
edGAR
Don’t do this to me!
REFLECTION of Rachel in the mirror – she is sitting up, stretching the tubes.
The image on the computer re-appears: It is LYDIA’S CORPSE, the face encrusted with slime and boiling with crayfish. Her BLACK LUSTROUS EYES stare out and she grins, her molars poking out from a hole in her cheek.
Edgar screams, dragging himself backwards across the floor.
Another CRACK OF THUNDER, and the computer monitor goes black.
RACHEL
Don’t do this to me!
Rachels screams. Edgar scrambles to his feet and sees her rising up from her bed, tangled in tubes and her strands of auburn hair gnarled around her face.
Her mouth, gritting in agony, stretches into a hideous grin. Edgar puts his hand out and approaches her, moving towards the medical equipment.
EDGAR
Rachel! I’m still here! I’m still here, my darling. But I don’t know what’s happening!
RACHEL
You know full well what’s happening, Edgar!
EDGAR
What?
She raises her hand, pointing a crooked finger past him. He turns and looks at the oval mirror, just as LIGHTNING FLASHES and blinds him.
As his vision clears, what he sees in the mirror freezes his soul: Lydia sits upright in the bed.
Edgar turns back to Rachel. She is sitting up in bed, glaring at him. She speaks with a VOICE FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.
RACHEL
(Lydia’s Voice)
You were supposed to die for me. You were, Edgar. You were!
EDGAR
No! No! Lydia, I couldn’t save you!
RACHEL
Who’s Lydia? What do you mean, save her?
EDGAR
Rachel? But I…
RACHEL
(Lydia’s Voice)
Who is Rachel? You should have stayed with me, Edgar!
EDGAR
(sobbing)
You were dying! For God’s sake, Lydia…
RACHEL
I’m Rachel!
(voice switches back and forth)
You should have died with…
Just as Edgar CRIES OUT, a CRACK OF LIGHTNING plunges the room into darkness momentarily.
EDGAR
No!
The power comes back on. Lydia’s corpse, her face decaying but her eyes still BLACK AND LUSTROUS, beckons to Edgar.
LYDIA
(both Lydia and Rachel’s voices)
You should have died for us, Edgar! You should have! You should have! You…
EDGAR
No!
Another CRACK plunges the room into darkness. CLAWLIKE HANDS grab Edgar around the throat and pull him down towards the bed. The tubes and cables twist around him.
The power comes on again. The dim light reveals a distorted, twisted face on the bed: A CORPSE, with wet auburn hair, but a rotted angular face that stares at Edgar with those BLACK EYES.
The corpse pulls Edgar towards it.
CORPSE
(both voices)
You should have! You should have!
Edgar pulls back violently, trying to free himself.
EDGAR
No! No! Have pity on me…
CORPSE
You will! You will, Edgar! You will!
Edgar tears himself from the clawlike hands, tumbling backwards into the cart. His head strikes the corner of a monitor, opening up a gash.
He groans and collapses against the bottom of the cart. He looks up to see the corpse pulling at the tubes, trying to pull him back to the bed. It grins the whole time.
CORPSE
You will! You will! You will!
Edgar grabs the metal cart for support and tries to get up.
EDGAR
I won’t! I won’t…
CRACK OF LIGHTNING, followed by BOOM OF THUNDER.
The medical equipment SIZZLES as electricity surges through it, and through Edgar.
As Edgar pitches forward onto the bed, the room goes BLACK.
EXT. EDGAR’S HOME – MORNING
The sun rises over the grounds, which are strewn with broken branches and twigs.
A police car and ambulance are parked in the front driveway.
INT. THE BEDROOM – MORNING
TWO COPS stand next to the bed, examining the bodies. One cop takes pictures of the scene: Edgar is collapsed on top of Rachel, and she has her arms around him. They are both entwined in medical tubes.
Rachel wears a peaceful smile. Edgar’s face is not visible – only his blackened neck.
In front of the computer, a DETECTIVE questions the nurse, who is very upset.
DETECTIVE
I’m sorry to put you through this now.
NURSE
He was just staying by her side all night, keeping her company.
DETECTIVE
I know. We don’t have reason to suspect…
NURSE
It’s not normal! I’ve never heard of it. But I suppose…
dETECTIVE
Suppose what,ma’am?
The nurse shakes her head and considers.
NURSE
That equipment is grounded to prevent shocks during electrical storms. It just doesn’t happen.
The detective looks at the corpses and the equipment. The monitor is one, showing no sign of damage.
TWO PARAMEDICS with a stretcher and body bag enter. They approach the bodies. One cop nods to them, and the put down the stretcher and start to disentangle the tubes.
The detective looks at the computer. The screen is blue-black and the power chord leading from the workstation is blackened.
DETECTIVE
(pointing at the chord)
Well, it did here. So much for surge protection.
The nurse looks at the computer sadly.
NURSE
I hope it didn’t damage the drive and wipe out any of their pictures. I know he saved a lot of pictures of the two of them.
The paramedics lift Edgar’s body off of Rachel, with difficulty. Her stiffened arms do not want to let go.
DETECTIVE
Did he now?
NURSE
Yes, he told me a lot of his memories were on that computer. I just hope they’re still there for his family.
The paramedics manage to get Edgar’s body off the bed, but not without raising Rachel’s corpse and causing it to drop back against the headboard with a thump.
ONE PARAMEDIC
Whoops!
COP
Puts a whole new spin on ‘Till death do us part’.
The detective scowls at the cop, not amused. He pats the top of the computer monitor.
DETECTIVE
Well, maybe this thing is still okay. Maybe a good computer geek can figure out a way to resurrect the dead.
The detective ushers the nurse out of the room as the paramedics place Edgar’s body into the bag.
Rachel’s body is propped up at an angle, still smiling, looking right at the computer screen.
For just a very brief moment, a REFLECTION appears on the screen: BLACK LUSTROUS EYES.
THE END
U.S. GRANT
A Screenplay
by
Jim Willard
BLACK BACKGROUND accompanied by muffled cannon and rifle shots ; Men scream and die beneath the tumult.
A MONTAGE of Civil War photos FADES in, with scenes of living soldiers posing in camp, marching, cooking, waiting ; and then, very familiar pictures of corpses upon the battlefield.
A CLOSE shot of one corpse reveals a SOLDIER BOY, not more than thirteen, eyes open in an expression of fear that signifies his last living emotion. A burn mark streaks across his chin, blackening one side of his face.
This image materializes into the O’Sullivan photograph of GRANT at City Point, leaning against a tree in front of his command tent, expressing grim determination.
As the picture FADES OUT, GRANT mutters in a gravelly voice :
GRANT (V.O.)
I cannot…I will not…see myself consigned to oblivion.
Against the BLACK BACKDROP, a crimson quote appears, accompanied by a drum beat :
‘The essence of war is violence. Moderation in war is imbecility. ‘
– John A. Fisher
The quote DISSOLVES into a darker red field, upon which is written:
‘Let us have peace.’
– Ulysses S. Grant
EXT. UPSTATE NEW YORK, 1885-MORNING.
The sun burns through a mist shrouding the mountains. Morning doves coo and somewhere a horse whinnies.
A dirt road winds its way past a few small cottages and a line of oak trees. In the background, a summer home stands partially wrapped in the fog. A GUARD OF THE GRAND ARMY is poised in the forefront, rifle resting against his soldier.
From another time, not so long ago, the booming echoes of a great calamity rise above the morning tranquility.
EXT. GRANT’S COTTAGE-MORNING.
The explosions grow in intensity as the tip of a pen scratches upon a white background. The movement of the pen is strong, steady, deliberate. The outline of a cracked hand emerges. The words do not flow; they march, letter by letter, at a rhythmic pace.
GRANT (V.O.)
No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted…
The pens stops and the white of the paper overcomes the letters, washes out the writing and becomes another shimmering pale wall of:
EXT. SHILOH, APRIL, 1862-DAY.
Petals flutter down through the sky, wafting over the ground and beneath pear trees, tumbling onto dying soldiers. Blood runs beneath clumps of petals. The red-white sheet becomes even more dull and stained as rifles crack and cannons explode from the distance. The white is now the gray of:
EXT. THE WILDERNESS, MAY, 1864-DAY.
Fire and smoke engulf woods; saplings burn and twist and leaves rip free of branches, shot off by bullets and musket balls.
A lifeless eyeball reflects the smoky carnage. The white of the eye streams with red veins which become:
EXT. PETERSBURG, JULY, 1864-NIGHT.
Blood flows down the sides of a massive crater. Fire blazes beneath the stars and black Union soldiers slide down the side of the pit, bayonets slashing at them from the edge.
The end of one bayonet glistens with part of a bloody scalp attached to it. Flames flare up and become:
EXT. VICKSBURG DEFENSIVE WORKS, APRIL, 1863-NIGHT.
Explosions rip into the bank along Vicksburg. Union gunboats maneuver through artillery that rains down upon the Mississippi and return fire into the Confederate entrenchments.
A YOUNG CONFEDERATE BOY, no more than thirteen, his eyes ablaze, fires down from his trench upon the boats. A shell drops in front of him, obliterating him.
GRANT (V.O.)
…unconditional and immediate surrender… I propose to move immediately upon your works.
The lamps and shell fire upon the river mingle with the myriad reflections of stars in the sky. The ghastly scene fades away into:
EXT. GRANT’S COTTAGE-DAY.
The GUARD stands upon the road in front of the General’s home, a strong young man, jaw clenched, bayonet fixed alongside his face. He is poised upon the road, gazing down its long expanse as it dissolves into the morning fog.
The hand directs the pencil across the page, and the word ‘Napoleon’ is visible.
GRANT
I never admired the character of the first Napoleon, but I recognize his great genius…
Blood drips onto the page and the hand ceases its effort; it appears to shake, but only for a moment. The hand dabs at the blood spot and wipes most of it away, but a slight trace remains upon the paper.
GRANT
That French bastard never smoked a good cigar…
The face of the aging General and ex-president materializes over the manuscript. It is a pale grim countenance, one that displays the cynicism and detached amusement of someone who has seen many men die slowly but never predicted witnessing his own gradual demise.
GRANT coughs and presses a cloth against his mouth. A silk scarf is wrapped around his neck and he is wrapped in a luxury bathrobe not at all the picture of unpretentiousness for which he is known. He is sunk down low in a wicker chair, his notepad on his lap.
He begins to write some more but a coughing fit stops him. The GUARD turns towards GRANT with some concern. A women’s figure moves into view on the other side of a window over the General’s shoulder. The strong clear countenance of JULIA, GRANT’s wife, materializes.
A carriage rattles from off in the distance. The GUARD fixes his attention upon the unannounced visitor. GRANT looks up and makes out the fluttering of a flag.
The Union stars and bars flap in the wind. The flag hangs off the carriage’s lantern post.
A FLASH AND BOOM jar GRANT and he winces. The flag has become a tattered Confederate rag, ripped to pieces in a fusillade of bullets. A line of snarling Rebels, bayonets bristling, swarm over a hill.
GRANT closes his eyes for a moment. The tranquility returns and the flag is in fact the flag of the Union. A scowling COACHMEN pulls on the reins to slow down the horses as the GUARD raises his hand to him.
GUARD
Your business, sir?
The OCCUPANT’S cracked voice responds from inside the coach:
VOICE
Ah would kindly appreciate paying ma respects to the General.
GRANT squints into the blackness of the coach. The outline of an old grizzled face stares back, but it is obscured.
The GUARD lowers his rifle slightly. The COACHMEN leans forward just a bit, scowling and challenging, both hands on the reigns but eyes fixed upon the GUARD.
GRANT peers further into the blackness and the eyes respond with wonder and pity. The face emerges from the darkness and reveals an expression of compassion and gratitude.
GRANT breaks into a slow grin, never opening his lips in the process.
GRANT
Simon…
GRANT gestures to the GUARD, who promptly lowers his weapon. The COACHMEN glares back at him and draws the carriage closer to the porch
Simon Bolivar BUCKNER, the first Confederate general to surrender to GRANT, leans out the window and waves.
As the coach pulls up, BUCKNER yells out:
BUCKNER
Hurrah, Sam! Hurrah to Mexico…
GRANT
Hurrah to old generals, Sam Buckner…
BUCKNER
Hurrah to the United States!
GRANT wants to respond but the pain in his throat catches his voice. He winces, but manages to wave his head and nod.
BUCKNER flings open his coach door and steps out.
BUCKNER
And would ah be out of place to hurrah to the memory of Dixie?
GRANT
Dixie, Simon? Now what the devil Is Dixie?
BUCKNER smiles as he steps out of his coach. He wears a plain brown overcoat but walks with a touch of dash and flair. His whiskers, like those of his friend GRANT, sparkle with gray. A scabbard bumps against his leg.
BUCKNER steps up onto the porch, bows slightly, and extends his hand. GRANT seizes it with a firm grip but the effort makes him cough blood upon the porch, just missing BUCKNER’s boot.
BUCKNER gently lowers GRANT back onto his chair.
BUCKNER
Steady now, sir…
GRANT
A slight reverse of our fortunes, you can see now.
BUCKNER
Well, now, ah believe I can see myself dropping well before you, Sam. You’re like a knotted oak that can’t be split through.
GRANT
Another wrong-headed idea, Simon. A musket ball, if it had met its mark, would have ended my career as quickly as that of any man.
BUCKNER
Nevertheless, General, your steadiness under fire is undisputed.
GRANT’s remains expressionless. BUCKNER tries to discern what his friend is thinking. But that is a wasted effort.
The front door creaks and JULIA steps onto the porch. She breaks into an approving smile and nods at BUCKNER.
BUCKNER
Why Mrs. Grant..this is a pleasure.
JULIA
It is surely mutual, Simon.
BUCKNER
You and General Grant have found yourself a delightful retreat.
JULIA
All the more delightful that old friends such as you can pay a visit it.
BUCKNER bows with a full measure of southern gallantry.
JULIA
I have had a hot pot of coffee waiting, but no one who wishes to partake.
BUCKNER
My dear lady, you now have someone…
JULIA
Who wishes to partake?
BUCKNER
Ah would be very grateful, Ma’am.
JULIA courtsies and places her hand upon GRANT’S shoulder.
JULIA
Ulysses, can I get you something? Something to drink?
GRANT thinks for a moment, then replies with a wry smile:
GRANT
Whatever might burn this blasted sore out of my throat! Maybe a good cup of whiskey.
JULIA frowns and BUCKNER raises his eyebrows with some concern. GRANT shakes his head and spits upon the deck. He mutters under his breath:
GRANT
But of course I’m kidding.
(loudly)
Water, please. That ought to cool it down. Until the next coughing fit, anyway.
JULIA goes inside. BUCKNER moves closer and presses his hand upon his friend’s shoulder.
BUCKNER
It’s a damnable piece of unfairness.
GRANT
Oh, I don’t think so, Simon. It’s been a good run for me.
BUCKNER
It’s been a good run for both of us, ah would say. With the exception of Donelson.
They both laugh. GRANT raises his hand in appeasement.
GRANT
In all fairness, Simon, your superiors left you out to hang.
BUCKNER
General Grant, now that the years have mellowed my temperament, I do not wish to assign blame to anyone.
GRANT
It was a vicious business. Right to the damned end!
BUCKNER
Fort Donelson was my responsibility.
GRANT
I beg to disagree. It was Pillow’s responsibility. And had he the guts to close out the Cumberland with all the Rebel forces he possessed, you might have busted loose.
BUCKNER frowns and shakes his head.
BUCKNER
And to what end, Sam?…
The something occurs BUCKNER and he points to the manuscript.
BUCKNER
And in your memoirs, are you writing it like that?
GRANT chuckles and raps the paper.
GRANT
My friend, I am giving you well-deserved credit.
BUCKNER turns about on his heel and stares off into the mountains. He strolls across the deck, admiring the view.
BUCKNER
I guess we both have had our misfortunes…our intervals of shame and disgrace…
GRANT
Oh, nonsense…
BUCKNER
Our ups and our downs…
The two share an uncertain silence for a moment. BUCKNER observes the GUARD: young, stolid, severe. He nods once, slowly.
BUCKNER
Sam, we were part of the same glorious army, long before that horrible war.
GRANT
Yes…
BUCKNER
States didn’t matter, then…
GRANT
No…
BUCKNER
Ah delight in thinking about it…
GRANT
So do I, Simon. So do I…
JULIA steps through the front door and delivers a tin of coffee to BUCKNER. He smiles and bows to her. She has a tin of water in her other hand, which she brings to Ulysses.
GRANT
Mexico…
BUCKNER
Mexico!
JULIA
Mexico?
JULIA eyes them with a touch of suspicion. GRANT and BUCKNER exchange mischievous glances, like two boys who have just pulled a prank that no one has yet discovered.
BUCKNER
Ah, yes…Mexico.
GRANT
Who could forget?
BUCKNER
The Mexican War was our romance…
GRANT nods dreamily.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. THE RIO GRANDE, NORTH OF PALO-ALTO, 1845-DAY.
Brown tawny legs dip into the edge of the river; dainty female toes stroke the current on top of the water.
Mexican women, some of them half-naked, bathe in the river, gesturing and winking. On the other side of the river, the U.S. army is encamped.
YOUNG GRANT, a quartermaster, leans against a supply wagon. Soldiers roll howitzers and lug supplies forward. CAPTAIN PAGE strolls by and salutes. GRANT returns the salute as PAGE grins.
PAGE
Like the scenery, Lieutenant?
GRANT
I hadn’t noticed, sir.
PAGE
Then you’re the only one who hasn’t, Grant.
PAGE proceeds up the line, inspecting the artillery pieces and infantry. GRANT at first pretends not to pay attention to him, then sneaks a glance at the captain, noticing the way he carries himself: his smart steady gait, the scabbard strapped to his hip, the tight-fitting uniform.
A DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER, a mere boy, stands at attention and salutes PAGE. The soldier, in contrast to PAGE, is dirty, sweaty and ill-fitted to his uniform.
DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER
Good morning, captain. You’re looking well, sir.
PAGE
Thank you…you’re looking somewhat hot.
DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER
Yes, sir…a little bit.
PAGE
Well, get some water from the quartermaster.
DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER
I will…
PAGE disappears behind a bend in the line. The DUSY-FACE SOLIDIER gazes back at the river, lost in the scene of long legs and naked brown skin. A BLUE-EYED SENIORITA gestures to him, raising her leg up out the water, exposing her hip and just a peek of her dark womanhood.
The DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER is practically drooling. He rests his musket against a wagon wheel and takes a few steps towards the river.
GRANT watches him. A FAT SOLDIER steps out from behind the wagon and grins.
FAT SOLDIER
I’d give three sides of beef for a slice of that meat…
DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER
Well I got somethin’ to give, I expect.
The DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER continues towards the river. The BLUE-EYED SENIORITA giggles and splashes in the water. THE FAT SOLDIER leers. Other men along the line take an interest in the enticing sight.
GRANT leans back against his wagon and tightens his grip on a sidearm. His expression, in contrast to other soldiers, is grim and wary.
Beyond the river, a line of thicket and dirt hills stretch well back to the horizon. Mountains loom in the distance. The sun glares into the river, casting a blinding reflection upon the American army.
The DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER, smirking and gawking, approaches the river’s edge. THE FAT SOLDIER takes a few steps past the wagon, partly blocking GRANT’S view.
CAPTAIN PAGE races down the line and yells at the wayward soldier:
PAGE
Get back up here, you damned rascal!
The DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER turns towards page, still grinning ear to ear. A CRACK from the thicket and a musket ball rips off one of his ears.
He plows headfirst into the sand. The BLUE-EYED SENIORITA screams and dives under the water, just as a fusillade of lead balls rip across the river into the American line.
THE FAT SOLDIER stumbles backward, trying to find cover behind the wagon. A musket ball splits the corner and throws wood shivers into his face. Blood streams down his cheeks and he begins to howl like a baby.
GRANT draws his sidearm and steps in front of the FAT SOLDIER. Without a trace of panic, he points the barrel ahead, seeking a target.
A wave of Mexican soldiers rises up from behind the thicket and hills and fire across the river. Lead tears into the Americans. GRANT fires his weapon, unperturbed.
A MEXICAN SOLDIER, his eyes peering down the barrel of a musket, takes a bullet between the eyes.
GRANT watches the man fall, even as cannon shot and bullets explode around him, intent only upon the result of what he has just done.
A SANDY-HAIRED SOLDIER, a mere boy, crouches down in front of the wagon and tries to fire his musket. It fails to discharge as bullets fling up dirt around him. He tosses the weapon and flees.
A BALD SOLDIER, a much older man, starts to pull his sidearm, then loses it in a paroxysm of fear. He bends over to vomit, just as a cannonball whizzes over his head and explodes.
Dust and smoke engulf everything; GRANT takes cover behind a wagon wheel and reloads his sidearm. He tries to aim through the smog but can’t make out a clear target.
PAGE dashes past, his sword drawn.
PAGE
That’s it, boys! Let the greasers have it!
American howitzers plaster the other side of the river with shells. American musket balls start making their point, and the Mexican line retreats back into the thicket.
The BLUE-EYED SENIORITA lies dead behind a bush, part of her breast exposed with a hole in it.
DISSOLVE
EXT. PALO ALTO, THE MEXICAN LINE-DAY.
Smoke and dust swirls around the town as the Mexican army attempts to fortify it. They form a line, bayonets flashing. Artillery rains upon them but they remain steadfast against the Americans.
A thicket-strewn plain separates the two armies. The Americans advance through sharp blades of high grass. Howitzers throw shells over their heads.
A MEXICAN CALVARY OFFICER raises his saber. His soldiers point their lances and maneuver their horses out front, on both sides of the infantry. They appear poised to meet the Americans.
Shells rain down and the front lines of the Mexican infantry blow apart in the precise bombing.
The horses whinny and buck under the assault. The CALVARY OFFICER drops his saber and his men scatter about in confusion. The infantry attempts to stay intact; the Mexican artillery begin to answer with cannon fire.
EXT. PALO ALTO, THE AMERICAN LINE-DAY.
GRANT stands in front of a line of wagons behind the American lines, watching the tall grass in front of him part as Americans slash through it. Cannonballs drop into the thicket, followed by an eruption of fire and dirt, then blood and bone.
Part of a limb smashes against the side of the wagon next to GRANT; a piece of flesh lands in a open bucket of drinking water, throwing the dipper into the air.
TWO NEARBY SOLDIERS drop to their knees and aim their muskets. Another close explosion throws rocks and bones into their faces, knocking them to the ground. GRANT is struck on the side of the face with a rock and he staggers against the wagon. He pulls up his sidearm as another cannon ball falls in front of him and explodes. The concussion rips the weapon from his hand and throws him clear. Yet another explosion rips off part of the canvas from his wagon.
PAGE charges past, followed by a BAND OF SOLDIERS with bayonets drawn. From the ground, GRANT observes the young captain in action:
PAGE thrashing his way through the brush, soldiers following him.
PAGE calmly raising his firearm, leveling it, and firing.
PAGE diving into the sharp grass, disappearing for a moment, then charging out the other side with his sword drawn as he leads his band right at the Mexican line.
PAGE thrown off his feet by artillery.
GRANT (V.O.)
The trouble is now made by men who did not go into the war at all, or who did not get mad till the war was over.
JOSH, a tall lanky teenager with orange hair, jabbers on his cell phone with DEREK.
josh
C’mon, man, did ya get in there or not?
DEREK
(Over Phone)
In where?
JOSH
Oh, don’t bull me, man! Mister big talk, do this, do that, party all night with the women.
derek
Hey shit-liver, anyone who’s gotta ask me, is way away from gettin’ any.
jOSH
In her panties, dumbass!
derek
Ha! Of course not. What would make you think that?
JOSH
I knew it. Mister Big Talk…
JOSH takes a pull on a power drink, puts it down on the stand next to his bed and picks up a smut magazine that is open to a centerfold.
JOSH
Mister Big Talk…least I’m gettin’ some now.
DEREK
Yeah, sure ya are…
JOSH
(nose into his magazine)
Sure I am…
INT. STRIP CLUB-NIGHT
DEREK sits at a corner table, TWO STRIPPERS gyrating in front of him. He’s a suave, dark-skinned, dark-haired seventeen year old who’s self-centered confidence is only matched by his aptitude for finding opportunity.
BOTH STRIPPERS have their ample assets swinging in front of him as he sips on a cocktail and listens to his deprived friend.
JOSH
(over phone)
More than you, man…I bet you’re in bed reading Cosmopolitan and painting your nails.
DEREK
Joshua, my old buddy old pal, you don’t know how cosmopolitan I am!…
JOSH
What’s all the racket in the background? You’re jive-assin’ me, ain’t ya Derek?
A couple of asses are bobbing up and down in front of DEREK.
DEREK
Indeed, my friend…
JOSH
You got your stereo goin’, make me think you’re out on the town? Ain’t ya? Ain’t ya, dude!
DEREK
Oh, yeah, dude. That’s right. I gotta go.
DEREK turns off his cell phone and enjoys the close-up view. The view parts just enough for him to see someone across the smoky club, someone he doesn’t want to see.
ANTONIO CALABRESE, an eighteen-year old, three-hundred pound high school senior, with reputed affliliation with the mob, is glaring at DEREK. And then he puts up his right hand and ‘pulls the trigger’ with his thumb and forefinger.
One of the STRIPPERS walks away; the other STRIPPER bends down in front of DEREK, keeping the goods well-displayed, and smiles at him.
STRIPPER
Two-for-one is good until one, sweety. Ya want another?
DEREK
Oh, yeah…
STRIPPER
(standing up)
Someone different with me, this time? Maybe Shelly or the Chink chick, Jennie I think her name is…
DEREK
…No, I’m talking about another drink.
STRIPPER
Oh, well then, another vodka tonic?
DEREK
Yeah…
STRIPPER
(walking away)
Right away, but don’t forget two-for-one…
DEREK
(sulkily)
Two-for-one…
The STRIPPER fades away into the smoke, her long legs dissolving. ANTONIO is smoking a cigar, staring at DEREK.
DEREK looks down and scowls.
int. joSH BEDROOM
JOSH flips through his magazine and gulps the power drink. A KNOCK on his door. He jams the magazine under his pillow.
JACK
(other side of door)
Hey Josh, I’m comin’ in.
JOSH
Uh, sure Dad. I think it’s unlocked.
The doorknob rattles but the door remains closed.
JACK
It’s not. What are you up to?
JOSH scrambles around and finds a textbook under his bed. He opens it and puts near his pillow. He goes over to the door.
JOSH
Studying some stuff…
He unlocks and opens the door. JACK, his dad, stands outside.
JACK
Well, can I come in? Or are you still up to something?
JOSH opens the door and his father enters.
JOSH
C’mon, man…you know me better than that!
JACK
Yeah, I know you enough to know I don’t freakin’ know you at all.
JACK ROBITAILLE towers in front of his son. JACK wears dark trousers, a tight-fitting polo shirt, and a gunbelt with a holstered, federal-issued service revolver.
JACK is a federal agent, and he’s on his way to work.
JACK
Let me tell ya somethin, Josh. You’re on ice now because your Mom and I can’t trust you. No goin’ out, no palin’ around, none of that bullshit until we can trust you…
JOSH
Aw, c’mon, Dad!…I don’t hang with a bad bunch.
JACK
No, just that guy Derek! I’m just tellin’ now: don’t screw up.
NSERT
T.V. Screen – a HOT FEMALE BUTT in cut-off dungarees with a heart sewn on the backside, straddles a chopper.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
American women through the decades have not been shy about displaying their assets.
CUT TO –
PLAYBOY PHOTO OF MARILYN MONROE, the risky sections blurred over.
NARRATOR
Indeed, fame and fortune have found those who are best at promoting what they have to offer.
CUT TO –
CLIPS OF DARK-TANNED GIRLS LYING NUDE ON A BEACH, Circa 1975.
CUT TO –
AEROBICIZED WOMEN WORKING OUT IN A HEALTH CLUB, Circa 1988.
NARRATOR
And there has never been a shortage of those of the female persuasion, flaunting their lithe and appealing attributes to those of the male persuasion. Suggesting what could be, what might become, reality.
CUT TO –
CLIP OF BRITTANY SPEARS KISSING MADONNA.
CLIP OF POLE DANCE STRIPPERS.
NARRATOR
Sex, for American girls, is the means to power. It is what every man wants. It is what every man needs…
LOUD SNORING OFF-CAMERA.
NARRATOR
…what drives men to do crazy, stupid things. The power over them is…
CUT TO-
CHANNEL IS SWITCHED TO A VIAGRA COMMERCIAL. A HANDSOME MATURE COUPLE DANCE AND KISS.
INT. WILBUR FAMILY ROOM-NIGHT
CLOSE on a nose with a few long hairs hanging out. The SNORING emanates from this nose.
EMILY WILBUR, (50), fat, gray-haired, sprawled with her flabby legs stretched apart from beneath an old bathrobe, snores in front of the plasma t.v.
The mature couple on the SCREEN appear to wave to her, before they go into the bedroom.
CLOSE on a chin with a scruffy grayish beard. The beard moves with the chin.
CLOSE on bloodshot eyes staring. REFLECTION of snoring Emily in them.
WIDE OUT on JIM WILBUR, (48), sinewy yet bookish, slightly gray but still sporting a good head of hair. His scruffy beard gives him a rugged appearance, oddly offset by thick-framed glasses which he only wears at night.
He gets up and yawns, his beefy frame stretching the v-neck t-shirt and the still muscular thighs punching out from his boxer shorts.
Jim grabs the remote and clicks randomly, before stopping on a movie.
INSERT
CLIP from the film, ‘Rear Window,’ the last scene, with Jimmy Stewart hunched down in his wheelchair, in the shadows, frantically whispering over the phone.
Jim watches the movie for a few moments, then sighs. He bends down to wake his wife, when his eye catches something on the other side of the room.
INSERT
PHOTO ON BOOKCASE, JIM and EMILY as YOUNG COUPLE, both of them buff and healthy and wearing hiking shorts, backpacks strapped to them, a sweeping mountainscape behind them.
Jim catches something out of the corner of his eye. A SMALL DARK SHADOW flits in front of the large window in the adjoining room. He walks into the dining room.
INT. DINING ROOM
Jim stops next to the dining room table. The stars and moon shine through the window. He peers past them to the corner. A shape moves quickly, diving beneath the table.
Jim bends down and stares through the legs of a chair. The SCREAM MASK HOWLS back at him.
Jim jumps up, hitting his head against the table. The chair next to him topples over and a LITTLE HOODED FIGURE brushes past.
JIM
Why you little…
LITTLE GIRL SCREAMS.
The dark shape dashes around the corner to some stairs. Jim gets up, rubbing his head, and walks over to the stairs. LITTLE FEET POUND ahead of him.
INT. BASE OF STAIRS, VESTIBULE
Jim stops at the base of the stairs, just in time to see the tail end of the black cape disappear around the corner.
JIM
We spawned a demon.
Wearily, he plods up the stairs.
JIM
Melissa, how long have you been up?
He gets towards the top of the stairs. No answer.
JIM
Answer me, lady, or you’ll…
MELISSA (O.C.)
Blow it out your touchhole!
JIM
(like a Soprano)
Ow-yiii!
A DOOR SLAMS. Jim springs to the top step and looks down the hallway. A single nightlight plugged into a a wall socket provides some dim illumination.
JIM
I’ll rap your behind, miss!
MELISSA (O.C.)
No you won’t!
He plods down the hall, eyes on a closed door at the end.
INT. MELISSA’S BEDROOM
MELISSA, (10), has her Scream mask up and ear pressed against the door. She’s a cute freckle-faced girl with an abundance of mischief playing in her expression, and no small amount of defiance.
She hears her father PLODDING ominously down the hallway. She backs up into the gloom of her unlit room, past her bed, and sits down in a little rocking chair in front of the open window, as a STREETLIGHT illuminates her from behind.
She pulls her Scream mask down over her face and reaches behind in her into a cubby hole shelf, pulling out something which is not clearly visible.
INT. THE HALLWAY
Jim has a slight smirk on his face as he slowly approaches the door.
INT. MELISSA’S BEDROOM
Melissa is frozen in her chair, clutching that mysterious something.
INT. THE HALLWAY
Playfully, Jim STOMPS on the floor, getting closer to his daughter’s bedroom.
INT. WILBUR FAMILY ROOM
Emily is still snoring on the couch, louder than ever, with her breath rattling forth from her open mouth. Her hand drops down from the couch.
A LARGE DARK FLOPPY-EARED SHAPE bounds over to her and presses its nose against her knee. She kicks it away.
It moves back into place and a long wet tongue licks her finger. She giggles and slaps it.
GRUNT as the shape pulls back on hind legs, ears flopping.
The shape moves in again. Emily’s legs pull apart as her snoring becomes even louder. The nose is approaching that black engulfing void beneath the robe that can only be…
INT. MELISSA’S BEDROOM
The little hand clutches the unknown object. The eyes peer intently through the holes in the Scream mask.
The STOMPING gets closer: regular, louder, threatening.
INT. WILBUR FAMILY ROOM
That dripping nose zeros in on the void. Emily’s breath becomes more rapid, the snoring less pronounced.
INT. THE HALLWAY
Jim is smiling evilly now, CRACKING his knuckles as he nears the closed door.
EXT. WILBUR HOUSE-NIGHT
A Mustang rumbles up in front of the Wilbur’s tidy suburban home. The driver’s side door opens, and the blond hair of someone’s heads starts to emerge. Then:
WOMAN’S VOICE (O.C.)
Wait! Not yet! C’mere…
The head disappears back into the car.
INT. MELISSA’S BEDROOM
The STOMPING continues for a few moments, then halts in front of the bedroom door. A CRACKING OF KNUCKLES, then:
LONG PAUSE.
The door knob starts to turn. The eyes stare out from behind the mask. The hand tightens around the object.
The door slowly opens, a thin shaft of light shooting into the bedroom. The towering dark figure of ‘The Father’ steps into the room, his eyes glowing.
JIM
What do you want with me?
MELISSA
What?
JIM
(hoarsely)
I said, What do you want with me? I haven’t got any money. I haven’t got anything.
MELISSA
Dad, you’re being an idiot.
Jim puts his hands out and creeps nearer.
MELISSA
In fact, if you weren’t my Dad, I’d say you’re being a creep.
He gets nearer, his hands looming before her.
EXT. WILBUR HOUSE
Thrashing and commotion from inside the Mustang. It’s hard to see anything clearly, except what appears to be a struggle of some sort.
INT. WILBUR FAMILY ROOM
The drippy nose dives into the dark depths within the bathrobe. Emily murmurs in her sleep.
EMILY
Oh…oh, Jimmy. It’s been so long.
INT. MELISSA’S BEDROOM
The HANDS are right in front of the MASK.
Melissa raises her digital camera and clicks it. The FLASH BLINDS Jim.
The mask momentarily turns RED.
JIM
What the…
MELISSA
Take that!
He rubs his eyes.
EXT. WILBUR FAMILY ROOM
INSERT
CLIP from ‘Rear Window’: Raymond Burr rubbing his eyes.
Emily is smiling. A hairy mound rises up in front of her.
INT. MELISSA’S BEDROOM
Jim reaches towards his daugher. FLASH again.
As he rubs his eyes, Melissa throws the MASK at him and dives through his legs, tripping him. He staggers and tumbles forward over the chair as his daughter dashes out of the room.
Still half-blind, he pitches ahead and falls out the window.
He SCREAMS.
EXT. WILBUR HOUSE
Jim plunges into the hedge, his feet sticking up.
INT. WILBUR FAMILY ROOM
Emily SCREAMS and lunges forward, somersaulting over the hairy mound. She ends up on the floor as SHALAZAR, the family dog, a cross-eyed Afghan, comes over and licks her face.
EXT. WILBUR HOUSE
A bare FEMALE foot kicks the steamy window of the Mustang parked outside the Wilbur home. SHAPES thrash around and reposition themselves, as:
SCREAMS from INSIDE HOME bring two FACES to the steamy car window.
Jim topples out of the hedge, twig sticking up out of his hair. He shakes his head, rubs his neck and checks for any major injuries.
Then, he sees the Mustang parked in front of his house and the two faces staring at him.
One face disappears. The driver’s side door opens and NICK, Jim’s 21-year old son, handsome in a scruffy way, stumbles out.
He waves at Jim with a sheepish grin on his face.
NICK
Hey, Dad!
Jim notices the long strands of blonde hair hanging from Nick’s mouth.
The other door opens, and KAREN, Nick’s blonde, lithe girlfriend, steps out. Her legs are tan and lean; a short black skirt, wrinkled and pawed upon, barely conceals the rest of her hotness.
KAREN
Hello!
JIM
Hello?…Hello! Nick, we didn’t think you were going to get in until tomorrow.
Nick approaches, the strands of hair more and more apparent. Jim points to the corner of his mouth and shakes his hand, the gesture made all the more ridiculous by the twigs dancing in his hair.
The Scream face appears in the open upstairs window. Karen gasps.
MELISSA
Hi, asshole!
Nick smiles and points the finger at his little sister.
NICK
Hi Missy, you dirty little bitch!
XT. COUNTRY ROAD IN ENGLAND – DAY
BERNIE, a young man, a bit on the stout side, rides a bicycle along a lonely stretch of road, somewhere in the English countryside.
His bike is a banged up piece of crap with a sideview mirror attached to the right side.
He huffs and puffs down the middle of the road for a ways, then pulls over on the left side. He pulls out a cell phone and taps a few buttons.
He holds the phone up to his ear. After a few rings, ELIZA answers.
ELIZA (O.S)
Hello?
BERNIE
Hello, Luv. Just called to say I’ll be late.
eliza
Whatever for?
BERNIE
The old bastard wanted to have a team meeting after work.
ELIZA
Oh, bloody hell.
BERNIE
That’s what I said. Oh well, I’m half an hour away.
ELIZA
It’ll be dark soon, Bernie. Would you like me to call you a hack?
BERNIE
Nix on that. Got to lose the weight.
ELIZA
All right then, Luv. Well, we’re having fish and chips.
BERNIE
That’s smashing! I’ll have to pedal like a bloody banshee to work it off. I’ll see you shortly, Eliza sweet.
ELIZA
Okay Luv, see you soon.
Bernie hangs up and starts pedaling.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD – DUSK
Bernie approaches a crest in the road. On his right side is a decrepit graveyard, overgrown with bramble and weeds.
The sun is slipping away. Its rays slant across the gravestones, bathing them in an eerie glow.
Bernie sees a flatbed truck in his rearview mirror. The truck is moving fast and veering all over the road.
BERNIE
Bloody hell!
INT. THE TRUCK
A DRUNK MAN gulps from a bottle of gin and blubbers.
drunk man
Aye, the bollocks of that bitch! That bitch!
He sways in his seat and spills some gin onto his lap.
DRUNK MAN
I’ll kill her! I’ll slit her throat and rip open her…
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD
The truck bears down on Bernie. He darts for the left side shoulder but the truck swerves at him.
Bernie’s last view of the truck is the gaping metal grill smashing into him.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD – NIGHT
Bernie comes to, sprawled out over the shoulder of the road, his mangled bike at his feet. His face is covered in blood and dirt, his shirt torn to pieces.
He gets up and limps over the the bike and touches the frame, about to pick it up. He jumps back.
BERNIE
Crikey! Colder ‘n a witch’s tits.
He looks up and down the road, hoping that someone will come along. The gravestones across the road from him shimmer in the moonlight.
Bernie pulls out his cell phone. It displays YOU HAVE MISSED MESSAGES. He taps a button.
Eliza answers.
ELIZA (O.S.)
Hello? Is that you, Bernie? It is you! I see the caller id.
BERNIE
Yes, it is! I’ve been hit by some ruddy bloke! I’m all banged up. Can you call…
ELIZA
Hello? Hello?
BERNIE
It’s me! Can’t you hear me? Eliza?
ELIZA
Is there anyone there? Is there anyone there? Bernie? Bernie?
BERNIE
It’s me for Pete’s sake! Eliza, I can hear you as clear as day!…What?
Bernie pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen which displays BATTERY NEEDS RECHARGE.
BERNIE
Bloody hell!
He tosses the phone and glares at up the road at the crest. He decides to walk it.
He staggers towards the crest, dragging his leg. The more he progresses, the more the crest of the road appears futher away. He tries to run but his breath labors and comes out in frosty puffs, which startles him.
Bernie stops, dismayed. He glances over at the graveyard. A TALL MAN IN A DARK ROBE is hunched over a new stone. Bernie, amazed, walks towards him.
BERNIE
I say, can you help me out? I’ve been in a mucking bit of an accident.
The tall man pays no attention. He lowers himself and gazes down into what Bernie can now see is a freshly open grave. The stone above it is gleaming white.
The tall man drops headfirst into the hole. Bernie freezes.
A GIRL LAUGHS. Bernie looks to his left. A LITTLE GIRL in a white dress waves at him from behind a large tree from the other side of the graveyard. .
Bernie walks towards her, his bad leg impeding his progress. The girl steps behind the tree.
BERNIE
Hey little lass, come back! Come back! Oh bloody hell!
LITTLE GIRL (O.S.)
Bloody hell! Tee! Hee!
Bernie reaches the tree and looks behind it. There is no one there. He glances over his shoulder and sees something: a murky GRAY FORM, moving quickly at the far end of the graveyard.
He looks left, and the girl is waving to him from behind a broken gravestone. Beyond her, A MAN WITH A SCAR, dressed in convict’s clothes, grins at him.
Bernie stares at the man. Upon closer inspection, he sees that the man’s neck is CUT WIDE OPEN.
bernie
(gasping)
Oh, bloody…
LITTLE GIRL
Hell! Bloody hell! Bloody hell! Hee! Hee!
Her laughter becomes an ECHOEY CACAPHONY OF cackling. The murky form glides in front of Bernie. The man with the scar walks sideways and between some trees and vanishes into the darkness.
Bernie tries to run back to the road, stumbling the whole way, grabbing saplings and gravestones for support. He gets to the edge of road, then stops short.
He sees the mangled bicycle, and right beyond one of the tires, a shoe with the tongue pulled out.
He looks down at his feet, and sees the same shoe, with the tongue pulled out.
He raises his head, slowly, agonizingly, and fixes his gaze upon the bicycle. This time, he sees the bloody shin attached to the shoe.
He sees a body – his corpse – sprawled out upon the shoulder.
Bernie wails and staggers backwards. He falls onto the ground, smashing into a gravestone. The GIRL SHRIEKS with laughter.
Bernie sees the little girl walking towards him, her eyes black, dead, souless. The tall man is behind her, grinning.
Beyond him, from the gloom emerge more PHANTOMS: AN UGLY OLD WOMAN, A DEFORMED BOY, A PRIEST WITH NO EYES, A LABORER HOLDING A HOE, A YOUNG WOMAN WITH LONG WET HAIR, A HUNCHBACK WITH A NOOSE AROUND HIS NECK.
Bernie crawls away from them. The darkness around him shimmers with orange-red; the sky lights up over him.
The open grave blazes behind him.
The little girl reaches out towards Bernie, her eye sockets black and bottomless.
LITTLE GIRL
Blood hell! Bloody hell!
The VOICES OF PHANTOMS chant in unison.
VOICES
Bloody hell! Bloody hell! BLOODY HELL!
Bernie screams and scrambles back towards the open grave, the pit glowing behind him. Gnarled, white clawlike hands reach towards him. He raises his hand and tries to fend them off.
VOICES
BLOODY HELL! BLOODY HELL!
The little girl reaches out to Bernie as he drags himself to the edge of the open grave. He swipes at her. She bends forward towards him, cackling, the other phantoms looming behind her.
Bernie flings his other arm at her and topples over the edge of the hole, into FIRE-AND-BRIMSTONE.
His SCREAMS MIX WITH BLOODY HELL! BLOODY HELL!
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD – LATER THAT NIGHT
A police vehicle is pulled over to the side of the road. TWO BOBBIES examine the corpse.
ONE BOBBY
It’s a bleeding tragedy, the poor bloke.
THE OTHER BOBBY
All out here alone like this.
ONE BOBBY
Just a young ‘un, too.
THE OTHER BOBBY
Young. Too bad. And I’d have to say he’s –
CLOSE on the headstone over the open grave, which is now dark and empty. Carved on the headstone: SHIT OUT OF LUCK
THE OTHER BOBBY (O.S.)
Shit out of luck.
THE END
He awoke at 6:28 am., exactly. Unlike many, he did not find himself staring at the alarm clock, minutes, or even hours, before it went off. He did not toss and turn during the course of the night. He did not wake up at all prior to 6:28am, like many people these days, to contemplate the prior day’s problems and anticipate, with angst and anxiety, the next day’s crisis. He did not fall outside the routine, the routine of steadily attained slumber, slowly increasing darkness, then strange dreams, them more slumbering gaps, then more dreams, then a slow emergence into the light brown feeling of near awakeness.
Near awakeness, at precisely 6:28am.
XT. WESLEY, MONTANA – DAWN
Snow-capped mountains shimmer in the rays of the rising sun; streams rush down the hills into the valley.
Red squirrels chatter and race along pine branches; jays scream from their perches.
An old gray owl turns its head.
FRED, a mangy Irish setter with laughing eyes and mud dripping down from his stringy coat, looks up a tree.
A raccoon is staring down at him. It hisses. Fred’s tongue hangs out as he pants. He’s just treed his prize and wants to claim it – or so he thinks.
The raccoon grips the bark and growls at him. Fred growls back. The raccoon bares its teeth. Fred barks.
XT. WHITE MOUNTAINS, 1961- DAWN
The morning mist shrouds the mountains and creeps over the valleys.
SMOKE signals the arrival of the Montreal-Boston train, puffing below the mist.
EXT. TRAIN STATION – DAWN
No one stands on the platform. Nearby, there is no one. The train approaches from a distance, its headlight a glimmering spotlight in the mist.
In the background, a 1950s DeSoto shimmers in the parklight, hit by the morning sun cutting through the fog.
INT. TRAIN STATION
AN ATTENDANT checks schedules behind the counter and yawns. A poster displaying NEW HAMPSHIRE TOURISM gapes overhead. It shows a nuclear-era family smiling and waving near a sparkling blue pond, DAD in hiking shorts, MOM in corduroys and sweater and cradling a googling baby; JUNIOR holding a fishing pole and dangling a stringer with a load of fish and SISTER twirling a tennis racket.
The ATTENDANT moves the schedules aside and reveals a PLAYBOY CUT-OUT OF MARILYN MONROE. He almost falls face first into it.
WHOOOOOOO of TRAIN breaks his revelry. The attendant looks up and sees a shadow pass in front of the window. He shoves the cut-out out of view.
Someone enters the station and approaches the window. The attendant glances up, squints, then gawks with surprise.
ATTENDANT
Hello there, Mr. Brown.
A shadowy form walks pass, stops, then wheels around and comes back to the ticket booth.
The attendant appears very confused.
ATTENDANT
Not too many up this time a day, on a Sunday. Not too many going anywhere, neither, I expect.
The shadowy form leans forward and expresses a soft sigh. A rumple-haired, meek little man with sad eyes and wrinkles, peers across the counter.
ATTENDANT
But then, I expect you are…You are?…Mr. Brown?…
BROWN
(softly)
Yes…Boston.
ATTENDANT
Where?
BROWN
I said…
TRAIN WHISTLE EXPLODES and the ROAR of the train drowns him out.
ATTENDANT
Well, she’s here. Gettin’ on?
SCREECH and HISS of the train just about drowns out Mr. Brown’s response.
BROWN
Yes…to Boston.
ATTENDANT
(cheerfully)
Ahhh, Beantown!
(ripping out a ticket)
One to Boston it is.
The attendant scribbles on the ticket.
ATTENDANT
That’s thirty-two, fifty-two for the round trip.
BROWN
I’m going one way.
The attendant looks up in surprise.
ATTENDANT
Oh…then that’s going to be…
(re-calculating the ticket)
seventeen, fourty.
Brown pulls out a wallet and shucks out dollar bills. The attendant looks at him with curiosity.
EXT. TRAIN STATION
A CONDUCTOR strolls out onto the platform and glances at his watch. Steam pours out of the train’s stack and roils into the sky. No one gets on or off the train.
He looks down the platform. A tiny figure approaches, difficult to make out.
At the other end of the platform, a police car pulls into the parking lot behind the station.
INT. TRAIN STATION
The attendant counts out change, then slides it and the ticket to Brown. Brown carefully counts the change before putting it into his overcoat pocket. He stares at the ticket and the bold black BOSTON stamped onto it.
The attendant scratches his head.
ATTENDANT
Who’s taking your class, if you don’t mind me askin’, Mr. Brown?
BROWN
(ruefully)
Whoever wants to.
Brown picks up his one piece of luggage and walks out of the station.
EXT. TRAIN STATION
The conductor looks down the ramp at the tiny figure walking towards him. It is a boy, ten years old, still in his pajamas but wrapped in a flannel coat and holding something in his hand.
The conductor puts his watch away and puts his hand on his hip.
Brown steps out onto the platform. He does not notice the boy, nor TWO STATE TROOPERS walking towards him from the other side. All Brown sees is the conductor and the embarkment steps.
The boy starts to run towards Brown. The troopers have their hands on their guns and they walk fast. Brown nods to the conductor and nears the steps.
BOY
Mr. Brown! Mr. Brown!
Brown wheels around to see the boy flying toward him. Before he can react, the boy has grabbbed onto his suitcase.
BROWN
Jimmy?
JIMMY
It wasn’t your fault…
BROWN
Jimmy….
(breaking down)
Oh, boy, it’s never anyone’s fault. Go home!
Tears stream down Jimmy’s eyes. Brown hunches down and pats the boy on the head, then tries to gently extract the suitcase from his hand.
JIMMY
I don’t want you to go.
BROWN
I’ve got to.
TROOPER
Mr. Brown, sir, you are not going to be on this train.
The troopers are upon him. Brown stands up to face them. The conductor puts his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and tries to pull him away. The boy knocks it off and grabs onto Brown’s coat.
JIMMY
I don’t want you to go, Mr. Brown!
One trooper separates the boy from Brown and handcuffs the man.
TROOPER
You are under arrest for the murder of Jerome Harrington.
JIMMY
(viciously)
Mr. Brown didn’t murder that guy! He saved us! He saved us!
TROOPER
Stand back, son!
One trooper holds onto his prisoner and the other retrieves the suitcase. They escort Brown down the platform. The boy is in tears but defiant in his expression.
The ticket blows out of Mr. Brown’s hand and across the platform. It ends up against the door of the station. The attendant opens the door and picks up the ticket. BOSTON flutters in the breeze.
The conductor and Jimmy watch Brown and his guards fade into the sun-glittered mist. Then, the boy breaks into a run towards them.
EXT. WHITE MOUNTAINS, 1961- DAWN
The morning mist shrouds the mountains and creeps over the valleys.
SMOKE signals the arrival of the Montreal-Boston train, puffing below the mist.
ext. train station – dawn
No one stands on the platform. Nearby, there is no one. The train approaches from a distance, its headlight a glimmering spotlight in the mist.
In the background, a 1950s DeSoto shimmers in the parklight, hit by the morning sun cutting through the fog.
INT. TRAIN STATION
AN ATTENDANT checks schedules behind the counter and yawns. A poster displaying NEW HAMPSHIRE TOURISM gapes overhead. It shows a nuclear-era family smiling and waving near a sparkling blue pond, DAD in hiking shorts, MOM in corduroys and sweater and cradling a googling baby; JUNIOR holding a fishing pole and dangling a stringer with a load of fish and SISTER twirling a tennis racket.
The ATTENDANT moves the schedules aside and reveals a PLAYBOY CUT-OUT OF MARILYN MONROE. He almost falls face first into it.
WHOOOOOOO of TRAIN breaks his revelry. The attendant looks up and sees a shadow pass in front of the window. He shoves the cut-out out of view.
Someone enters the station and approaches the window. The attendant glances up, squints, then gawks with surprise.
ATTENDANT
Hello there, Mr. Brown.
A shadowy form walks pass, stops, then wheels around and comes back to the ticket booth.
The attendant appears very confused.
ATTENDANT
Not too many up this time a day, on a Sunday. Not too many going anywhere, neither, I expect.
The shadowy form leans forward and expresses a soft sigh. A rumple-haired, meek little man with sad eyes and wrinkles, peers across the counter.
ATTENDANT
But then, I expect you are…You are?…Mr. Brown?…
BROWN
(softly)
Yes…Boston.
ATTENDANT
Where?
BROWN
I said…
TRAIN WHISTLE EXPLODES and the ROAR of the train drowns him out.
ATTENDANT
Well, she’s here. Gettin’ on?
SCREECH and HISS of the train just about drowns out Mr. Brown’s response.
BROWN
Yes…to Boston.
ATTENDANT
(cheerfully)
Ahhh, Beantown!
(ripping out a ticket)
One to Boston it is.
The attendant scribbles on the ticket.
ATTENDANT
That’s thirty-two, fifty-two for the round trip.
BROWN
I’m going one way.
The attendant looks up in surprise.
ATTENDANT
Oh…then that’s going to be…
(re-calculating the ticket)
seventeen, fourty.
Brown pulls out a wallet and shucks out dollar bills. The attendant looks at him with curiosity.
EXT. TRAIN STATION
A CONDUCTOR strolls out onto the platform and glances at his watch. Steam pours out of the train’s stack and roils into the sky. No one gets on or off the train.
He looks down the platform. A tiny figure approaches, difficult to make out.
At the other end of the platform, a police car pulls into the parking lot behind the station.
int. TRAIN STATION
The attendant counts out change, then slides it and the ticket to Brown. Brown carefully counts the change before putting it into his overcoat pocket. He stares at the ticket and the bold black BOSTON stamped onto it.
The attendant scratches his head.
ATTENDANT
Who’s taking your class, if you don’t mind me askin’, Mr. Brown?
BROWN
(ruefully)
Whoever wants to.
Brown picks up his one piece of luggage and walks out of the station.
EXT. TRAIN STATION
The conductor looks down the ramp at the tiny figure walking towards him. It is a boy, ten years old, still in his pajamas but wrapped in a flannel coat and holding something in his hand.
The conductor puts his watch away and puts his hand on his hip.
Brown steps out onto the platform. He does not notice the boy, nor TWO STATE TROOPERS walking towards him from the other side. All Brown sees is the conductor and the embarkment steps.
The boy starts to run towards Brown. The troopers have their hands on their guns and they walk fast. Brown nods to the conductor and nears the steps.
BOY
Mr. Brown! Mr. Brown!
Brown wheels around to see the boy flying toward him. Before he can react, the boy has grabbbed onto his suitcase.
BROWN
Jimmy?
JIMMY
It wasn’t your fault…
BROWN
Jimmy….
(breaking down)
Oh, boy, it’s never anyone’s fault. Go home!
Tears stream down Jimmy’s eyes. Brown hunches down and pats the boy on the head, then tries to gently extract the suitcase from his hand.
JIMMY
I don’t want you to go.
BROWN
I’ve got to.
TROOPER
Mr. Brown, you are not going to be on this train.
The troopers are upon him. Brown stands up to face them. The conductor puts his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and tries to pull him away. The boy knocks it off and grabs onto Brown’s coat.
JIMMY
I don’t want you to go, Mr. Brown!
One trooper separates the boy from Brown and handcuffs the man.
TROOPER
You are under arrest for the murder of Jerome Harrington.
JIMMY
(viciously)
Mr. Brown didn’t do that! Mr. Brown saved us! He saved us!
TROOPER
Stand back, son!
One trooper holds onto his prisoner and the other retrieves the suitcase. They escort Brown down the platform. The boy is in tears but defiant in his expression.
The ticket blows out of Mr. Brown’s hand and across the platform. It ends up against the door of the station. The attendant opens the door and picks up the ticket. BOSTON flutters in the breeze.
The conductor and Jimmy watch Brown and his guards fade into the sun-glittered mist. Then, the boy breaks into a run towards them.
As he gets closer, his sneakers POUND against the platform. Mr. Brown turns his head, looking towards the boy. One of the troopers is scowling; this is contrasted with the smile that slowly breaks over Mr. Brown’s face.
Jimmy stops behind them as they reach the patrol car. A trooper opens the rear door and the other guides Mr. Brown into the back seat.
Just as he settles down onto the seat, Jimmy yanks out a small plastic water gun.
CT I
A BAWDY TAVERN ROOM IN LONDON, 1593
A fire roars in Center Rear of the oak-paneled inn, with a Boar’s Head over the fireplace and dark empty tables arranged haphazardly about a center table.
The KING’S ARMS glimmer on a far wall: a longbow, pick axe and sword.
At the center table, a dark shape is hunched over a large mug, one of many mugs frothing over upon the table.
The head raises itself, and is gradually illuminated, revealing the hazard features of a wretched playwright: CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.
Marlowe turns and looks at the Boar’s Head and glares at it. Then he takes a drought from his mug, spilling the brew all over his tattered shirt. He looks down at the mess and hurls the mug at the fire.
marlowe:
Damnable, miserable perfidy! Bastard of wretched Celtic bitch howling at her whore-mongering lovers! What dawdling fool of an ass brewed gruel and dared serve it to me?
Marlow slams his fist upon the table and stands up and points out at the audience. He sputters and shakes before delivering his ultimatum.
marlowe:
Where art thou, you groveling demon spawn of Abaddon? Get out of your cave, your maggot infested wretch, you wormy succubus of the ass-licking King of Despair, the Contractor of Horrid Agreements and Malevolent Intentions and Trickery! You scum up my entire life – my existence is broken on a wheel that is the concrete craft of your despicability.
Marlowe turns back to the fire and steps towards it. It lunges at him and he jumps back, howling and waving obscenely at it.
marlowe:
Oh-ho! Hell, now! You are so hot, so big, so important, you who make every piece of my life, even my bad brew, such a part of yours! You, you bitch of the Bastard who threw you from the heights of Heaven and broke you upon the flaming crags of Tartarus! I defy you! I curse you! You, Belzebub,
ramrod sucking whore of Lucifer. I curse you! I shit on you! Yes, I shit on you!
a booming voice, a louder version of marlowe, answers him from nowhere, from everywhere:
I shit on you, Marlowe! I shit on you!
He leaps away from the fire and slinks back towards the table. He turns, wild-eyed, facing the audience.
maRLOWE:
How now? What booming depiction of my inner voice resounds throughout? How should I consider this? That I would so debase myself like a small worm upon a dying maggot. Like a lice upon a thread of a spider’s decomposing web.
Marlowe strolls to stage left, stepping into the shadowy edge of the tavern. He reaches into the shadows, like a blind man checking for obstacles before him.
marlowe:
Who’s there? Who speaks? Who mocks my misery?
He disappears off stage.
marlowe:
Who taunts the great playwright, Christopher Marlowe!
long pause
Marlowe steps back onto the stage, just momentarily, his foot dangling in the light. Then he pulls it back.
marlowe:
(changing accent)
You be jackin’ wid me, man! Someone is real into the disrespectin’. I mean like real, real, real not cool!
He leaps and bounds back to center stage, seizes one of the mugs from the table and drains the brew, spilling it all over himself.
He laughs, slams the mug down and stares out at the audience.
marlowe:
You motherfuckers! All of you cracker-jack hypocrites. You dudes. You all sit out there, smiling and all innocent bullshit like, sitting on your lily white hineys and talkin’ shit behind my back.
(wagging his finger, bending down)
Well I got somethin’ to tell you. I gots somethin’ to say to you, you cultured better-than-me, better-than-anyone motherfuckers!
Marlowe wheels around and shimmies and bops his way back to the fire. He grins at the Boar’s Head and pats it on the snout. Then, looking sideways out at the audience, he slowly moves his hand into the fire.
marlowe:
(hissing)
Burn this! Burn this, you mothers!
His hand is just about in the fire. The flame jumps and he steps backwards, howling.
marlowe:
Perfidy delayed! Anguish postponed!
EXT. ALBANY,NY-NIGHT
Holiday season: the downtown buildings flash with Christmas lights and snow falls onto sidewalks. SANTA CLAUS rings a bell next to a bus stop.
INT. BUS-NIGHT
The door swings open and elderly MRS. BROOKS hobbles up the stairs. The BUS DRIVER starts to swing his fat butt out of the seat to help her.
MRS. BROOKS
I told you before I don’t need any help!
BUS DRIVER
(arm extended)
Everytime, Mrs. Brooks.
MRS. BROOKS
Everytime! Everytime!…If I had a dime for every time you said that, I wouldn’t need to take the bus.
She sits down in the front seat. The bus driver frowns and plops back into the seat. He’s just about to shut the door when a jack boot kicks the side of the door.
Loud laughing and a voice from OUTSIDE yells: ‘Hold that bus, buster!’
JULIO and HASBRO leap the steps into the bus and bow before the PASSENGERS. They are both teenagers. Julio is tall, lanky and mean-looking. Hasbro is shorter, stout, and florid-faced.
JULIO
Hello, hello, hello!…
BUS DRIVER
Hello, hello, hello!…fare please.
The driver swings the door shut and guns the bus ahead. Hasbro stomps over to the seat across the aisle from Mrs. Brooks and sits down. He wears a strange smile.
Julio rummages through his coat for change. He keeps rummaging. And rummaging. And tottering next to the bus driver.
BUS DRIVER
(without looking at him)
I’m gonna have to let you boys off at the next stop if you don’t got it.
JULIO
Got what, old man? You call me a boy!
(leaning over into his face)
What’chya call me old man?
The bus driver avoids eye contact but is looking at his radio.
Hasbro is still smiling at Mrs. Brooks. She glares back at him. A TALL MAN seated down the aisle leans forward in his seat.
Julio burps and stands up front, saluting the view out the front window.
JULIO
Avast there, matey! Sail on captain. Sail on, old boy!
BUS DRIVER
I can smell it on your breath!
Julio whirls around and leans right in the driver’s face.
juLIO
Hey Abuelo, old man, you don’t smell nuthin’!
The bus driver reaches for the microphone. Julio opens his jacket, revealing a long butcher knife and the handle of a gun. When he smiles, his tooth glitters with a gold cap.
The bus driver pulls back. He sees the next stop approaching.
Mrs. Brooks scowls at Hasbro.
mRS. BROOKS
What is the matter with you?
Hasbro just smiles.
mrs. BROOKS
If my husband were still alive…
(glancing at the driver, loudly)
Or if the driver had any guts!…you punks would be off this bus pronto!
Julio spins around on his boot jack and stares at Mrs. Brooks. The bus stop is closer but the bus is stuck behind a line of traffic.
Hasbro smiles and smiles, his eyes glazed over. Like he’s in love with the old lady.
Julio stomps over to Mrs. Brooks. The bus driver reaches for the microphone. The tall man reaches inside his coat.
Julio sits next to the old lady and smirks. She glares right into his eyes. Hasbro leans forward.
hasbro
(above a whisper)
Let’s go wilding.
Mrs. Brooks turns to Hasbro.
mrs. BROOKS
What?
haSBRO
Let’s go wilding.
The bus driver has the mike close to his mouth and whispers into it.
buS DRIVER
Dispatch…bus nine…I repeat bus nine…this is Lou. We got a situation near Capital and Sixteenth. Code 9…code 9…
JULIO
You know, I don’t like you, old lady.
HASBRO
We saw this show…Julio and me…
(pointing to Julio)
We saw this show on cable. These guys were at a soccer match.
The tall man is now leaning out into the aisle, his hand down inside his coat. PASSENGERS scattered throughout the bus show their fear but act as if nothing is happening.
BUS DRIVER
Code 9…code 9…Capital and Sixteenth…
Julio jumps up and wheels around, pointing at the driver.
JULIO
Capitaine! Yo, captain bus driver. Who is you speaking to?
Hasbro slumps back into his seat and looks as if he’s about to fall asleep.
HASBRO
(murmuring)
They went wilding…beatin’ people up…cuttin’ em’…
The bus is right in front of the stop. Julio reaches into his coat and walks towards the front of the bus. The tall man rises from his seat.
The bus driver pulls close to the curb, preparing to stop. Julio is right behind him.
JULIO
Keep the ship sailin, captain.
buS DRIVER
I gotta stop here.
julio
(enraged)
I said we keep goin’, mother…
MRS. BROOKS
You disgusting little punk!
With surprising energy, the old lady stands up and makes her way towards Julio. She raise her fist.
Julio glares at her.
haSBRO
(half-asleep)
Beatin’ e’m…it was great, dude…I said Julio, we gotta get inta this action…
JULIO
You sit down, old bat!
She staggers towards him, her fist ready to strike.
A beeper goes off inside the tall man’s coat. Julio looks at the tall man, sees him with his hand drawing something out of his coat, and knows.
Both react act once, pulling weapons.
The driver sees his chance and lurches the bus over to the curb and slams the brake. This throws Julio sideways, just as he is pulling the trigger on a .38 pistol.
The gun discharges, striking Mrs. Brooks in the temple. The passengers scream. The tall man stumbles and drops a service revolver.
Both the corpse and the gun hit the aisle floor at the same time. Julio sees the gun and aims his own pistol.
The bus driver leaps out of his seat and slams the full weight of his body against Julio. The two struggle, with the driver trying to force the punk down into the stairwell.
The cop picks up his weapon and steps forward to assist. At that moment, Hasbro’s eyes open up wide. He pulls a short-barreled Colt automatic from inside his coat and fires a burst.
Not all the bullets make their mark but enough hit the cop to drop him squarely on top of Mrs. Brooks. Windows smash and passengers scream as glass fragments hit them.
Julio manages to draw a long-bladed knife and plunge it into the bus driver’s gut. Hasbro stands up with a light in his eyes and smiles.
HASBRO
Julio!….We’re into it now!…Let’s do it!
JULIO
(grunting)
Yeah, yeah…we done it man.
Julio struggles to push the dying bus driver off of him. Hasbro steps over the corpses, the automatic hanging down by his side. He walks up to the front of the bus.
The passengers are whimpering and petrified in their seats. Hasbro turns and looks at them, the strange smile on his face. He raises the weapon straight up.
HASBRO
D-d-d-d-dat’s all..f-f-folks!
He fires a burst through the roof. The passengers scream.
Hasbro puts his hand on the door lever and looks down at Julio, who is still trying to push the bus driver off of him.
HASBRO
Julio, what are you doing?
He opens the door and Julio and the now dead driver tumble out onto the sidewalk.
EXT. THE BUS-NIGHT
Hasbro steps out of the bus and over the driver’s body. Julio is panting hard. He shoves his pistol and bloody knife back inside his coat. PASSERBYS stop and stare.
jULIO
Hasbro, you crazy gringo. Put that artillery back, man!
Hasbro, with perfect calm, slides the automatic back inside his coat and gestures to an alleyway. He and Julio slip into it and disappear.
A storefront sign blinks PEACE & GOODWILL TOWARDS ALL over the body of the bus driver.
INT. A BAR-night
The lit dome of the Capitol City shines through the window.
It’s a seedy dump with a few early evening patrons and blues rock pounding out from some speakers.
THE BARTENDER, a burly man, switches the cable channel on a t.v. A documentary shows a soccer game in England and a bunch of ROWDIES brawling in the stands.
The rowdies punch out patrons and split open the sculls, using batons and tire irons.
BARTENDER
Goddamned…
DOCUMENTARY HOST
(British accent over t.v.)
The absolute frenzy of a football match unleashes a form of hostility that perhaps makes one think of the Celts invading Ireland or the savagery of Alfred the Great as his Viking hordes raided our early lands…
BARTENDER
That sure puts another twist on it. Ya know, the English as the ‘civilized’ society.
MELANIE CARLYLE, a detective with the Albany police department, grunts at the end of the bar. She is partly concealed by shadows.
DOCUMENTARY HOST
The football rowdies, or hooligans, caught up in the hysteria of the game, the sheer madness, engage in a practice called ‘wilding’…
A HOOLIGAN beats and throws a MALE FAN over the wall onto the playing field.
The documentary CUTS TO: scenes of hooligans brawling in city streets and clashing with BRITISH POLICE.
documentary host
This activity spills into the surrounding communities, the violent hordes attacking anyone who stands in their way.
BARTENDER
Stupid lymies.
CARLYLE
Youth.
Another documentary scene of a CHUBBY HOOLIGAN tipping over a baby carriage and attacking a YOUNG MOTHER.
documentary host
It is a dismal commentary on our society that this type of violence occurs, merely for the sheer thrill of it.
The bartender shakes his head and changes the channel to a hockey game.
CARLYLE finishes off shot, then drains half her beer. The colored lights over the bar highlight her middle-aged features: wrinkles under the hard eyes, a woman’s face wearing a veteran cop’s leather disposition.
The bartender polishes a mug and approaches her.
BARTENDER
You agree to a cab. I’ll let you have another one.
CARLYLE
You pay for the cab, Jimmy, and I’ll make sure my husband takes care of your tickets.
BARTENDER
It’s gotta be a screwed up situation. Ya know?
CARLYLE
(draining her beer)
No, I don’t.
baRTENDER
You and your husband both being cops. How’s it work out?
He goes back down to the tap. Carlyle sighs and drops a load of bills onto the bar.
CARLYLE
It’s doesn’t.
baRTENDER
What?
caRLYLE
It’s not!…It’s not working out.
The bartender glances over his shoulder at her as he pours out a frothy one.
bARTENDER
It’s not?
caRLYLE
We’re separated.
baRTENDER
No shit. Sorry to hear that, Mel. Where’d he end up moving to?
CARLYLE
He didn’t move anywhere. He threw me out.
The bartender brings the beer over.
baRTENDER
Oh…I should keep it shut.
(puts the beer down)
What can I do ya for, Melanie? How can I salve the wound?
MELANIE
Whaddya’ think, Jimmy?
She looks at the empty shot glass. He knocks his fist against the bar and winks.
bartender
The good old Seagram’s Salve…
He walks over to the back of the bar and gets the whiskey. Carlyle grabs her face and moans. She’s pathetic in her drunkeness.
caRLYLE
Goddamn I love him! Goddamn!
ext. THE BUS
POLICE and PARAMEDICS swarm the scene. NEWS CREWS shoot video. The body of the bus driver is carried to the back of a hearse.
DETECTIVE BERKOWITZ, a brawny man, stares out the window from inside the bus.
INT. THE BUS
A MEDICAL EXAMINER stands over the tall man’s body. He shakes his head. Berkowitz scratches his chin.
BERKOWITZ
Well, this is going to be a tough one.
EXAMINER
Yeah, I can see that. One of your own. Off-duty, right in the prick’s line of fire.
beRKOWITZ
That makes it hard, not tough, Ernie.
EXAMINER
Whaddya’ talkin’ about, detective?
TWO PARAMEDICS bring in a body bag and start bagging the corpse.
bERKOWITZ
It’s hard it’s one of our own. It’s tough I gotta tell his wife, who also happens to be one of our own.
EXAMINER
Oh Jesus…
berkowitz
Yeah…
The paramedics carry out the dead cop.
berKOWITZ
Jack Carlyle…a good guy, a good husband. Hardworking detective.
examiner
His wife off-duty right now?
berKOWITZ
(with a knowing look)
Yeah, I’ll say.
INT. A BAR
Carlyle is slumped over the bench, her whiskey glass rolling past her head. The bartender catches it and bangs it next to her.
barTENDER
C’mon Mel, you’re gonna get me shut down!
She mumbles into the wood, moaning the whole time. The bartender walks down to the taps.
CARLYLE
God, I love him so!…Jack! Jack!
baRTENDER
Ya want me to call you a cab?
Carlyle raises her head and scowls.
CARLYLE
No, Jimmy! Ya want me to sober up, zat it? Zat it, you ungrateful old…
A PRETTY WAITRESS with well-exposed boobs walks by to pick up an order. CARLYLE glares at her.
CARLYLE
I think I almost collared you working the corner of East and Fifth…
BARTENDER
Mel! For crying out loud! I’m going to end up calling a cop on you!
The waitress flushes with anger. She takes the order and ignores the drunk cop as she walks past. Carlyle sobs.
CARLYLE
Why don’t you! Call a cop! But make sure ya call Jack. He can take me outta here! He kicks me out…
barTENDER
He kicked you probably ’cause you were in here in the first place!
Carlyle gawks in disbelief at the bartender. Then, she wags a finger at him and smiles. She pulls out a cellphone.
carLYLE
S’not it! It’s ‘snot…I’ll show you, Mr. Jimmy-the-Bartender. I’ll call him…see?
She pokes the buttons on her cellphone.
CARLYLE
He’ll come get me. He’ll take me back.
ext. riverside park-night
An ATHLETIC YOUNG COUPLE, a BOYFRIEND and his GIRLFRIEND, cross-country ski along the trail. The glow of Albany’s downtown is in the background.
There is no one in the immediate area, except for them.
Two dark figures run out of the woods and alongside the couple. They move their arms like skiers.
They come alongside the couple. The overhead trailights reveal Julio and Hasbro.
JULIO
Weeee!…ha! ha!…lookit’ me, skiing in the pretty snow with my pretty bitch.
Hasbro drops below the trail on the other side of the couple, wearing the strange smile. Julio tracks from above; Hasbro from below.
The man darts a look at them and leans forward, gesturing to his girfriend to pick up the pace.
JULIO
Hey, capitaine! Where you goin’ man?
The couple break into a racing pace, heading for a more open area just ahead. Julio and Hasbro jog through the snow, laughing and tossing snowballs at the couple.
boyfriend
Head for the lighted area!
JULIO
Yeah, yeah!..head for the hills! Ha! Ha! Hey Hasbro, let’s head ’em off at the pass.
The couple, as fit as they are, break into a fear-struck sweat. The thugs are following behind.
int. A BAR
Carlyle flips open a cell phone and turns on the power. She taps the keys with a drunk’s lack of dexterity, but somehow manages to get her number.
After a beep from the answering service, she hears her HUSBAND’S VOICE on the other end.
HUSBAND
(over phone)
Just like you not to have your cell phone on. A cop…But I know why you have it off. Can’t be bothered, can you?…You know why I asked you to leave?…
caRLYLE
(bitterly)
Yeah, I do.
huSBAND
I bet you do. You won’t admit it. But I can’t put up with it anymore…the screaming and tantrums, the late nights, like last night, when you didn’t come home…the department chief calling me, asking where the hell you were! Like he was going to suspend me, not you!
Carlyle stares through the empty whiskey glass. The image of the bartender picking up mugs distorts his figure.
husBAND
(trying to contain his anger)
Yeah, maybe calling you a bitch was out of line. But throwing you out wasn’t…I changed the locks. And baby, better believe a cop can’t pick them…Don’t plan on coming back until you can walk in the door stone cold sober…and stay that way!
The message finishes with a loud click. Angry, Carlyle raises her shot glass to request another whiskey. The bartender ignores her and takes a rack of mugs into the backroom.
A beep signals the next message.
HUSBAND
Listen, Melanie…I’ve thought over what I said earlier. Really thought it over…Hell, I was pissed off. I’m not now.
PAUSE
Carlyle pushes her shot glass aside and presses her lips against the phone. She can hear her husband breathing.
HUSBAND
You need help, baby. You have for awhile. And me throwing you out isn’t the way to do it.
Her eyes begin to moisten.
HUSBAND
I’m not gonna use that ‘we’re both so busy with our cop career’ bullshit as an excuse. Truth is, I love you, and I know you love me…
She starts to cry.
HUSBAND
You need help. And I want to be your crutch. Your lifeline. Your answer to this hell I know you’ve been going through for too long…
Carlyle sobs and remembers happier days:
EXT. A DELI-DAY
Carlyle as a rookie cop, during summertime, sits in the driver seat of her car, eating a sandwich. Another cruiser pulls up and her future husband, the tall man, with a mischievous grin and dazzling eyes, gives her the thumbs up.
She looks back at him and is taken aback by his handsomeness. And she drops part of her sandwich on her uniform. He laughs, she grimaces. Then they both laugh.
EXT. RIVERSIDE PARK-DAY
Summertime again, and the two of them are jogging alongside one another. A friendly GOLDEN RETRIEVER races up between them and they both almost trip over each other, trying to dodge the dog.
int. a fancy restaurant
Over champagne, they share a joke, laughing and spilling their drinks on the nice tablecloth.
int. bedroom
Making passsionate love.
dissolve to:
Pressed together in tender embrace.
int. squad room
Carlyle as a patrol officer and her PARTNER escort a MANGY PRISONER to the front desk.
Her husband is standing on the other side of the room drinking a coffee with some OTHER OFFICERS on break. He glances over at her, notices her prisoner, and plugs his nose with a ‘Peeewww’ expression.
She sees this and laughs in silence. The prisoner scowls at her.
int. detective’s office
Carlyle, the detective, is having a bad day, tired and nursing a migraine. Her desk is a mound of papers. She tries to help a witness, AN OLD LADY, go over some mug shots. The old lady keeps shaking her head with irritation.
Carlyle looks like she’s about to shoot her. Then, she glances across the room.
Her husband, also a detective now, wears a Groucho Marx mask and twirls his fingers over his head, his legs propped up on his desk.
Carlyle can’t help herself and bursts out laughing. This makes the old lady scowl at her impertinence, which only compels Carlyle to laugh harder. And across the room, her husband laughs along with her.
int. A BAR
Carlyle, despite her tears, is also laughing to herself. She realizes she has a chance now.
HUSBAND
(continuing phone message)
Baby, you call me. You call me, now, and you come back…now. I want you back! We’re going to get through this, together…whatever it takes, you and I…I love you. Call me.
Click.
She is about to phone him but the next message beep stops her. It is Detective Berkowitz.
BERKOWITZ
(phone message)
Mel, this is Berkowitz. The department’s been trying to reach you for the past two hours. You gotta call me, right away.
Click.
She dials his number. Berkowitz answers.
berKOWITZ
Detective Berkowitz, Albany Homicide.
CARLYLE
Bernie, this is Mel.
berKOWITZ
Oh Jesus, Mel. Where’ve you been? Never mind. Where are you?
CARLYLE
Downtown. Never mind me. Wuz goin’ on?
A LONG PAUSE.
BERKOWITZ
Let me come get you.
carlYLE
(loudly and drunkely)
Bernie, wuz going on?
The bartender comes out from the backroom and stares at her.
bERKOWITZ
I should tell you in person.
caRLYLE
Stop pissin’ around! What?
Another pause.
BERKOWITZ
Jack’s gone, Melanie.
Carlyle stops breathing.
bERKOWITZ
He’s dead.
caRLYLE
(hoarsely)
No…
berKOWITZ
He was killed on the city bus, trying to protect passengers.
carLYLE
Uh-uh…
bERKOWITZ
A couple of punks got on board, one of them drew a weapon…
The bartender approaches, seeing the shock on her face. His hand extends, a distorted, monstrous reflection in the shot glass.
berKOWITZ
Well, you know Jack. You know…
caRLYLE
(moaning)
No!…
The bartender’s hand expands into a hideous claw. She can’t rip her eyes away from it.
bERKOWITZ
You know Jack. He drew. He tried to fire. The other punk…
CARLYLE
(loudly)
No! No!…
bERKOWITZ
…the other punk had an automatic. A goddamned short-barreled piece stuck down in his coat…
caRLYLE
(screaming)
No! Not Jack, no! No!…
The claw engulfs her vision. Her mouth tears open into a gaping hole.
bERKOWITZ
Mel, Jesus Mother of God, I’m so sorry. Let me come get you…Jesus, I can’t possibly say…
CARLYLE
No! No! No! No! No!…
Her scream CARRIES into the next scene.
ext. RIVERSIDE PARK-night
The woman screams as she and her boyfriend plunge ahead down the trail. The two maniacs are laughing and galloping behind them.
Julio is gaining, Hasbro is falling behind, panting.
A SECURITY GUARD emerges from the trees into the light, wondering what all the commotion is about.
Hasbro stops and stares at the guard. Julio races up behind the couple and is just about on top of the woman.
juLIO
Hold up, bitch!
She screams.
julio
(panting)
What good’s those skis. You ain’t so tough lady!
She screams again. The guard starts to pull something from under the flap of his coat. Hasbro yanks out his Colt automatic and levels it at the guard.
Their eyes freeze for just a second. The guard’s arm jerks up; Hasbro fires a burst at him, tearing apart the front of his coat and blasting the side of his face to pieces. The guard’s radio flies out of his hand and lands in the snow.
Julio lunges and brings down the woman. She screams, then gags as her face punches into the crusty snow.
Her boyfriend stops and turns around. He is nearly a hundred feet ahead and is horrified, watching Julio press his knee into his girlfriend’s back, slapping the back of her head and cackling.
Hasbro aims from the hip, grinning the whole time. The guard thrashes on the ground behind him, fighting for life.
The boyfriend hunches down and covers his head. Hasbro laughs and mimicks him, bringing the gun down. Julio is laughing and jamming his knee into the girfriend’s back.
jULIO
Hee! Hee!…Hasbro, he’s afraid of your little gun! Hee! Hee!
Hasbro brings the gun back up and the boyfriend covers his head. Again, Hasbro mimicks him.
Now, the girfriend is starting to fight. She writhes and screams and almost tosses Julio off her. This makes him more angry, and he slaps the back of her head, then shoves her mouth into the dirty snow.
JULIO
What’s a matter, Momma? You need sometin’ to drink? Have a drink?
HASBRO
Yeah, drink, baby, drink.
The boyfriend starts to ski away, tears streaming down his eyes. Hasbro glances over at the guard, who is now a stiff, blood spilling into the snow. Then he raises his weapon and jogs towards the skier, passing Julio and his prey.
HASBRO
Hey!
The skier continues to ski. His girlfriend tries to scream but can only get out a muffled shout, as her mouth is pressed deep into the snow.
haSBRO
Hey!…hey you!…I said you!
Hasbro fires a burst in front of the boyfriend. The bullets riddle the snow well to the side of him. Although the boyfriend is now way ahead of Hasbro, he freezes. The fear of getting hit petrifies him.
Hasbro slows down but continues walking towards him.
HASBRO
Turn around!
JULIO
Yeah, puke-face, turn around. Watch me give your girlfriend a massage.
(to the girlfriend)
Some stud you got there, Momma. He’s runnin’ away on ya. He’s runnin’ away! Hee! Hee!
Hasbro has leveled the gun at the skier, who is turning around. There is still a good distance between them.
Hasbro fires. The burst strikes the boyfriend in the leg.
The boyfriend screams. Hasbro stops and laughs and pushes in the side of his face.
Far-off SIRENS WAIL. Julio glances up.
JULIO
Yo’ Jesse James, the cops is comin’.
HASBRO
That they are. That they are.
His face squeezes into a tight grim expression. He points the muzzle at the boyfriend, then out towards the frozen river.
HASBRO
Go now, young man!
boyfriend
What? Wha…
HASBRO
Enjoy the river walk!
Julio laughs and gets up off the girlfriend, while keeping his boot stuck on the back of her neck.
JULIO
I think he wants you to ice skate, without the skates. Hee! Hee!
The boyfriend looks out at the frozen river and understands. His girlfriend manages to turn her face and see as well.
GIRLFRIEND
You can’t make him do that! That ice will break! It’s ten feet deep…
Julio jams his boot heel into the back of her neck and she groans. Hasbro levels the gun at the boyfriend.
The boyfriend turns and tries to ski away and ends up on the ground, his wounded leg not allowing him to do anything. Now, he’s crying.
BOYFRIEND
I can’t go anywhere!
SIRENS WAIL LOUDER. Hasbro fires a burst over the boyfriend’s head.
HASBRO
Then crawl! Crawl!
The boyfriend claws at the snow and makes his way towards the river. Hasbro walks towards him, the gun pointed at the boyfriend’s ass.
The boyfriend whimpers and crawls faster. Hasbro pulls out the empty cartridge and throws it out onto the ice.
HASBRO
Fetch!
The boyfriend reaches the river. Hasbro RAMS a fresh cartridge into his weapon. The boyfriend scrambles out onto the ice.
Hasbro FIRES ANOTHER BURST. The boyfriend screams and crawls faster.
BOYFRIEND
Please! Please you can’t do this…
ICE CRACKING. The boyfriend stops, turns and sees Hasbro leering at him, the muzzle down at crotch level.
The girlfriend tries to get up. Julio kicks her in the side of the face. She screams.
juLIO
Hee! Hee! Stay put, ski-bitch!
The boyfriend starts to crawl out further.
HASBRO
Oh, wait a minute! Wait a minute! Dear sir, this is all wrong!
The boyfriend looks back. Hasbro shakes his head. He points to the boy’s trousers.
HASBRO
You know how people like to seek out thrills and all? You know, sky diving, bungy jumping, that shit. But usually they gotta pay to do that shit. Ya know?
BOYFRIEND
Wh-what?
HASBRO
Well, I mean, I’m providing you with a thrill, right? How ’bout it, sir? Isn’t this the fucking thrill of your life?
Julio cackles. Hasbro releases one hand from the weapon and makes a ‘give me the money’ gesture.
HASBRO
Throw it back here! Whatever you got.
(snapping his fingers)
C’mon, c’mon! Is cold slowing you down? A wallet! A wad! I know you got one.
The boyfriend reaches down and unbuttons a flap over the side of his ski pants. He pulls out a wallet and tosses it back to Hasbro.
Hasbro picks it up and puts it inside his coat. He waves the end of his weapon. The boyfriend crawls again, blood seeping through his pants onto the ice.
giRLFRIEND
No!
ICE CRACKING again. The boyfriend turns around, pleading.
boYFRIEND
C’mon, man! I gave you all I have! I don’t have…
ICE CRACKS and breaks open. The black water rises over him and he slams against the edge of the jagged hole, grabbing desperately.
His girlfriend screams and leaps up off the ground. Julio makes no attempt to stop her, this time. She glides away towards the river. Hasbro steps up behind her and tries to kick her out onto the river but misses.
The boyfriend’s glove makes one last grab onto the ice, then submerges. His girlfriend, unable to stop herself, skis out onto the edge of the river and falls down.
The ice cracks but does not break. Hasbro chuckles and slaps his hands together, like a child.
Julio spits and points.
JULIO
C’mon, Hasbro, bro’! We gotta split, dude! The fuckin’ cops are gonna be here.
HASBRO
He was such a wheeney.
The girlfriend is sprawled out on the ice, crying and staring at the gaping hole where her boyfriend vanished.
Hasbro and Julio start sauntering away, back towards the glow of the city.
HASBRO
Let’s go see that prick, The Checkoslavakian.
The wail of police sirens intensifies. The two start to run, vanishing into the gloom of the woods, the dead guard in the foreground.
INT. precinct squad room – NIGHT
Carlyle, bleary-eyed and drunk, sits at a round table surrounded by sympathetic COPS and DETECTIVES. Berkowitz places a cup of coffee in front of her.
No one can say anything at first. Carlyle just looks around at everyone and hopes that someone will break the silence.
She tries to sip the coffee. It’s scalding hot and burns her lips. As she yanks it away, coffee streams all over the table.
Berkowitz reaches for the cup. Carlyle swats it across the table, hitting his hand in the process.
CARLYLE
Fuck it, Bernie! You’re just a pain in the ass!
berKOWITZ
Jesus, I’m sorry Melanie.
CARLYLE
You’re all doin’ me a hell of a lot of good.
Berkowitz gestures to everyone in the room to leave. They file out, mumbling a few words of condolences.
ONE COP, a beefy veteran, tries to pat her shoulder. One look from her and he thinks better of it.
COP
Jack was a hell of a cop, and a good man.
He leaves. Berkowitz carefully picks up the coffee cup and is about to offer to refill it. Carlyle punches the table and buries her face in her hands, moaning.
DETECTIVE CRYSTAL LEE, a young no-nonsense Chinese detective, strides into the room. She is short and lean, with fire in her eye.
LEE
I’ll get it for her, Lieutenant.
Carlyle looks up to see the detective taking the cup from Berkowitz. Lee glances at Carlyle, then walks away.
CARLYLE
I don’t want any goddamned coffee.
LEE
Well I do!
Carlyle and Berkowitz watch Lee as she goes over to the coffee pot in the corner of the room. She rips a piece of paper towel off a nearby roller and wipes the cup.
Lee pours more coffee, dumps a pound of sugar into it, and gulps it. She looks up at the ceiling, letting the drink hit her belly, then takes another quick gulp.
She turns and looks at Carlyle and Berkowitz.
LEE
I certainly don’t blame anyone for not wanting this shit.
BERKOWITZ
Oh, c’mon Crystal…
LEE
If you made it, Bernie.
Bernie shakes his head. Carlyle, bleary-eyed and irritated, glares at Lee.
CARLYLE
Who the fuck are you?
Lee glares back at Carlyle, sizing up this angry, half-drunk half hung-over person, then walks over to her, the cup held out like a prodding rod.
LEE
I was going to ask you that. Who are you, lady, to sit here, all shit-faced and sobby, thinking that you should even be here in this room, in the first place?
Carlyle gapes.
LEE
Who are you to shame people into feeling sorry for you?
Carlye sits up and grimaces. Berkowitz turns away, embarrassed.
CARLYLE
I’m the fucking widow…
LEE
Of a good honest cop! Who was married to a good honest cop, who by the way, used to be a sober cop!
Carlyle wants everyone to go away. She buries her head in her hands and moans.
LEE
Oh for God’s sake. My three-year old doesn’t even act like that!
Berkowitz sighs and presses Lee’s arm.
BERKOWITZ
Crystal, let’s you and I take a walk.
LEE
Sure. Sure, Bernie. Let’s take a walk. Let’s get the hell out of this room. The tears of self-pity are drowning me.
She and Berkowitz head to the door, then Lee turns around for one more parting shot.
LEE
Oh, by the way, detective. I’m the primary assigned to your husband’s murder. So when you sober up, you can look me up. Maybe we can work together.
Lee and Berkowitz leave. Carlyle lifts her head out of her hands slowly. She stares at the door for several moments, a tight frown on her face.
CARLYLE
Bitch.
EXT. RIVERSIDE PARK – NIGHT
Cop cars and emergency vehicles swarm the park. Lights flash across the snow-covered trees and over the frozen river.
TWO COPS examine the dead security guard.
A CROWD OF COPS, DETECTIVES and REPORTERS survey the gaping hole in the ice, where the boyfriend went through.
A FEMALE DETECTIVE drapes a blanket around the hysterical girlfriend, trying to calm her down.
INT. A BAR
The bartender and a FEW PATRONS watch the news.
INSERT TV SCREEN –
A MALE ANCHOR delivers the latest from behind the news desk:
ANCHOR
…as the latest development about the events tonight unfolds. Four people have been killed in this rampage, three on a city bus and one at Riverside Park, with the murderers still loose.
SHOT of a body being carried out of the bus.
SHOT of POLICE DIVERS dropping through holes in the ice on the river.
ANCHOR
The suspects have been identifed as…
INT. PRECINCT, BRIEFING ROOM – NIGHT
CAPTAIN DUNCAN, (50), a squat growling cop, addresses a room full of DETECTIVES and OFF-DUTY COPS. Detective Lee stands off to the side.
DUNCAN
…Hasbro Kovac and Julio Jimenez, at least one of whom I think you all know.
A collective groan goes up.
a detective (O.C.)
That prick!
ANOTHER DETECTIVE (O.C.)
Thought he was locked up! What the fu…
DUNCAN
Yeah, I know! I know! We don’t get the friggin’ bulletins from the state until late. He was locked up tight as a cockroach in a can of Spam.
Detective Lee walks up next to him. Duncan stands aside and waves her into his spot. She points a remote at a large screen behind her and it starts to come to life.
LEE
Whatever that means, Captain. As you all know, Kovac got life almost three years ago. He should have gotten the needle.
female detective (o.C.)
How the hell did he get out?
Lee clicks the remote and a MUG SHOT of Hasbro appears. A COLLECTIVE CURSE goes up.
LEE
By jumping in a medical waste cart and taking a free ride outside to the clean cold air of Newburgh. He got help, too. Some pansies working the room distracted the guard enough to make sure he didn’t see the hump in the pile of bagged needles.
She clicks. INSERT PICTURE of Hasbro from a few years before, a smirk on his face, brandishing an AK-47, dressed in farmer jeans and a ripped t-shirt, revealing his sinewy arms. A barn silo towers in the background.
LEE
Kovac, you see, was the joint’s pimp, running the fairies back and forth between – allegedly, mind you – a few guards and the younger boys. It bein’ a juvey joint, the greenhorns didn’t have the balls to say anything. They were scared little bastards.
(waving the remote angrily)
People, this shit has been going on!
Lee clicks. INSERT PICTURE of Hasbro and TWO BOSNIAN THUGS in winter jackets, all of them scowling as they pose in a frozen cornfield.
LEE
Well, he’s always been an enterprising fella, even as an under-aged teenager, hanging out with a bunch of Bosnian-Slavic thugs whose families came over during the war.
Clicks. INSERT PICTURE of Hasbro in handcuffs on the Mohawk Indian reservation, surrounded by STATE COPS and INDIANS.
LEE
His crowd ran with the Mohawks upstate. Or, when I say ‘ran’, I mean they ran meth, dope, booze, cigarettes and guns back and forth. Kind of the French fucking Mohawk connection.
Carlyle slips in from the side. EVERYONE looks at her with pity. ONE MUSCULAR DETECTIVE nods to her and speaks up.
MUSCULAR
Why the fuck did he come back down here? This is not the town I would want to be in, given if I’d done somethin’ like that prick did three years ago.
A ROOKIE DETECTIVE glances over to him.
ROOKIE
What am I missing? What’s this Kovac done, aside from killin’ one of our team?
Carlye walks up next to Lee and glares at the rookie.
CARLYLE
Besides killing ‘one of our team’? Who put you on the ‘team’, rookie? What’s this corporate bullshit, propoganda bullshit team crap? Huh, pukeface!
(jabbing finger at him)
You mean, what’s this scumball piece of goat hymen done, beside killing one of our ‘team’?
Lee presses her free hand against Carlyle to silence her, then clicks the remote. The room goes silent.
INSERT PICTURE of the CORPSE OF A LITTLE GIRL, lying against cold wet pavement in an alley, her face clawed and bloody, her mouth open in terror.
caRLYLE
Besides killing one of our ‘team,’ this degenerate waited for Julie Sanders, age nine, to pass this inconspicuously dingly alley near her school, right after she got out and was on her way home, all excited to help her mother get ready for her brother John’s birthday party. A party which was supposed to include Mom, Dad, five or six of Julie’s best friends – oh hell, she had a lot of friends – her brother, of course, and for Christ’s frickin’ sake! Was supposed to include some of her cousins, aunts, uncles, the parish priest…
Carlyle bangs her fist against the podium and just about faints. Lee steadies her and is trying to push her away.
Carlyle throws Lee off of her and spits out at the squad room.
CARLYEL
Who the fuck knows who else?…She was killed. And this bastard asshole little mother shit – should have never, ever gotten out! Ever! But he did! And now…now…
Carlyle collapses forward. Lee grabs her from the sides; Duncan steps forward to help.
XT. A JUNKYARD-DUSK
FADE IN
Moan OFF-SCREEN.
GIRL’S VOICE
Dude, this is freakin’ good. I’m gettin’ some freakin’ good stuff.
A cell phone camera screen frames the face of a BUM. His mouth opens, revealing blood and a few yellow teeth. The camera pulls back.
He’s sprawled out on the gravel road at the entrance of the yard. His tattered shirt and trousers glisten with blood.
The GIRL, in leather pants and coat, pans the phone over him at arm’s length. An ember glows behind her. A rat scurries past on the edge of the road.
A battery meter peaks as she points the phone at him, then drops as she points it away. She acts surprised.
GIRL
Hey, home, that’s freaky.
PUNK’S VOICE
Don’t home me, bitch.
The ember emerges from the shadows. The PUNK, a cigarette in his mouth, stands over the bum. The punk is a tall, vicious teenager with tatoos ripping up and down his sinewy arm.
He removes his cigarette and taps ash on the bum. The bum moans.
The punk scowls at the girl.
PUNK
I ain’t ch’yo home. Don’t ever think that.
The girl pouts and points the camera at the punk. He smirks and jams the butt back into his mouth. He crouches down over the bum and brings out a switchblade, twirling it over his victim.
The punk presses his face almost against the bum’s, staring into his victim’s eyes. Peering into them.
The girl frames a close-up of the two of them in the camera. The punk and the bum form a strange composite: livid life entranced by imminent death.
The girl taps the keypad.
GIRL
I’m calling Jose. He’s gotta see this.
PUNK
What’s it like? What’s it like, old man? What’s it like?
GIRL
Jose! Check it out, man. We’re gettin’ it on camera.
The punk twists his head and raises it up like a wolf, staring at the moon poking over a pile of rubble. He grins maliciously up into the sky.
PUNK
What’s it like?
(peering back into the bum’s eyes)
What’s it like?….
The bum is staring off into a faraway place. He tries to speak but can only let out a groan.
His camera profile contrasts with the battery meter signal jumping from peaks to valleys.
A crackle and bleep over the phone. A far-off voice, irritated like he’s just been woken from a deep sleep.
JOSE’S VOICE
(answering machine)
This is Jose. I can’t answer right now. So hold your dick and I’ll get back to you, when I can.
The answering service BEEPS.
GIRL
Jose, you idiot! Call us back!
The bum is staring directly at the camera. The punk is right over him, and turns his head and smiles and winks.
PUNK
You look into the camera. Just keep looking.
The LED from the phone flickers in the bum’s eyes.
DISSOLVE.
INT. BEDROOM-NIGHT
A magic lantern flickers over a crib, bunny rabbits drifting by. A BABY raises its finger and tries to touch the flowing, glowing images. A MOTHER’S FINGER curls around the baby’s.
MOTHER’S VOICE
See the pretty animals?…Do you see them, sweetie? See how happy they are? See? Are you happy? Are you, baby?
The baby smiles and gurgles.
EXT. JUNKYARD-NIGHT
The full moon bathes the gravel road inside the yard. Frogs peep and crickets chirp. It is quiet, peaceful, for a moment. Until a boot crunches on the gravel.
The punk moves into view, a gash across his cheek. A blue disc moves into view and hovers in front of the his face.
The phone camera frames the bum, also gashed across the face. A sneaker kicks him in the side of the head. Harsh laughter OFF-SCREEN.
Back in full view, the girl aims the camera over the bum as the punk smokes a cigarette. The bum tries to move. The punk pushes his head back down with his foot.
GIRL
Look at him! This is good stuff!
I’m sending it to Jose.
(into the phone)
C’mon, man, Jose, where are you? I got some stuff. Where are you, home?
PUNK
Yeah, Jose…where are you Jose?
(mockingly)
Jose! Oh, Jose!…I’m hot for you, Jose!
GIRL
I ain’t hot for nobody! Specially not you!
PUNK
Who’s sayin’ I want you? I want the phone, that’s all I want.
GIRL
Come get it!
PUNK snatches at the cell phone. He misses it as the girl jumps away, laughing.
The PUNK turns around and grabs the bum by the shoulders and wrenches him up off the ground. The bum spits blood; the punk drops him in disgust.
PUNK
Piece of garbage!
The punk pulls out a bloody switchblade and wipes it on his shirt.
PUNK
All you bums should go walk down to the river and fall in. Like cows. And die!
GIRL
(while filming)
Is that why you cut him? Talk to the people, man!
PUNK
Yeah…that’s why I cut him. Yeah!
BUM
Yeah…
The punk leans over and stares into the bum’s eyes.
PUNK
Yeah what?
BUM
Peaks…
PUNK
What? Peak what? That’s stupid! That don’t mean nuthin’!
BUM
Yeah…
PUNK
(mockingly)
Yeah!
The moon washes over the bum’s face. His eyes are open. He gazes off into another reality.
INT. LIVING ROOM-NIGHT
A clean white blanket rises up. And with it, DAD and MOTHER press it into the hands of their TODDLER, who is squealing and tottering across the floor. Everything undulates and rise above him: soft, willowy, glowing.
EXT. A PARK-DAY
The BOY, 5, rides his Dad’s shoulders down the path between the animal pens at the zoo. The penguins honk and flap, lions roar, donkeys bray.
Water fountains spray the sky, forming undulating peaks.
Multi-colored ballons sail over the peaks. The boy’s eyes light up. He and his Dad laugh.
EXT. JUNKYARD
The punk laughs, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. The girl is crouched down over the bum, the camera phone almost pressed into his face.
GIRL
What if we could film his soul rising up out of him?
PUNK
Yeah..what if?
GIRL
And put it on YouTube.
PUNK
We’d hit the mother load.
The phone’s screen, a blue disc, swirls over the bum’s face, contrasted with the moon. The girl pans across his crusty cheeks, getting in every detail of the scabby flesh.
PUNK
(thinking out loud)
We’d never have to ‘push’ bums again.
The punk draws long and hard on his cigarette and grows more and more irritated. He tosses the cigarette. The motion causes the bum to turn his head.
BUM
Peaks and valleys…
The punk snaps. He yanks the bum by his collar and shakes him, slapping him across the face.
PUNK
Peaks and what! There you go again, you freakin’ old…
A shiny object flies out of the bum’s coat. It’s a medal of some sort.
PUNK
What?
The girl pans over to the object and zooms in. It is a Purple Heart, crusted over with dirt, but still revealing part of George Washington.
GIRL
I got it. It’s a medal. The bum’s got a medal!
PUNK
Wonder who he ripped off to get it.
The Punk bends down and picks it up. He looks at it for a moment, then puts it around his neck and grins.
PUNK
Lookit me! I’m a member of the Dead Bum Club!
GIRL
Wonder how much it’s worth. What is it?
PUNK
I don’t know but bet we can pawn it and get some cash. For blow or somethin’.
The girl frames the punk’s smirking face. She tilts down and zooms in to the Purple Heart.
INT. BEDROOM-NIGHT
The BOY, 5, snuggled into his bed. Mom smiles and kisses him. She presses his teddy bear into his arm.
INT. BEDROOM-NIGHT
The BOY, 9, gazing at snow falling outside his window.
INT. LIVING ROOM-MORNING
The boy watches his Dad reading the newspaper and drinking coffee on the couch. The Christmas tree glows in the background. Ribbon-laced gifts cover the floor.
Mom settles on the couch and snuggles next to Dad.
INT. FRIEND’S HOUSE-DAY
The BOY, 11, at a birthday party, laughing and eating cake with his MANY FRIENDS. A TUBBY BOY throws a piece of cake and a cake fight erupts.
INT. KITCHEN-NIGHT
The boy drinks milk at the table. He looks down the hall into the living room and sees his parents kissing.
EXT. JUNKYARD
The punk and the girl are embracing, kissing with passion. The cell phone drops onto the ground, next to the bum’s head. He turns and looks at it, seeing the peaks and valleys of the LED signal display.
He clutches his stomache. Blood pour from a wound. He groans.
The Punk rips himself away from the girl and looks at the bum. The medal bounces agains the punk’s chest.
PUNK
What? What are you saying, now? What are you saying you dumb old nobody? You know something?…
He crouches down over the bum. The Girl stands over them.
GIRL
Better not let Jose know you were tryin’ to make it with me…
PUNK
Shut-up!…
The Punk gazes intently into the eyes of his victim. The girl picks up the camera phone and starts tapping it.
PUNK
You shouldn’t a been wanderin’ around here when we showed up, old boy. But you know what? We’re gonna make you famous.
GIRL
Jose?…Jose! You’re missing some good stuff. Did you know your best friend is making out with me?
PUNK
(smirking over his shoulder)
Aren’t women somethin’, Mr. Bum? Did you ever have a woman, Old Mr. Bum? Did you ever have anything worthwhile in your stupid life? Ever?
GIRL
Jose, I’m sick of talkin’ to your answering machine! Answer me! Answer me!
The Punk stands up and glares at the Girl. She freezes.
PUNK
I don’t care if he knows. Start filming this.
EXT. THE JUNKYARD, DOWN THE ROAD-NIGHT
A police cruiser cuts its lights and proceeds slowly around the bend.
INT. THE CRUISER-NIGHT
TWO COPS survey the side of the road. The FIRST COP, the driver, applies the brake. The SECOND COP, tight-jawed and intense, scans the road.
SECOND COP
I got a hankering, Jimmy. I got a hankering that we’ll find some trouble before too long tonight.
FIRST COP
You and your hankerings.
SECOND COP
My hankerings always turn up something.
FIRST COP
(yawning)
Yeah, yeah…you hanker, I’ll drive.
EXT. JUNKYARD
The Punk presses his switchblade against the bum’s jugular. The Girl moves in for a close-up. The medal bumps against the bum’s face, blocking out the moon.
INT. KITCHEN
The boy winces, trying not to cry. His mother bandages his scraped hand.
EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET-DAY
The PRE-TEENAGER and a FRIEND races go-carts down a street, screaming and smiling all the way.
INT. A CAR-NIGHT
The TEENAGER FUMBLES with a GIRLFRIEND in the backseat of a car. He snakes his hand down her shirt. She slaps him.
He yells.
EXT. JUNKYARD
The bum yells as the punk nicks his throat with the knife. His toothless mouth gapes at the camera phone’s screen.
NOW SCENES OF A LIFE COME FAST AND FURIOUS:
EXT. FOOTBALL FIELD-NIGHT
The teenager, in blue-and-gold uniform, races with the football tucked under his arm, wheeling around one TACKLER, slamming through ANOTHER TACKLER, and dashing over the goal line. The HOME CROWD cheers in the stands. Mom and Dad leap up and roar their approval.
His girlfriend, a cheerleader, jumps up and down along the sideline and blows him a kiss.
EXT. HIGH SCHOOL FIELD-DAY
Graduation caps sail up into the air. The teenager and his girlfriend embrace among a sea of blue gowns.
EXT. A TRAIN STATION-NIGHT
The YOUNG MAN, 18, kisses and embraces his girlfriend upon the platform. He’s in a jean jacket, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Dad and Mom look on, tears in their eyes.
A CONDUCTOR smokes a cigarette next to the footsteps leading up into the passenger car. He exhales smoke. Smoke belches out of the train’s stack.
EXT. JUNKYARD
Smoke curls out of the punk’s mouth as he puffs on another cigarette. He leans over and presses the knife under the bum’s ribs. Blood trickles from the bum’s neck.
The bum squints into the smoke. The punk’s malicious smirk materializes through it.
EXT. ARMY BOOT CAMP-DAY
The young man, as a SOLDIER in basic training, does push ups in the mud, rain pouring down on him, while a SERGEANT smirks and yells curses.
INT. ARMY BASE CANTEEN, VIETNAM-NIGHT
The soldier drinks beer in the canteen with FIVE BUDDIES. They laugh, arm wrestle, show pictures of girl friends and pour beer on centerfolds.
A VIETNAMESE WHORE laughs with them and sits on the soldier’s lap. She kisses him and nibbles his ear.
When she thinks no one is looking, she scowls at them.
EXT. VIETNAM-A VILLAGE ROAD-DAY
The soldier, holding an automatic rifle, proceeds down a road between huts and thick jungle. INFANTRYMEN follow behind him. A LANKY SOLDIER stops, turns and grins, giving the thumbs up.
A bouncing betty blows up beneath him. The road vaporizes.
Bullets zip past and grenades explode around the soldier. He staggers off the road towards a hut, hit by fragments.
VIETCONG pour out of the tree lines on both sides of the road. The soldier dives around the rear corner of the hut.
A VIETCONG BOY, clutching a bamboo knife, crouches behind the hut. When he sees the soldier, he screams and raises the knife. The soldier reacts, riddling the boy with bullets.
Then, the hut explodes.
EXT. VIETNAM-THE HUT-DUSK
A 16mm. camera shoots a close-up image of a bullet hole in a DEAD AMERICAN SOLDIER’S head.
The soldier plays dead under the collapsed wall. He watches VIETCONG SOLDIERS firing their weapons into the jungle and into corpses.
They laugh and jump up and down, exhultant in their victory. Until a WALL OF FLAME engulfs them.
INT. BEDROOM-NIGHT
The crib again. Light sparkles behind the magic lantern and the baby in the crib coos and giggles.
INT. VETERAN’S HOSPITAL-NIGHT
The soldier lies in a hospital bed, his burned face swathed in dirty bandages.
A NURSE strokes his head. He gazes at her, tears in his eyes. She looks around, then unbuttons the top of her uniform. Her small round breasts poke out. She slowly lowers them to his face.
EXT. A TRAIN STATION- NIGHT
The soldier shuffles along down the platform, the same duffel bag in hand. At the other end, his girlfriend sees him and breaks into a run.
As she gets closer, she notices the bandage and the scarred cheeks. She slows down.
Even as she steps into his embrace, her shock is not lost upon the soldier. He kisses her forehead and attempts to turn his wounded side away, as if to banish her revulsion.
INT. CASINO BAR-NIGHT
They marry at a cheap casino altar, overlooking Las Vegas. A GREASY-HAIRED CLERIC blesses them and takes a drink, as the newlyweds kiss.
INT. A BEDROOM-NIGHT
A magic lantern twirls over the INFANT SON of the YOUNG HUSBAND and his WIFE. The couple coo and ‘ga-ga’ their baby, tickling him and hugging each other.
EXT. JUNKYARD
The punk and the girl twirl around over the bum, spinning around the glowing moon and the blinking light from the camera phone.
The punk stares down into the bum’s eyes.
PUNK
What’s it like? What’s it like?…
INT. BEDROOM-NIGHT
The husband tries to change his son’s diaper. He sticks his hand into the poop by accident and throws the diaper against the wall. The baby wails.
His wife is watching from the doorway. She presses her temples, responding to migraine-induced pain.
EXT. PARK-AFTERNOON
The FATHER trots like a horse with his SON, 5, bouncing on his shoulders. They are laughing together.
EXT. HOTDOG CART-AFTERNOON
Both of them devour hotdogs. The father wipes the mustard from his son’s mouth. His son smiles and touches the scars on the side of his father’s face.
EXT. BACKYARD-AFTERNOON
The OLDER FATHER, with his hair just starting to gray, plays football with his PRE-TEEN SON. Hamburgs smoke away on the grill. A DOG bounds across the yard.
The OLDER MOTHER, seated at the end of a picnic table, smokes a cigarette and drinks a beer. She’s in a halter top, looking flabby and worn out.
INT. AN OFFICE
The older father stresses out behind his desk, piled high with reports. He stares at a computer screen, with the word DEADLINE multiplying in front of him.
A BOSS-FROM-HELL enters and throws another stack of paperwork on his desk. The boss scowls at him.
BOSS-FROM-HELL
This was done all wrong, and I looked like an asshole in front of everyone at the meeting. You gotta do this over!
(shaking his head)
You’re losing it, man. Really! You gotta get back on board, fast!
Just get with it!
The boss stomps out.
INT. KITCHEN-NIGHT
A MIDDLE-AGED FATHER, very gray and worn out, stares at a pile of bills on the table. He drains a tumbler of bourbon.
His TEENAGE SON, with a ring hanging off his nose, walks in and opens up the refrigerator. He pulls out a jug of orange juice and swigs from it. Father tries to start a conversation.
MIDDLE-AGED FATHER
I didn’t notice that new piece of artillery hanging off your nose. How’s that going? Is that the new thing with you and your friends?
His son stares at him in disbelief, then shoves the jug back in the fridge and slams the door shut. He stomps out, muttering.
TEENAGE SON
Jesus, get with it!
EXT. JUNKYARD
The knife rips up the side of the bum’s stomache. He groans. The girl giggles OFF-SCREEN.
PUNK’S VOICE
Get with it, old man! We want you to croak. But slowly.
GIRL’S VOICE
Jose, where the freakin’ hell are you? Man, you’re missin’ some stuff!
INT. OFFICE AREA-DAY
The middle-aged father, awash in papers, types frantically on his computer. His mouth is open in a silent scream.
The boss, an HR MANAGER and SECURITY GUARD approach with solemn expressions.
EXT. OFFICE PARKING LOT-DAY
The middle-aged father is walked to his vehicle by the guard. It is a foggy, damp day, and the top of a distant mountain range is enshrouded by mist.
EXT. HOME-DUSK
The middle-aged father stands next to his wife on the front doorstep of their house. TWO COPS lead their handcuffed son to a cruiser. One cop carries a baggie filled with white powder.
The son glances scornfully at the two of them, before getting into the car.
As the cruiser pulls away, the wife shoots a disgusted glance at her husband and goes inside.
INT. A PRISON-DAY
The WHITE-HAIRED FATHER gazes forlornly through the glass at his INMATE SON. He presses the phone next to his scarred face and tries to speak but words don’t come.
The son stares back with a hint of scorn, then shakes his head, throws the phone down and leaves.
EXT. HOME-DUSK
The BEATEN MAN, white-haired, with his war scars black against his pallid face, stands on the front doorstep. Rain pours over his head.
His wife, carrying a suitcase, walks to a waiting cab. She does not look back.
EXT. HOME-DAY
The lawn is grown over. A FOR SALE sign leans sideways over the walkway. A DOG trots over and pisses against the sign.
INT. A SHELTER-NIGHT
The beaten man has become the BUM, as he struggles into a bottom bunk. He collapses in a drunken stupor.
Someone has drawn bunnies on the bottom of the mattress above his head. The bunnies float and spin in front of him.
EXT. A RIVER-DAY
The bum tries to jam a doughnut into his mouth. Another DERELICT punches him in the mouth, plastering chunks of chocolate all over his face and knocking out a tooth.
The bum falls backwards and tosses a box of doughnuts into the river. The derelict steps on him and falls into the water, trying to catch the box. They both end up in the river. The river waves wash over the two struggling men.
EXT. HOMELESS SHELTER-MORNING
The bum wanders away, weaving between OTHER DERELICTS. The dark walls of buildings smother him; wasted faces glide past, staring blankly through him.
He rummages through his tattered coat pockets, tossing out dirty rags and paper. He pulls out the Purple Heart and stares at George Washington’s dirt-splattered silhouette.
The reflection from the medal highlights his scars.
EXT. JUNKYARD
The bum’s scarred face framed in the camera phone. The medal drops onto his mouth. The punk leans into the frame, smiling and exhibiting his own scars.
PUNK
Well, he doesn’t have anything to say. But that’s okay. We’ll prompt him. We’ll grease his tongue, as they say.
The punk presses the switchblade against the bum’s throat.
PUNK
Now just tell the audience, old fella. What’s it really like, to die? What is it really like?
The bum’s eyes are starting to go glassy. He moves his lips, but no sound comes out. The LED signal peaks and ebbs. Reflection of the girl on the screen.
PUNK
Get all of this in close up! And when he’s going, get his eyes…in real closeup.
The GIRL crouches down, tilting into the scene. The bum’s throat rattles. The punk takes the medal off from around his neck and places it on the bum’s forehead.
GIRL
What’s that for?
PUNK
Ceremonial.
The camera follows the knife to the bum’s shirt. The punk’s hands rip it open, baring the chest.
PUNK’s Voice
I’m going to cut your heart out.
girL’S VOICE
Freakin’ awesome!
The knife moves to the chest and is poised to plunge.
BLINDING SPOTLIGHT as the police cruiser tears up the road..
SECOND COP’s VOICE
(over car megaphone)
Drop it, now! Drop it!
The punk jerks back, startled. His knife slices the bum’s chest, drawing blood.
The headlights go on as the car approaches, leaves the road and races up to the scene. The second cop flings the passenger door open and draws his weapon.
SECOND COP
Toss that knife and get face down!
The girl screams and drops the camera next to the bum’s face. She lunges to the ground, covering her head.
The punk freezes, looking at the Purple Heart. The bum stares at him, his eyes watering.
BUM
Peaks…peaks and nothing else…
PUNK
What?
The first cop emerges from the cruiser and draws his weapon.
FIRST COP
Toss that goddamned weapon!..
BUM
Just a few good peaks, then it’s…
The punk snatches the medal from the bum’s head. It flashes in the moonlight, startling the second cop. He fires and strikes the punk in the head.
His body falls next to the bum. They are both looking at each other, eye to eye. The phone lies between them, the blue LED pulsing, the camera still recording, framing the two of them.
Blood runs out of the punk’s forehead. The life ebbs out of the bum’s eyes.
BUM
Over.
A strange pale wisp of something floats across the camera screen.
The cops, sihouetted against the headlights, advance like dark-winged angels. The girl is curled up on the ground, whimpering.
SECOND COP
I told you.
FIRST COP
Yeah, yeah…you and your hankerings.
SECOND COP
(to the girl)
Stay down over there. Get your arms out straight.
The girl moans and puts her arms out straight. The cops stand over the bodies. The first cop nods his head and points to the medal, almost touching it.
FIRST COP
(saluting)
You poor bastard. How’d you end up to this point.
The phone rings. Both cops look startled. After a moment, the second cop picks it up and answers.
SECOND COP
Hello?
PAUSE. Then an answer.
JOSE’S VOICE
(over phone)
Who’s this?
SECOND COP
It’s Jimmy. Who the hell do you think?
Another PAUSE.
JOSE’S VOICE
This is Jose…I hear some good stuff is going on. I hear someone’s getting it on YouTube.
SECOND COP
YouTube, huh?…
The girl pokes her head up off the ground and looks at the second cop. He grins at her and stares into the screen.
SECOND COP
Well Jose, we’re all glad you could call us. We really are.
A cloud passes over the moon. The faces of the corpses are half-lit by the cruiser’s headlights. The dead men appear to be grinning at each other.
ueen of Blood
A Screenplay
by
Jim Willard
INT. A VEHICLE-NIGHT
CLOSE on a text message scrolling across a cell phone:
I want to get to know you. I fel a connection.
Long painted fingernails tap the keys in response:
You are missing the ‘e’ in feel.
HIS Response:
i’m so sorry…not like these kids who can do it all…all that texting crap and all that…
The fingernails tap some more. GLISTENING LIPS smile and a smooth cheek swells with anticipation.
HER Response:
What can you do?
BEAT before his response.
Whatever u like…whatevr u want…
HER eyes, liquid black, glitter with anticipation. She taps the keys slowly.
HER Response:
11 O’CLOCK…3401 Waverly…ring 16c…wait for the click.
EXT. MANHATTAN-NIGHT
The Chrystler and Empire State buildings shimmer over a vibrant cosmopolitan landscape. Sleek vehicles cruise the highways; HIP YOUNG PEOPLE gather outside cafes and nightclubs. It is a night of urgency and anticipation in the Big Apple.
A silver coupe slices down the center of town, glistening fingertips gripping the wheel. Through the top of the skylight, a shapely leg works the gas pedal.
The silver coupe blends into the cityscape neon lights.
EXT. 3401 Waverly-NIGHT
A brick-and-mortar building rises glowers over a gritty street near the West Side Highway. Jersey City, across the Hudson, throws a faint hue upon the neighborhood. A parking garage is half a block away; HOOKERS prance around at a nearby corner, waving at tractor trailers and cabs.
A PIMP crosses the street and charges up to a ORANGE-HAIR HOOKER.
PIMP
Bitch, I told you to work
the other side tonight.
ORANGE-HAIR
You ain’t never said that, honey.
The PIMP slaps her. A TRANSVESTITE HOOKER, muscular and snarling, stomps over and shoves the PIMP onto the sidewalk.
TRANSVESTITE
Back off, sweet meat.
PIMP
(getting up)
Don’t you sweet meat me, you
motherfuckin’ freak!
TRANSVESTITE pulls a switchblade and glares at him. He smirks.
PIMP
Okay, okay…it’s cool, Miss..Mister…
whatever the fuck you are!
TRANSVESTITE
Yeah, it’s cool, baby.
PIMP
Just a lot of product loading
on this one corner. Know what
I’m saying?
TRANSVESTITE
Plenty of demand, baby.
PIMP
It’s cool, girl. We got some
variety. Variety on one corner
is okay. We got a Orange Hair,
we got some Spics, we got the sisters..
(laughing)
We got you. I’m sure some confused
badass trucker will git you on…
Oh, yeah, baby…real variety…
TRANSVESTITE closes the blade and slides it back into her skirt pocket.
PIMP
It’s all cool. It’s all very cool.
TRANSVESTITE
That’s right, dude. It’s cool.
It’s very cool. And your bitch is
mine, now.
PIMP
(exploding)
What? What you sayin’? What
you sayin’, you steroid poked,
beefy, dick-swinging freak fuckin’
motherfucker!…
TRANSVESTITE laughs and puts her arm around ORANGE-HAIR. They stroll away. PIMP screams and spits at them, without leaving his turf. He does not want to tangle with a switchblade trannie.
The silver coupe rounds the corner and drives into the parking garage entrance. AN ATTENDANT walks over and hands a ticket through the driver side window. Long glistening nails reach out and take the ticket. The car goes into the garage.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY-NIGHT
Near the top of the building, a light turns on in a window. A FEMALE SHAPE passes by, slender, willowy, alluring.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY-A FEW HOURS LATER
A dark sedan passes by the building. It turns at the hooker corner and disappears. A FEW HOOKERS wander up and down the block, yawning. A MANGY DOG trots by, looking for scraps.
At 3401 Waverly, the light in the window remains on, but there is no movement.
The sedan cruises in front of the building again. It stops for a moment. The light in the window remains on. There is still no movement.
The sedan proceeds past the HOOKER corner, makes a sharp right and drives up to the parking garage. The ATTENDANT walks over and bends down to give the driver a ticket. He pulls back with a smile, a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
In the window, A FEMALE SHAPE glides by.
EXT. HOOKER CORNER-NIGHT
ORANGE HAIR looks directly at someone, her ugly painted lips smiling.
ORANGE HAIR
Want some fun, honey?
The object of her interest pushes pass and approaches 3401 Waverly.
MAN’S VOICE:
(off-screen)
I got a date.
The MAN is not clearly seen as he reaches the entrance to the building. His hand extends to the doorbell panel and runs up and down the columns.
FLASHBACK CELL PHONE SCREEN: ring 16c…wait for the click.
A gold-ringed finger finds the right number and presses the button. It buzzes. He waits. There is no answer. He presses it again and it buzzes. Still no answer.
And still no answer. His hand pulls back.
He is partly concealed in the gloom of the entranceway. But the sideview of the MAN’S face reveals a puffy cheek with thin-framed glasses. He looks down and sees the MANGY DOG trotting by, shooting a wild glance back at him.
The MAN’S finger moves forward to 16c and stops just before the button. He waits, then is about to push it again.
A BUZZ and a CLICK signals him. He pulls the door open and goes into the bleak vestibule.
The silhouette of a FEMALE stands in the window of 16C, staring out at the lights across the river.
INT. 3401 WAVERLY-NIGHT
A cargo elevator SQUEALS as it ascends one floor after another. It continues until it reaches the sixteenth floor. The steel lattice is shoved aside and a dark-suited figure, THE MAN, emerges into the hallway.
He turns one way then the next, an older executive type with a pronounced way of moving. He is at first tentative in his motion, then becomes more determined. He picks his direction and proceeds down the hallway, to 16C.
INT. 16C-NIGHT
The inside of the door shimmers with the light of candles. A candelabra, twisted with serpentine figures, hangs from the living room ceiling. The soft crimson shade of a long dress floats across the shag carpet. Glistening nails hold a glass of red wine.
KNOCK upon the door: steady, clear, determined.
No one answers, at first.
Another KNOCK. Now, the long dress SHUSHES into the frame, the nails extending to the latched doorknob, a bare shoulder rippling.
The door opens and the obscured face of THE MAN stands before her. She is the FEMALE, THE QUEEN, and she glides back from him, while holding out a long slender arm.
QUEEN
Hmmm…come in.
Her voice possesses a HUSKINESS that burns a man’s loins.
QUEEN
Please…
INT. 16C-A LITTLE LATER
THE MAN is seated in the living room on the corner of a velvet red couch. His collar is loose and tie dangling over his stomach. The candlelit apartment makes it impossible to see his face fully.
The glistening nails and slender arms tosses ice cubes into drink glasses. Scotch is poured. The MAN observes the slender silhouette of the QUEEN preparing the drinks in the dinette. She is also almost invisible in the gloom. But her shapely figure stands out.
She glides into the living room and descends upon THE MAN. The scotch eases into his hand. He puts it up to his mouth, sips it, gasps, then gulps it.
In front of him, round rouge breasts heave back and forth. The softest hint of a ruby mouth purses in front of him.
MAN
You know, I’ve never really done this
sort of thing before.
QUEEN’s lips open into a hint of a smile.
MAN
It’s not the usual thing,
for me.
QUEEN
(huskily)
And what is?
MAN
I don’t do this type of thing.
The QUEEN slips onto the couch next to him. A tawny leg pushes against his pants. He draws in a breath. He takes a long hard drink. She sips hers.
MAN
If my wife ever found out…
QUEEN
She wont…
MAN
…I could never think of doing
this sort of thing…
QUEEN
…I’ll make you want to do it,
again…
His drink drops to the floor, spilling against the thick red carpet. He grabs for her, and the QUEEN slides into his embrace. They devour each other, but she stays above him, dropping his head against the couch.
Despite the passion, both of them are still always obscured in the dim light. Fragments of their bodies, gyrating parts of them, are all that is visible.
QUEEN
…and again, and again…
MAN
Oh, God….
Their bodies twist upon the couch, the QUEEN trying to remain on top, her legs and hips driving upon him.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY
MANGY DOG sniffs at the PIMP’s shoe. He laughs.
PIMP
I got nothin’ for you,
tonight, bitch.
Then he sees the dog’s genitalia and corrects himself.
PIMP
Prick…
ORANGE-HAIR works the other corner, smiling at a CABBIE that has pulled up to her. TRANSVESTITE is nearby, smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye on her charge. PIMP glares at TRANSVESTITE, who gives him the finger.
TRANSVESTITE glances up the side of 3401 and sees the silhouette of two bodies twisting and thrashing in the window. They drop out of site.
TRANSVESTITE
Looks like some business
goin’ down somewhere, tonight.
INT. 16C, BATHROOM
Hot water pours into a bathtub. Steam rises to the ceiling. Long glistening nails pull back the curtain. QUEEN’S naked back, sinewy and muscular, writhes in view.
MAN
(off-screen)
Goddamned it, let’s just do it!
On the bed, on the fucking floor!
QUEEN dips a painted toe into the water.
MAN
What the fuck are you doing?..
God, you’re beautiful. Let’s just
get it on now. I’ll pay you
extra for the bath, later. Not
now…sweet Jesus!
She turns and part of a very angular, high-cheeked face glances back outside the bathroom. She moves out of view, then back into view, and her eyes, black and searing, stare at something.
QUEEN
You’re getting the premium treatment. Which involves the bath.
MAN
Oh God!
QUEEN
(huskily)
It entails no undue commitment.
The MAN enters the bathroom. His broad back pours out sweat though his white dress shirt. He has already taken off most of his clothes. His face is turned away, so that his full expression cannot be discerned.
QUEEN glides in front of him, her round ass pressing against his crotch. He groans. She steps into the tub. Bubbles fly into the air and seep over the edge.
QUEEN
Sweet, come now…let’s not be
bashful.
MAN
Why in the fucking tub!
She drops down into the bubble bath and languishes backwards. Only part of her face and body is in view. A painted nail beckons to him.
MAN
This is fucked.
He strips off his shirt. A shadow of his hard-on twitches over the wall tile. Another candles burns upon the sink basin. Incense smoke curls in front of the mirror, and both are partly visible in it.
Next to the toilet, an elaborate plunger handle sticks up out of a copper-tinted cover.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY
An unmarked police cruiser slows in front of the hooker corner. ORANGE HAIR looks at the car, then swings her ass around and trots away.
The window glides down and a gravelly voice snarls:
GORDAN
Frickin’ freak-show prick fuckin’
bitch! I thought I told you bitches
to clear out. What the fuck! On my
territory! On my fuckin’ watch!
TRANSVESTITE materializes from a dark corner, chomping on gum and strutting forward. She/he walks up to the car and leans forward.
TRANSVESTITE
Gordan, honey, somethin’s going
down. It’s goin’ down tonight,
honey.
GORDAN stretches over in front of his obscured partner, GUILLERMO, and offers a cracked-tooth, crag-faced smile brimming with cynicism and ugliness. He’s a vice cop somewhere between forty-five and fifty-two years of age, but he might as well be eighty-five.
GORDAN
Hey, Alamo-girl…everything’s got
somethin’ to do with goin’ down, with you.
Don’t it?
TRANSVESTITE
That ain’t no way to treat a past-lady girl. Why you callin’ me Alamo girl? Seems
like you got a different logo every time
I see you.
GORDAN
(with a sick grin)
‘Cause you put up a good fight, but you ain’t gonna last.
TRANSVESTITE
Fuck you, I ain’t!
GUILLERMO, a cop with a fleshy pock-marked face, pokes his fat nose out the window and scowls. He’s got a half-eaten sandwich in a wrapper in front of his face.
GUILLERMO
What the fuck is going down?
TRANSVESTITE
Baby-boy, you can go…
INT. 16C, BATHROOM
MAN
…Down on me! C’mon you
sweet sick bitch..on me.
The MAN is up to his chin in suds with the hot water still pouring out of the spout. Now, the splotchy jowls and gray executive-type hair show that his is someone of some significance and money.
The QUEEN’S ass slides in front on him, obscuring his face. Her face is still not visible. Only her assets.
Her long nails run through the suds, over the MAN’s chest. Her hair drapes over his face. He MOANS.
Her other hand reaches over the edge of the tub and grabs the handle of the plunger. She raises it up and out of the copper cover.
The end of the handle is attached to a crescent-shaped sheath.
It glistens in the candlelight. It passes up over the rim of the tub and in front of the MAN’s face. His eyes are shut in ecstacy.
But they open just in time to see the blade dive into the suds.
MAN
What the fu…
The QUEEN jerks her arm and the MAN SCREAMS.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY
MANGY DOG BARKS as the MUFFLED SCREAM PLAYS UNDERNEATH.
GORDAN and TRANSVESTITE hear it. GORDAN is in the process of playing out a fifty-dollar bill to his informant.
GORDAN
What the fuck was that!
TRANSVESTITE
(snatching the bill)
What the fuck is this?
GUILLERMO
(partly concealed)
It’s a waste of Gordan’s
easily-earned salary. But what
do I care?
GORDON snickers and drops back inside the car, revealing his partner’s ugly smile.
GORDAN
Yeah, what do you care, you
fat-headed piece of turd.
GUILLERMO
Yeah, yeah..I think we just
heard a murder.
GORDAN
Bullshit we did…
(yelling to TRANSVESTITE)
Hey sweet dick. Next time
we drive by, I want some more
candy. I wanna hear somethin’
goin’ on. Ya know what I
mean? A pimp with a load on,
a beat up whore, someone
plannin’ a murder.
TRANSVESTITE is looking at the blackened windows of 16C.
TRANSVESTITE
(ominously)
Baby, your candy ain’t on
the street…
(pointing at 16C)
It’s up there.
GORDAN’s cynical face peers through the windshield and after a moment, scowls.
GORDAN
Bullshit again. Ain’t
nuthin’ goin’ down.
As the unmarked cruiser speeds off, GUILLERMO chucks the balled up wrapper onto the street. GORDAN yells out out the window:
GORDAN
Give me somethin’ next time!
INT. 16C, BATHROOM
The bathwater runs blood red, spilling onto the floor. The MAN’S face is half in and out of it, suds pouring into his open mouth. His eyes are open and his lips quivering. The life leaves him.
QUEEN settles deep into the bloody suds and languishes, her back and neck visible. Now, she MOANS.
QUEEN
The Life Eternal…
The MAN’s corpse bobs in the bloodbath. The QUEEN’s hand lingers upon the edge of the tub.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY-NIGHT
The MANGY DOG wanders down the sidewalks. A HUGE RAT scuttles in front of it. The DOG GROWLS and charges at the RAT, following it into an alley.
ORANGE-HAIR stumbles out of the alley and nearly trips over DOG. She totters and moves out into the STREETLIGHT. She is in disarray, an ugly mess.
A CABBY comes out behind her and walks over to his cab parked across Waverly.
The QUEEN exits the building, her face concealed by a wide brim and a dark suit. She brushes in front of ORANGE HAIR and walks up behind CABBY.
queen
You, stop!
CABBY turns and glares back at her.
CABBY
What the fuck.
QUEEN
I need a ride to LaGuardia.
CABBY
(turning away)
I’m off duty, lady.
QUEEN
For five-hundred, you can be on duty, for me.
CABBY wheels around, interested. ORANGE HAIR wanders away, half noticing the QUEEN. She is extending a wad of bills.
INT. 3401 WAVERLY, OUTSIDE APT.
A stream of blood courses down the hallway, seeps over the stairs, and goes down and down to the very bottom.
EXT. 3401 WAVERLY-DAY
The next morning. The block is taped off as crime scene. Police cruisers and EMS vehicles are parked everywhere. COPS and DETECTIVES throng outside the building.
A FAT DETECTIVE addresses a FEMALE DETECTIVE.
FAT DETECTIVE
Wasn’t Gordon and Guillermo workin’ this block last night?
FEMALE DETECTIVE
Yeah, I think so…
FAT DETECTIVE
Well ya think they they might have seen somethin?
female detective
(knowingly)
Gordan? Yeah, right.
FAT considers this, snorts and spits a gob onto the sidewalk.
FAT DETECTIVE
Yeah, I get your point.
FEMALE DETECTIVE frowns and steps over the gob. She takes out her notebook and approaches the front door of 3401 Waverly. The blood is trickling over the threshold.
INT. 9TH PRECINT, OFFICE-DAY
CAPTAIN BLARE, a very fat, very angry superior, sits in front of a laptop and a pile of papers. He gets up, and his big belly pushes the table so that some of the papers fly into the air.
BLARE
Motherfucker!
A KNOCK upon the office door. A PAUSE. BLARE is considering what to do with the mess on the floor. He doesn’t want to have to bend over.
Another KNOCK.
blare
C’mon in!
(under his breath)
Fer Christ’s sake!
A very ragged looking GORDAN enters, his eyes bloodshot and face crawling with an uneven growth of overnight shadow. He wears a cheap old suede jacket from the 1980s.
GORDAN
How ya doin’, chief? Why the hell do we gotta do this now? I just got off….
BLARE
Like I give a fuck! Sit your ass down, Gordan.
GORDAN plops down into a very low chair in front of the boss’s desk. BLARE stares intently at his laptop, grunting.
GORDAN rolls his eyes.
BLARE
Don’t roll your eyes, man.
gORDAN
I’m tired.
BLARE
So ain’t I! Tired of going over these frickin’ useless reviews.
BLARE stretches his forefinger towards the minimize icon but not before he manages to take one more perfunctory peek at the website: HOT BIKINI BABES IN MAUI.
The TAN BRUNETTE on the beach disappears and an image of GORDAN pops up. Alongside his picture is a panel revealing his historical ranking, and a graph that moves up and down in peaks and valleys….before taking a decided downward plummet.
BLARE
Gordan, ya know you’re on a PIP.
gordan
(drowsily)
Yeah, boss…uh, sure…a PIP?
blare
Personal improvement plan.
GORDAN
Uh..yeah…
BLARE
(snarling)
Yeah…
GORDAN attempts to sit up straighter. His face emerges into a SLANT OF LIGHT through the blinds, and he truly looks like a piece of shit.
And he feels this, and his boss knows it.
BLARE
So the problem is, you got two weeks to turn things around.
GORDAN breathes heavily and looks like he’s about to pass out. He reaches down into his jacket and rummages an inside pocket.
BLARE
Or you’re off the force.
GORDAN is trying to find something down in the pocket. In his frustration, he rips out the pocket.
GORDAN
Fuck me!…excuse me, chief!
BLARE groans.
BLARE
You don’t even know I’m tryin’ to cut you some slack.
GORDAN works the other inside pocket with no small measure of violence.
BLARE
Ya know there ain’t no smokin’ in here, Gordan.
GORDAN pulls out a ripped open piece of gum and pops a piece in his mouth. He smiles as he does it, revealing some very crooked teeth.
GORDAN
Haven’t smoked in….
(thinking)
A month.
BLARE
Ya can’t even get a stick of gum out of your motherlovin’ jacket anuymore…what the hell’s happened to you, Gordie?
GORDAN ruminates, munching on his gum. He’s almost comical in his pathos. He doesn’t have an answer.
BLARE
Well, I can’t answer for you. I could go over this stupid goddamned bureaucratic computer file shit with you, and tell you that you’re a fuckin’ waste case, and that you’re gonna retire early with a reduced pension and end up a peon security guard at the Punk Rock Museum down in the East Village. But I won’t say any of that.
GORDAN
(with an ugly grin)
Well, thank you for not saying it.
BLARE
But you will be terminated in thirteen days, unless…
GORDAN sighs, leans forward and stares at his crotch. And he does this for a very long time.
BLARE
What the fuck are you looking at?
GORDAN
My balls.
BLARE does not act surprised at this response.
GORDAN
I’m just wondering if I got any left. There’s was a time I would have got up and tossed my badge and gun on the desk and told you to go jack off. Now I can’t.
BLARE sighs long and hard, then pulls a manilla folder out of his desk and tosses it in front of GORDAN.
BLARE
Funny you should be talkin’ about balls.
GORDAN flips open the folder. A CRIME PHOTO of the MAN in the bathtub, the red water gushing out of it.
BLARE
This fucker don’t have any.
GORDAN
Mama-mia…
GORDAN flips through the photos, taking in every gruesome angle and relishing it.
GORDAN
(glancing up)
What has this got to do with what we were talking about?
BLARE
This, Gordan, is your new case.
GORDAN
What?…I’m a vice man…I do hookers and pimps…
BLARE
You’re re-assigned. This is your fuck-up. It’s part of why you are here now, and why you will be working homicide with Miss McGruger.
GORDAN
You gotta be kidding…
BLARE snatches the folder and slams it shut. He leans forward intently and makes GORDAN look at him.
BLARE
This butcher job happened on your watch, right under your nose. Probably six hours ago.
GORDAN
Say what, chief?
BLARE
Yeah, say what!…corner of Waverly and the john hang-out. Where you and Guillermo were staking. Right under your goddamned noses.
GORDAN slaps his hands over his face and groans.
BLARE
So you got two weeks to bring in some real heavy leads on who de-balled our man. Or you will be done with vice. And as I said, your employability in general is up in the air.
GORDAN
Uh-yeah…
BLARE stares hard at GORDAN.
blare
Believe it or not, I like you Gordan. You and I were young studs during the fucked up crack days, making our names. You recall those heady days, do you?
GORDAN
(groaning and getting up to leave)
Yeah, okay boss….
BLARE
We cleaned this town up. Made Times Square into another Disney.
Vaporized all the rock in Harlem, so all that was left was potheads and winos. And I sure remember your rep when you were doing narcotics. You were known as a tough SOB who could sniff out a crack house with a full blown sinus infection and a plug over your nose…
GORDAN
(raising his hand)
Ancient history.
BLARE
What’s happened to you?
GORDAN
Damned if I know…male menopause or something.
BLARE
Bullshit! Get that old spark back, and get it back fast. Or you’re gone!
GORDAN slams the door on the way out.
int-the morgue
The corpse of the MAN is laid out on the autopsy slab, and his face looks downright happy.
The PATHOLOGIST, JIMMY, leather-faced and cynical, grips his instruments.
DETECTIVE MCGRUGER
(Off-screen)
Jimmy, are you planning on cutting into that peaceful looking thing?
JIMMY raises his eyebrows and turns around to see the homicide detective, PENNY MCGRUGER, walking towards him. She’s young and attractive, well-fit in a double-breasted suit and skirt that reveals her shapely legs.
JIMMY
(looking at her skirt)
I’d like to.
McGruger gets the response and has a ready reply:
MCGRUGER
Then do it.
JIMMY
I’m too old for ‘it’.
MCGRUGER
I’ve seen you do it before. You’re good at it.
JIMMY
It always helps when have someone making sure it’s done right.
MCGRUGER
Like me?
JIMMY
Only you, detective.
GORDAN
(off-screen but LOUD)
What about me! For Christ’s sake!
MCGRUGER
Oh, Jesus…
McGruger and Jimmy turn to see Gordan staggering in, his eyes blood-shot and a scraggly beard just starting to crawl over his face.
GORDAN
Motherfucker!
Gordan walks up to the corpse and pretends to give it a high five.
MCGRUGER
Why are you here, Gordan?
GORDAN
Because you are, McGruger.
MCGRUGER
That really makes my day.
Gordan pulls out a Slim Jim and bites it in half. He extends the other half to Jimmy.
GORDAN
Want a Slim Jim, Jim?
JIMMY
(pointing a slicer)
What if that drops into the poor guy? You know there ain’t no food in here.
GORDAN
There ain’t, Jimmy old boy!
Gordan gulps down most of the Slim Jim and rams the remainder into his inside pocket. Then he peers at the corpse and notices the ripped stomache.
GORDAN
You don’t even need that cutter today. The perp did it all for you.
(smiling over his shoulder at McGruger)
Oh by the way, McGruger. I’m here because the boss paired us on this thing.
MCGRUGER
You are shitting me!
Gordan just grins, juxtaposed with the gaping expression of the corpse. McGruger is repulsed at the very idea.
MCGRUGER
All right…I’m homicide, you’re vice. What is going on?
GORDAN
Ask Blare. He felt a rotation would be good for my career.
MCGRUGER
What about mine!
GORDAN just smiles and chomps on what’s left of the Slim Jim. Jimmy smiles at the irony of it and dives in with the knife. McGruger grimaces.
int. a seedy bar, east village
The late afternoon crowd consists of a few weathered OLD PUNK ROCKERS, CONSTRUCTION WORKERS and other down-and-outers starting the weekend early.
A brawny guy in a brown suit with elbow patches, his tie draped over his sweat-soaked shirt, enters the bar. He nods at a MIDDLE-AGED PUNKER sitting at the end and waves to the bartender, BERNIE, another time-battered old bastard who wears an earring and whose hair sticks out all over the place.
BERNIE
Hey Sergeant York, ya old fucker!
york
Bernie, you punk bitch!
(plopping down in front of Bernie)
Didn’t anyone tell you the 80s died with Christ?
BERNIE
Didn’t anyone tell you cops are supposed to retire at 50?
YORK
Start the tab, prick. My shift is done.
Bernie draws off a frothy one from the tap, then pours out a shot of Jimmy Beam.
At the far end of the bar, OBSCURED, a WOMAN sips on a drink. Her arms glow with an allure that catches York’s attention. Her shoulders are partly concealed by a long black shawl.
YORK
Who’s that down there?
bERNIE
She’s a newbie. And one hot dish.
YORK
I got to get acquainted.
BERNIE
(yelling down the bar)
Hey miss, this guy wants to buy you a drink!
YORK
You bastard.
Her face is obscured but the glittering teeth cannot be missed. Cigarette smoke curls in front of red lips.
York gets up and walks towards the woman. As he approaches, her sinewy form moves and she cannot be mistaken for who she is: The QUEEN.
INT. THE MORGUE
McGruger and Gordan are almost face to face, over the corpse, staring down at its abdomen. Jimmy looms over them with a scraper. As he reaches down with it, he sneezes and the tool bounces off the corpse’s gut and onto the floor.
GORDAN
Son-of-a-bitch, Jimmy!
MCGRUGER
Good goddamned grief…
JIMMY
Sorry…
He reaches down to pick up the scraper. The corpse’s arm drops off the table and its hand hits him in the head.
JIMMY
You dead prick!
McGruger scans the wounds. She is interested in something. Gordan notices her curiosity. He rolls the butt end of the Slim Jim in his mouth.
GORDAN
You see what I see, McGruger?
MCGRUGER
(without looking up)
That depends on what you think you see.
GORDAN
I’m seeing what you’re seeing, McGruger. Only at the macro level. You’re too caught up with the micro.
mcGRUGER
Ya know, Gordan, you sound like a badly written movie script.
GORDAN
Sometimes those make the best movies.
MCGRUGER
Well, I don’t go to the movies.
GORDAN
Yeah, well then how do you even know the difference between the bad and the good?
MCGRUGER
(looks pointedly at Gordan)
You mean in terms of movies, or partners?
EXT. AN ALLEY BEHIND THE SEEDY BAR-DAY
York has his back pressed against a doorway as the Queen presses up against him. Only her sinewy back is visible.
York struggles to unzip his fly as her hand flies down to his crotch.
YORK
Jesus, baby-doll…this ain’t the best place!
QUEEN
(huskily)
Why not?
YORK
It’s out in the open!
QUEEN
That makes it the best!
YORK
(groaning)
Mother of God!…
The Queen rips his trowsers open and yanks his pants down.
She rides down his belly and goes deep diving.
ext. the MORGUE
Jimmy runs the edge of the scraper down the corpse’s gut. He’s looking at the pubic area, although the gut is bloated enough to conceal it.
jiMMY
Yeah, just what I thought.
mcGRUGER
Thought what, Jimmy?
jimmy
Well, take a real close look detective.
McGruger moves her face towards the abyss and grimaces. Gordan, grinning all the time, moves with her.
Jimmy points with his tool.
mcGRUGER
Yeah…oh yeah!…that’s kind of what I thought I saw.
goRDAN
Me too. We’re all so perceptive.
mcgRUGER
The killer performed…
GORDAN
The old suck-the-lollipop for the john.
jimMY
Well that’s not the sigificant piece Gordie.
GORDAN
Well what is?
Jimmy stands up with a big fat smile and pops his lips and taps the end of the scraper against them. This makes the two detectives turn green.
jimmy
She blew him after he was dead.
This makes them turn even greener.
ext. aN ALLEY BEHIND THE SEEDY BAR
York is slumping down against the wall, groaning. The Queen is on him like a maggot on rotten hamburger. She is only seen from behind, her long black hair covering most of her back, touching the ground.
He tries to pull both of them further down behind the some garbage cans and boxes, so that no one will see them.
QUEEN
(lifting her head up)
What are you afraid of, you big virile cop?
yoRK
Goddamned it, lady. Let’s not push our luck.
The QUEEN hunches over him and her black hair appears to engulf him.
She pulls a pizza cutter from seemingly nowhere and it flashes. York catches the glint and jumps back and screams.
A black van roars into the alley. York screams and moans and sees the van coming towards them and he tries to push her off him and the blood splurts up and gets into his eyes and the pain is unbearable…
The van pulls up in front of them. York can only see the vehicle through BLOOD-CLOTTED EYES, as the gushing is now all over his face.
The dark sinewy form of the QUEEN drops back against the blackness of the van. York reaches out towards the vehicle.
YORK
(feebly)
Help me! For Christ’ sake…help…help…
The van door slides open and a mass of writhing white things, like giant maggots, emerge. But as they come closer, they appear to be tubes. Like IV tubes found in hospitals. And there’s a lot of them.
York moans; The QUEEN cackles and her voice echoes and FADES into a nightmarish SILENCE.
xt. a highway, BIG BEND, TEXAS -dusk
A mini-van drives into the sunset. The only other sign of human existence along the road is in the form of discarded beer cans and cigarette butts.
A COYOTE pokes its nose out of the mesquite. AN ARMADILLO waddles across the road in front of the coyote.
The coyote ventures out onto the highway and begins poking at the armadillo.
The van rounds a bend and bears down on the two animals. It swerves to avoid them, but the coyote manages to run right under the vehicle.
The van skids off the side of the road and crashes into a rock at the base of a cliff. The coyote’s carcass scrapes across the ground and rolls under a cactus.
The armadillo meanders into the brush. The van rests partly sideways, its rear tire spinning. No one and nothing stirs from inside it.
ext. THE HIGHWAY NEAR the van – night
Now, the moon rises over the rocky ledge of the mountain range. A BADGER peers out from between two rocks. VULTURES pick at the coyote’s carcass.
Headlights sweep down the road. A car approaches from the west. Its beams illuminate the crashed van.
The car slows down and pulls off the shoulder. A RADIO CRACKLES from within. A BLUE LIGHT swirls from behind the windshield.
The driver’s door swings open.
INT. THE VAN – NIGHT
A YOUNG MOTHER, the driver, groans and blinks. Dried blood covers her cheek; one eye is puffed up and swollen.
In the rear seat, A TODDLER is whimpering in his car seat. He’s still strapped in, but pieces of glass are scattered on the upholstery around him.
A flashlight shines on the mother. She squints.
Her door squeaks. She tries to push it open, groaning the whole time.
MAN’S VOICE
(from outside)
Don’t move, ma’am.
The door squeaks and squeals, then flies open. The flashlight beam swings away, and the moon appears in its place. The mother sees a SILHOUETTE, A MAN’S FACE, in front of the moon.
MOTHER
What happened?
man
Y’all had a bit of an accident.
mother
Oh no…Jimmy? Jimmy!
The toddler stares dreamily at the silhouette hovering over his mother.
man
Jimmy’s looking just fine. Is that his name? Is that your name, young man?
The toddler begins to see the outline of a square-jawed man with a cowboy hat smiling at him. The man’s teeth glitter.
The man reaches down over the mother and examines her. She can now make out part of his features.
man
You feeling any pain, anything broken anywhere, Ma’am?
mother
I feel kind of achy. But I don’t think…I don’t remember –
He presses gently on her seat belt.
man
I’m gonna have to reach in here a bit and get you out of this belt. You let me know if anything really fires up pain-wise.
mother
Okay. I will.
He directs the flashlight over her and at the seat belt buckle. Part of the seat is crushed over it.
mother
(weakly)
Are you an ambulance man?
His face is partly obscured by the hat and the darkness from within the vehicle. But the glitter from his teeth is apparent. He nods.
man
I’m a ranger, ma’am.
The mother smiles.
mother
Texas Ranger?
ranger
What other kind is there?
She laughs weakly. The Ranger is fighting the belt buckle.
MOTHER
I expect the baseball team type. You know?
ranger
(grunting)
I expect. They’re not all that bad, this year.
mother
Or the Lone Ranger.
The toddler is pointing a silver gun at the Ranger.
toddler
Bang! Bang!
The Ranger laughs. He pulls on the buckle but can’t get it unlatched.
mother
Is Jimmy okay? I can’t see him. I want to get out. Is he okay?
ranger
He seems to be. That’s your son, am I right?
mother
Yes.
ranger
Well, we got a problem. But only temporary, I expect.
mother
What? I want to get out. Please…are the ambulance on the way?
ranger
They will be. I still have to radio for them.
mother
I’d a expected you’d done that already.
The Ranger backs up into the gloom, so that only his broad brim is visible beneath the moon.
He reaches back into his pocket and pull something out. Then, he flicks open a switchblade.
The Mom gasps. Ranger reaches over and cuts her seat belt.
RANGER
Didn’t mean to startle you, Ma’am.
MOTHER
Thank you.
ranger
Let’s get you out.
mother
Thank you. Is the ambulance coming? Will you get Jimmy?
ranger
You can bet on it. Sure as….
mother
What?
Ranger grabs her around the back and under her arm.
RANGER
As sure as the likelihood of seeing a dead armadillo over a live one.
He starts to bring her out of the van. The toddler is pointing the toy gun at him.
mother
(weakly)
Ha, ha.
tODDLER
Bang! Bang!
mother
Not sure I understand that.
ranger
Well, heck. Whoever really sees a live Armadillo in Texas? You always see them, but dead.
As he lifts her out of the seat, Mom has a brief FLASHBACK:
THE ARMADILLO WADDLING ACROSS THE ROOM.
THE COYOTE DARTING IN FRONT OF THE VAN.
mother
(groaning)
Well, guess I undercut the likelihood.
EXT. THE VAN – NIGHT
Ranger carries Mom away from the van and puts her down on the ground.
ranger
You feeling okay?
mother
As good as can be. Please get Jimmy out.
ranger
Next on my list, ma’am.
From far-off, A TRUCK’S ENGINE ROARS.
The Ranger looks up. The moon briefly reveals his face: square-jawed, slit-eyed, intense.
Mom groans.
mother
Someone’s coming. Flag ’em down, if they can help.
ranger
Got it covered. Got it all covered, Ma’am.
He dashes back to the van and clambers in.
int. THE VAN
The Ranger stretches over the front seat and reaches towards the toddler.
The toddler giggles. The moon shines across him. His pants are soaked with urine.
The Ranger grimaces. He reaches towards the toddler’s car seat and tries to undo the latches.
The toddler laughs and bangs the Ranger on the head with his gun.
toDDLER
Bang! Bang! Bang! Ba-
ranger
-Bang! Yes! Bang! Bang! I like your spirit, trooper.
The toddler drops his toy gun. The Ranger unlatches the belts and rips them up over the child’s head.
ext. THE VAN
A semi downshifts along the road, its headlights brightening the accident scene. Mom gazes into the lights.
The Ranger brings the toddler over to his Mom. She takes him and cuddles him.
mom
C’mere sweety!
toddler
Truck!
The Ranger starts walking back to his car, his head down, the brim concealing his face.
ranger
(over his shoulder)
Y’all doing all right?
mom
I think so. Where are you going? Are you going to call –
ranger
-Yes!
The Ranger gets into his car. The truck has pulled over and a TRUCK DRIVER gets out. He starts to walk over to the accident scene.
truck driver
God all mighty! Y’all need some help?
The Ranger pulls out onto the highway, the blue light flashing. He accelerates past the truck driver. The driver only makes out the wide brim and the shadow of a face beneath it.
mother
Where’s he going?
The truck driver jogs up to her. The toddler points at him.
toddLER
Bang! Bang!
truck driver
What happened? Lord Mother of God, are you okay?
mother
I feel whoozy. Where’s the Ranger going?
The truck driver crouches down next to her.
truCK DRIVER
You’ve been bleeding from the head. What about the rest of you, Ma’am? Got any bangs, cracked bones I ought to know about.
mother
I don’t know. Can you find the Ranger? Where is he?
The truck driver looks worried. He pulls out a cell phone and dials 911.
truck driver
Don’t know where he went, little lady. But anyways, let’s hope we get some signal out here.
mother
Why’d he just leave like that?
truck driver
Hello? Yes sir, could we get an ambulance out here? I’m a truck driver, and I got a lady and her kid just been in a bad accident. We’re at –
ext. highway, further down – night
The Ranger’s car cruises down the road. An ambulance tears past in the opposite direction.
ext. cody’s diner – night
The Ranger pulls into the parking lot. A banged-up sedan, its engine running, sits sideways near the diner’s entrance. A full-size wood Indian stands sentry outside.
The sedan’s front end points towards the highway, the headlights off.
The Ranger gets out of his car and shuts the door. His wide white brim, again, conceals his features. He heads to the entrance, his cowboy boots CRUNCHING.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses a DARK SHAPE sitting behind the sedan’s steering wheel.
int. coDY’S DINER
The door rattles open. The ranger CLOMPS through the entrance. It’s a greasy dive hung with old pictures of ranchers and cowboys.
The Ranger walks into the flickering light. For the first time, the jagged scar across one side of his face is apparent.
A SCRUFFY MAN in a dungaree jacket and thick gnarly hair sits on a stool in front of the open cash register. He nods sideways at the Ranger, without looking directly at him.
A COOK, wiry and pale, stands in front of the open cash register.
The Ranger steps up to a stool, a few down from the Scruffy Man. Even though he wears the starched shirt of a Texas Highway Patrolman, the Ranger’s pants are nothing more than dirty dungarees.
The Ranger spots the one pie in the counter case. He glances over at Scruffy, who looks him in the eye this time.
scruffy
Evenin’ Officer.
RANGER
Howdy.
The Ranger points to the pie and looks at the Cook. Scruffy keeps an eye on the Ranger.
RANGER
That peach pie?
The Cook doesn’t answer.
RANGER
In the case?
cook
Whi-which one?
scruffy
I believe there’s only one in there. Ha!
The Ranger glances again at Scruffy. Scruffy snorts.
ranger
(addressing Cook)
If that’s peach, bring it on over. With a big old cup of hot coffee.
Without a word, the Cook opens up the case. As he pulls out the plate, his hands are shaking.
He brings the pie over to the Ranger and puts it down in front of him. His hand is still shaking. The Ranger stares at the pie, noticing a big blob of peach pouring out the side.
The cook goes over to the coffee machine and pulls out a mug. He can barely keep his hand steady beneath the spout.
Scruffy snort again, like a pig. The Ranger ignores him, watching the Cook.
The Cook places a napkin under the mug and brings the coffee over. The liquid splashes along the sides as he sets it down in front of the Ranger.
cook
Get ya some cream and sugar, if ya like.
ranger
I like it black. But I’ll take a fork. For the pie, here.
cook
Yes, sir.
The Cook ventures over to a drawer near the open cash register. The Ranger watches him. As the Cook rattles around, Scruffy eyes him carefully.
The Cook retrieves a fork and brings it to the Ranger. Snuffy looks down, a smirk on his face, and snorts like a pig.
The Ranger takes the fork and breaks off a piece of pie. He puts the piece in his mouth and chews it slowly. Then he takes a sip of the coffee. He savors it.
Scruffy snorts again, loudly.
The Ranger puts his cup down. He forks another piece of pie and lifts it to his mouth. He chews this piece, savoring it.
Scruffy snorts.
RANGER
I don’t expect there’s much call for that.
Scruffy turns and looks sideways at the Ranger. The Cook grips the edge of the counter.
scruffy
Call for what? You talkin’ over here?
RANGER
I’m addressing you, I expect.
ScrUFFY
You expect? You expect!
The Cook releases his grip on the counter and sidles down to the other side of the open cash register.
The Ranger takes a hardy gulp of coffee, then looks directly at the Cook and Scruffy.
SCRUFFY
Well, now, that’s fine. That’s just fine!
RANGER
Y’all been havin’ a conversation ‘fore I got here? Pardon if I interrupted it.
Scruffy laughs.
SCRUFFY
Well, yes sir! Yes sir, Mr. Texas Ranger, sir! We been engagin’ in serious, philosophical debatin’, haven’t we?
(glancing over to the Cook)
Ain’t that right?
COOK
Y-yes. That’s right! That’s so right!
Scruffy pulls a revolver out of his jacket’s inside pocket and aims it dead center at the Ranger.
scruffy
Keep one hand on that there coffee, mister! And the other one up, up, up!
The Ranger does what he’s told, slowly.
SCRUFFY
There you go, Ranger boy!
(snorting)
Ranger pig!
Scruffy glances sideways at the Cook.
scruffy
Why don’t you re-commence what you started to do, before this Lone Ranger so rudely intervened.
The Cook pulls bills out of the open register, shaking violently in the process. Scruffy takes them, one at a time, shoving them down inside his jacket pocket.
HORN HONKS from the sedan outside. Scruffy scowls and waves the gun in irritation.
scruffy
I’m coming, I’m coming! Damned little turdball!
He snaps his fingers at the Cook.
scRUFFY
C’mon, c’mon!
He rotates the muzzle of the revolver in front of the Ranger, smirking.
SCRUFFY
Bet you’d like a fair piece of me.
The Cook scrapes coins from the bottom of the register. Scruffy keeps his free hand out, taking whatever he gets.
SCRUFFY
I heard about you Rangers. Oh yeah – I know all about you tough old boys.
The Ranger bites his lip.
scruffy
You ever heard of Sam Bass?
The Ranger nods.
The Cook pulls out the last change and plops it into Scruffy’s hand. Scruffy starts to move towards the entrance, but the revolver seems to float out in front of him, the barrel moving forward.
SCRUFFY
I bet you have. I sure bet you have. Do you know Sam Bass was ambushed?
The Ranger shakes his head. The HORN HONKS outsid
ext. congress plaza hotel, chicago-night
Snow falls across the Windy City. Cabs slide to a stop in front of the hotel. PASSENGERS get in and out.
A MAN stands in one of the hotel windows, far above the street.
int. hotel room-night
JACOB CAUTHERN, a slender young man, peers out of his window at the frosty scene below. He sips a drink, dressed only his underwear.
A CELL PHONE RINGTONE blares the beginning tome to ‘HELLS BELLS’. Jacob steps over to the bed and answers the phone.
jacob
Hullo?
WOMAN
(Over phone)
Hullo? Der, say dere, whadda we doin’ tonight?
jacob
Skiing. Excuse me if I don’t feel real enthusiastic.
woman
I’m ready. I don’t know about you.
Jacob gazes around the room. It is a gaudy depiction of gangster era decor. Pictures of FAMOUS GANGSTERS, both from real life and the movies, glare back at him.
JACOB
I’ve got a major case of jet lag, we’re in the snow belt – which you know I can’t stand –
woman’s
-Florida wimp –
jacob
– and a bunch of wierd freakin’ dudes pointing machine guns at me.
woman
Oh, you got one of the best rooms!
Jacob sets his drink on the bedside table. The ice CLINKS.
WOMAN
I heard that. Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying yourself.
Jacob drops back onto the bed and sighs.
jacob
I’ll be down in a few. I need a nap.
woman
You need another drink.
Jacob harrumphs and closes his eyes.
jacob
Like a bullet in my brain.
He opens one eye and sees JOHN DILLINGER pointing a gun at him. He quickly closes his eye.
jacob
(wearily)
Look, I’m the one who’s supposed to close out this deal. This piece of shit deal –
woman
Worth about a quarter of a billion.
jacob
Yeah. A quarter billion, all on little old Jacob Cauthern’s shoulders.
(sighing deeply)
I’ll be down by nine to network. Just a few minutes –
woman
– Okay. I’ll hold Singleton and his dogs at bay while you get your baby nap. But don’t leave me holding the –
jacob
– I won’t.
He hangs up and falls asleep.
int. hotel room-later
Jacob snores. The gangsters on the wall glare and smile sardonically at him. JIMMY CAGNEY scowls.
A table lamp flickers. The snow from outside batters the window. The room GROWS DARKER.
Jacob stops snoring. One of his eyes open, wide.
The pictures on the wall become LUMINESCENT.
ICE CLINKS. JACOB sees his drink on the table, with no ice.
The picture of JIMMY CAGNEY flutters. Jimmy winks.
CAGNEY
(Voice from Movie)
Ah, yer yellow!
Jacob tries to open the other eye. His cheek twitches. He tries to move off the bed but is frozen.
His open eye rolls to the side. A SHAPE, IN DAPPER WHITE 1920S SUIT WITH BRASS BUTTONS, moves for a moment away from him, then vanishes into the dark.
HUSKY VOICE
(far off)
I got a mark!
Jacob floats off the bed and floats towards the snowy window. The window goes BLACK. He turns and floats towards the luminescent pictures.
Jimmy Cagney frowns and goes BLACK. Then the picture BRIGHTENS into an OLD GRAINY NEWS PHOTO: A GANGSTER WITH HIS FACE BLOWN OFF.
Jacob stares at it. The blown off face DISSOLVES into another bloody visage, with the scalp ripped open.
It is Jacob’s face. He opens his mouth to scream.
int. HOTEL ROOM
Jacob sits up, bathed in sweat. The room is bright and the pictures normal.
jaCOB
No more nightcaps before naps.
Al Capone smirks back at him.
int. hotel conference room – later
SWANKY BUSINESS PEOPLE mingle with HI-TECH NERDS. It is a pre-conference get together with all the stakeholders in the Dragos Intercommerce deal.
WAITERS flutter around with hordeuves and drinks; chandeliers glitter overhead.
JENNY KIPPER, slim, confident, attractive in a low-cut red dress, mingles with CARL SINGLETON, a stocky businessman flush with cocktails.
Off to his side, HEMANT DAKTUR, Carl’s CIO and technical guru, smiles and sips a drink.
Both men clearly admire Jenny’s assets. But especially Carl.
CARL
(gulping a Scotch)
You ought to get out to Idaho, Jenny. Hell, once we get this thing closed, we’ll have you all out. Big celebration party at our headquarters.
JENNY
(Woman’s voice from first scene)
I’m looking forward to it. Just tell me when.
Carl looks at her significantly.
carl
Oh, I will.
He waves his empty glass and a WAITER rushes over to give him a refill. Jenny glances with some nervousness at Hemant, who smiles back with equal nervousness.
HEMANT
I think this tradition you have of having an ice breaker before the big meeting is quite fine.
jenny
Oh yes. It does break the ice and we find that it really gets everyone in a good mood to work together.
The waiter hands Carl his drink. Carl quickly swigs it.
CARL
Gets everyone hung over! But I’d rather be that way, anyway. When it comes to deals like this.
jenny
Well, Carl, I can assure you that Jacob’s been feeling that way for quite awhile.
CARL
Well,he ought to! At a three-hundred million, he should be soiling his training pants on behalf of your company.
Jenny looks away nervously. Hemant steps in to smooth over the tension.
hemant
I’m impressed with the enterprise solution that you’ve come up with. I told Jacob that. Many times. I feel that our companies will reach a partnership that will drive international finance to a new level of security and interactive robustness.
Carl groans.
CARL
What? Hemant, stop talking like a CIO and have another drink. Better yet, change over to Scotch, like me.
Jenny laughs. Carl lightens up, impressed with the movement of her breasts.
Jacob enters from the far side of the conference room, dressed impeccably. He smoothes his tie as he approaches them. He stretches his jaw and face muscles, trying to remove the tension.
Jenny notices Jacob first and smiles tightly. He joins them, and instantly, his expression becomes one of suave confidence.
JENNY
Well, we thought you ran into Al Capone or something. They are having another convention here. A gathering of gangster movie fans, or something like that.
Jacob grins and lightly touches Jenny. Carl stares at him, stone-faced.
jacob
Yeah, I know. I ran into a few of those ‘fans’ dressed up like Tommy-gun wanna bes. Can you imagine?
Jacob reaches out to shake Carl’s hand. Carl takes it and very firmly shakes hands with him.
carl
Well, I’m into my third drink, old boy!
jacob
Well, Carl, I guess I’ve got some catching up to do.
Jacob gestures for a waiter.
carl
Well, I guess so. Where’ve you been, boy?
jacob
I had to hop on a conference call with Thailand. You know, they don’t keep regular American hours.
carl
Thailand? Just now? Hell, they’re on a weekend bender now. Who did you have to talk to over there?
The waiter brings over a tray of drinks just in time. Jacob pretends to look them over.
CARL
I mean, you are talking about KCX, our hard drive people?
Jacob plucks a tumbler off the tray. Carl smirks.
CARL WAITER
That’s good Scotch! That’s Dewart age fifty.
Jacob nods to the waiter, who bows and leaves.
JACOB
(sipping the drink)
No…I’m talking about another client on my twenty or so projects.
Carl thinks a bit. Jenny smiles uncomfortably. Hemant glances around, acting like he doesn’t care.
carl
Really? That many? I would have thought this one would give you all the business and attention that you need.
jacob
Carl, I don’t need to tell you that top performers get the top projects. In my case, the company books me onto whatever it feels warrants my oversight.
carl
Well then, am I correct in assuming that you are the ‘Top Talent’ at Dragos Systems?
Jenny touches Carl on the shoulder and laughs. He instantly goes to her buxom.
JENNY
The whole ‘Top Talent’ department is Jacob! Without him, we wouldn’t be standing here now, drinking great Scotch and enjoying each other’s company.
Hemant raises his glass and clinks against Jenny’s.
HEMANT
So true. Agreed.
Carl smiles and drains his tumbler. He jerks it into the air and points drunkenly at it. The waiter,from across the room, nods his head.
CARL
We do enjoy each other…immensely.
The waiter hustles over with Carl’s drink. Carl snatches it off the tray, along with an hor’deuvre. He shoves the food into his mouth, crumbs going everywhere, and washes it down with the Scotch.
He then stares right at Jacob, and without missing a beat:
CARL
I think you were resting. Resting, so you have the energy to keep up with me.
Then, Carl drains his drink. He stares off across the room at a big-titted, SLUTTY WOMAN.
carl
(to himself, slurring)
That’s okay, though. For this prick of a deal to go through, we’re all going to need our rest.
int. HOTEL CONFERENCE ROOM – later
Jacob, Jenny and Hemant are standing off by themselves. Carl is slobbering over the Slutty Woman in a corner, still holding onto a drink.
xt. london, big ben-night
The bell chimes. The half-moon peers through the clouds.
ext. whitechapel district, london-night
November 9, 1888.
THRONGS OF PEOPLE shuffle through the streets. WHORES leans against potential PATRONS at corners.
DARK SHAPES move in and out of the alleys and over the cobble streets.
A FAT WHORE tosses an empty gin bottle into the gutter.
fat whore
Until the next half pence come along, my dear!
She staggers away.
A MAN IN A DARK BRIM watches her from the shadows.
MARY JANE KELLEY, 25, comely,in a red shawl and frock, walks down the other side of the street, accompanied by a STOUT GENTLEMAN carrying a pail of beer. The Stout Gentleman tips the pail up towards her and nods.
mary jane
A fistful of shillings what cuts it with me, love. I can get all the beer I want, when I want.
They proceed down the street.
ext. another street-later
Mary Jane wanders beneath the gas lamps, staggering slightly. There is no one else around.
She turns a corner and stops before a very dark alley. She straightens up, swallows, proceeds down it.
She passes heaps of discarded rags, rugs, clothes. She gets more than halfway down the alley. A HAND reaches for her ankles and she jumps back.
A TOOTHLESS DRUNK falls forward and tries to grab her ankle again. She kicks his hand and moves on. He mutters something intelligible and collapses onto the ground.
Mary Jane gets to the end of the alley. A battered sign overhead announces: MILLER’S COURT.
At the far end of the alley, A TALL DARK SHAPE watches her.
ext. miller’s court-night
Mary Jane approaches the front door of a small building, just as the rain starts to pour down. She puts her hands over her head to shield herself and runs to the door.
She tries to open the door but it is locked. She reaches down into her frock’s side pouch, rummaging. Rain streams down her hair and over her face.
She finds what she is looking for: a key. She rams it into the keyhole and works it. The lock is stubborn and won’t move.
She wrenches the key and mutters in frustration. It still won’t budge. She tries twisting in the other direction. This time it almost gives, but not quite.
She punches the door. She grimaces, rain coursing over her face.
Then, Mary Jane senses something. She turns around and is instantly startled. Then she smiles.
SILHOUETTE The Man With The Brim, his face all but hidden.
ext. miller’s court, later-DAWN
The rain has stopped. There is no one on the street.
SOMEONE SCREAMS.
WOMAN’S VOICE
(off-screen)
Murder! Dear God, Murder!
ext. miller’s court-day
BOBBIES, NEWSPAPERMEN, BYSTANDERS crowd around the outside of the building. A STREET URCHIN prowls around, searching for pockets to pick.
A DAPPER MAN walks up to him and taps him on the shoulder. The Urchin hops backwards and scowls at the man.
URCHIN
Leave me be, Papa!
dapper man
(laughing)
I’m not your Papa, lad. What’s going on here?
urchin
How should I bloody well know?
The Dapper Man reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a shilling.
dapper man
Watch your language, boy. Now be a good bloody bloke and take a poke inside, let me know what you see.
He hands the shilling to the urchin. The boy shoves it into his pant pocket and scrambles through the crowd to the front of the building.
The Urchin deftly makes his way to the side of the building, sneaking around a BOBBY twirling a billy club. He spies a broken window and creeps up to it.
ext. window-day
The Urchin picks up a few broken boards and stacks then on top of each other. He steps on them and peers through the window.
The cracked glass makes it difficult to see, at first. He looks right. A MAN IN AN LONG COAT passes by. The Urchin squints and sees several garments neatly folded upon a chair.
He scans the room to the left, seeing VARIOUS PEOPLE walking back and forth. Then the Urchin glances back towards the back wall of the room.
His eyes go wide.
He sees a bed with SOME THING sprawled across it. It’s a gutted, blood-splattered hump of something that defies comprehension.
The Urchin falls backwards onto the street.
INT. THE ROOM AT MILLER’S COURT-DAY
AN EXAMINER jots notes on a piece of paper.
examiner
Victim is lying over two thirds of the bed and appears to be wearing only part of a chemise or what appears to be pieces of an undergarment.
The Examiner looks down, catching his breath.
examiner
A profuse amount of blood is beneath the bed and upon the bedsheets. Most of the blood appears to be the result of severing of the carotid artery.
The Examiner bends down. The BODY is now right before him. He is careful to keep his shoes outside of the gaping red pool.
The body is that of a female, although this is difficult to see at first. The face is slashed and and parts of the ear and nose missing.
The guts are spilling out and the victim’s left hand rests upon the open stomach. The legs are slit open; the breasts cut off.
AN SQUARE-JAWED INSPECTOR comes alongside the Examiner.
EXAMINER
The legs and abdomen have been sliced open, the skin removed. It appears that the internal viscera have been removed and placed in various places around the body.
The Examiner stops to write. The Inspector is turning green.
examiner
The uterus, kidneys and a breast are beneath the head. The other breast has been placed by the right foot.
INSPECTOR
He’s gone well over the bloody edge now.
examiner
The removed skin from the thighs and abdomen are on the table.
ext. MILLER’S COURT-day
The Urchin runs up to the Dapper Man and stops dead in front of him, gasping and pale.
dapper man
Is it –
urchin
-It is! Saucy Jack! But worst than ever! Worst than ever!
int. THE ROOM AT MILLER’S COURT-day
A BOBBY escorts the Dapper Man into the room. The Inspector turns around and acknowledges him grimly. The Dapper Man approaches slowly, then stops.
dapper man
This represents the absolute pinnacle of the misery of the East End.
inspector
If you don’t mind my saying, Mr. Dickens, you have no call to be here.
The Dapper Man, Charles Dickens, shakes his head.
dickens
Would you rather have one of those chaps from the Socialist yellow press?
The Inspector gestures to the heap upon the bed. The Examiner walks to the foot of the bed, nodding briefly to Dickens. He jots some more notes.
examiner
The pericardium has been removed and it appears that the heart is missing from within the cavity.
The Examiner glances around.
examiner
Where is the heart?
dickens
I daresay, that’s not the question, Doctor. The question is where is the soul?
The Examiner and Inspector look at Dickens.
dickens
Where is the soul of the fiend that did this?
ext. another whitechapel street–day
A NEWSBOY runs down the street, waving a newspaper
NEWSBOY
He’s done it again, e’ as! Read about it now! Read all about it! Read about Saucey Jack, Leather Apron, slicin’ up another one at Miller’s Court!
A BUSINESSMAN walks briskly up to the Newsboy and pulls out shillings.
BUSINESSMAN
Give me one those, lad! You said he’s done another one?
The Newsboy, in sheer delight, laughs and exchanges a paper for the money. He nods with a big grin on his face.
newsboy
‘As ‘e ever, sir! ‘As ‘e ever! The Ripper’s done it again! He’s done it! Done it so good this time, she’s but a butchered cow on a bed!
The Newsboy scurries away, yelling all the way.
newsboy
Read about it! Read about it, now! Jack-the-Ripper’s struck again. The Ripper’s struck again, at Miller’s Court! Read all about it!
EXT. LONDON, BIG BEN-DUSK
The sun sets with a silent Big Ben in the foreground.
ext. the thames-dusk
Ships and passenger schooners head down the Thames, heading towards the sea.
One ship sails in the opposite direction, towards the Port of London.
INT. SCOTLAND YARD, OFFICE-NIGHT
Big Ben looms through the window.
The Inspector sits at a table, by himself. He mulls over newspapers and files, crime photographs of the Ripper’s victims.
He picks up a letter and reads part of it:
INSERT Letter Text:
“…Sir, your letter posted September 5, 1888, as considered in its context, leaves me no choice but to offer the opinion that it could be true.”
The Inspector stares at a GRAINY PHOTO OF THE CORPSE OF MARY JANE KELLEY sprawled across the bed at Miller’s Court.
INSERT Letter Text:
“…That the veracity of such a thing could be determined as a possibility in the first place leaves me chilled to the bone. It leaves my soul cold, and my spirit defeated.”
Big Ben glowers at the Inspector.
man’s voice
(gruffly, voice-over)
For it means that I have failed.
A line of crime photographs, THE VICTIMS, stare impassively at the Inspector.
man’s voice
I do hope, sir, that such a fate does not await you. Catch him. Catch him, for dear God, and vindicate both of us.
ext. austin, texas-night
New Year’s Eve, 1884.
Crude fireworks explode behind row of timber buildings. The muddy wet street lights up momentarily.
A DRUNK in a sombrero stumbles across the street, raising a bottle to the sky.
INT. A SALOON – NIGHT
PATRONS drink around the horseshoe bar, sipping whiskey and mugs of beer. A BURLY BARTENDER wipes a mug and pours himself a shot of whiskey.
He raises it and addresses everyone.
bartender
To Austin! The heart of Texas!
He gulps down the whiskey.
The patrons generally murmur their non-disagreement. Except for a WIRY MAN, an ex-Confederate, slouched down at the end of the bar. He rams his mug of beer onto the bar and spits.
wiry man
Heart a’ goddamned carpet baggin’ Texas!
He pulls out a revolver and aims it at his mug of beer.
bartender
Aw, c’mon now, Buckie! War’s been over near twenty years!
BUCKIE (WIRY MAN)
It ain’t never been over.
Buckie clicks back the lever and sights down the barrel.
bartender
Don’t you go shootin’ up my place agin!
MARSHALL GROOMS LEE strolls through front door, a tall, congenial middle-aged man in a an overcoat and wide brim. He is also an ex-Confederate veteran and Texas Ranger. His eyes sparkle with amusement.
He brandishes a rifle but keeps it pointed at the floor as he steps up to the wiry Buckie.
Lee
Well, now. This sure is a way of ringin’ in the New Year, isn’t it Buckie boy?
Marshall Lee’s VOICE is that of the MAN’S VOICE from the previous scene: gruff and commanding.
Buckie squints through the mug of beer, ignoring the lawman.
lee
Rememberin’ all those good old war years!
buckie
Marshall, them good old years turned this town into one big old piss pot.
Lee gestures to the bartender. The bartender pours out a shot. The other patrons watch Marshall Lee with some nervousness.
A MAN at the far end of the bar, short, intense, with a notepad next to his beer, watches with amused interest.
lee
Well, now, I don’t think so. I don’t think so, at all! Not at all! No sir!
The bartender brings the shot glass to Lee. He nods and gulps it down.
lee
For one damn thing, the whiskey’s a lot better now.
Buckie slowly squeezes the trigger.
lee
I don’t know about the beer, not bein’ fond of it. But I expect that it would be a waste. It would be a terrible waste.
buckie
(looking down the barrel)
What’s that, Marshall Lee?
With one deft move, Lee grabs and squeezes Buckie’s wrist with such force, that his trigger finger releases the trigger. The gun clatters onto the bar. Lee sweeps it off the bar.
Buckie whirls around and pulls back his fist to punch. Lee steps back with a chuckle and requisitions the revolver to the inside of his coat.
lee
It’d be a terrible waste of a beer.
buckie
Give it back to me! You know a Dixie man ain’t –
lee
– I know! I know. Ain’t much of a man without his piece. But you’re not getting it back until tomorrow, once you’ve sobered up.
The man at the end of the bar laughs silently. Marshall Lee glances over at him and smiles, obviously recognizing him.
lee
Hell, Buckie, I haven’t got enough room in the jail for you. You ought to be grateful I’m jest taking your Colt.
The bartender pours another shot of whiskey and brings it down to Buckie. Buckie downs it and slams the glass onto the bar.
BUCKIE
‘Nuther!
The bartender goes back down to retrieve the whiskey bottle. Lee meanders towards the back of the room, slapping a few of the patrons on the back.
He sidles up next to the man at the other end.
lee
Happy New Years, Mr. O’Henry.
The man, WILLIAM SIDNEY PORTER, who goes by the pen name O’Henry, nods quickly and pushes his notepad aside.
lee
Oh, c’mon now. Don’t stop your scribing on my account.
- McAllen pass, idaho-day
The PERRYWHITE family van travels over a highway that meanders between mountains and along a river. Long grass and wildflowers sprout along the shoulders.
Western pine throw shadows across the road. Rock debris lines the embankments. A sign warns “DANGER – ROCK SLIDES”.
int. the van
A monitor attached to the ceiling plays a movie, Alfred Hitchcok’s THE BIRDS. CHILDREN sing in the schoolyard while the birds gather around.
CHILDREN
(in the movie)
The cheese took legs and ran away! Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey donny dostle-tee, knickety-knackety, retro-quo-quality, willoby-wallaby, Now, now, now!
Two of the Perrywhite children, SARAH, 13, and PAUL, 12, bob their heads and mouth the words. They sit in the middle, watching the movie.
Sarah, straw-haired, blue-eyed and lithe, smiles. Paul, a little pudgy with bright red freckles, puts on a face.
In the movie, the birds gather on the playground as the children play.
CHILDREN
She let the critter get away. Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey donny dostle-tee, knickety-knackety, retro-quo-quality, willoby-wallaby –
SARAH AND PAUL
– Now, now, now!
The children in the movie drone on. SOMEONE GROANS. Sarah and Paul rock side to side with big grins.
The oldest son, KIP, 16, wears wire-rim sunglasses and sports long hair and resembles John Lennon. He yawns in the back seat.
CHILDREN
I asked my wife to wash the floor. Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, Now, now, now! She gave me my hat and she showed me the door! Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey donny dostle-tee, knickety-knackety, retro-quo-quality –
SARAH AND PAUL
– Now, now, now!
kip
Rah! rah! rah! You’re a couple of primordial inbreds.
Paul turns around and sticks his finger up his nose. Kip rolls his eyes.
KIP
I rest my point.
In the rear view mirror, SOMEONE’S EYES catch Kip flipping the bird. Paul does it back, then turns back around and bobs to the singing. Sarah bobs with him and bumps against his shoulder.
PAUL
Don’t bump me, dummy!
SARAH
Dummy yourself!
chiLDREN
I married my wife in the month of June. Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, Now, now, now!
PAUL
Butt rash!
sarah
Arm pit!
paul
Stink bomb!
kip
That’s so original –
children
– brought her off by the light of the moon. Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey donny dostle-tee –
sarah
Bugger breath!
paul
Ass wipe!
male voice
(off-screen)
Hey!
This is JIM, 40, father of the brood, slightly gray, lean, ex- Marine officer. He glares in the mirror while driving, then relaxes his expression.
jim
Let’s button up that linguo, Paul. Back in the Corp –
Kip groans.
kip
– here we go –
Jim stops and glances over to his wife, SUE, 35, a mature version of Sarah with a lean body and short blond hair. She suppresses a laugh.
JIM
In the Corp, that language would get you double duty, mopping the barracks, scouring the racks, scrubbing –
kip
-scrubbing the toilets! Yeah, we’ve heard this, Dad. A few hundred times. From a retired CO among many COs from –
JIM
– First Marine Expeditionary Force, Operations Desert Shield, Desert Storm, Desert Thunder –
kip
No one here wants to join the military, let alone the Marines.
Paul turns to Kip.
PAUL
How do you know?
children
– Now, now, now!
The SOUND OF BIRDS on the t.v. rises. Sue glances over her shoulder. She’s holding up a GPS.
SUE
According to this, we’re almost there. Cut the movie.
sarah
Ah, Ma!
sue
Sarah!
kip and paul
Ah, MA!
Sarah punches Paul in the shoulder. He laughs. The SOUND OF BIRDS intensifies.
Sarah sticks her tongue out at Paul. He flips her the bird. Kip leans his head back and sighs.
kip
I’m smack in the middle of a miasma of domestic discord and strife.
Jim shakes his head. He takes a sharp corner and sees a sign, BLACK IRON GULCH – 1/2 Mile on Left.
sue
Let’s try to be civil to each other. This is vacation, after all.
kip
(sarcastically)
When families can relax and bond together and become a viable social unit.
Sue points over Sarah’s head. The SOUND OF BIRDS abruptly stops as Sarah reaches forward and turns off the movie.
paul
Turd-breath, that’s the best part coming up.
sarah
Dad, did you hear –
jim
-Yep! Paul, young man, how would you like to sleep in the bathtub tonight?
paul
Sorry.
jim
Sorry, what?
paul
Sir.
jim
What?
paul
Sorry…sir.
Kip snorts his amusement.
jim
Somethin’ to say, back there?
Jim glances in the rear view mirror, just in time to see Kip smirk.
jim
Just maybe this vacation will make us a real viable social unit.
kip
Don’t count on it!
Jim glances at Sue, who shrugs.
jim
Well, give it a chance, Kip. We’re gonna have a good time. This time. We’re going to.
kip
Sure, in good old Idaho. Lots to do in Idaho.
Sue shoots a disapproving look at Kip. Sarah leans forward and strokes her Mom’s hair.
sarah
I’m looking forward to it, Mom! I bet the boys will to. They can go hiking and fishing and swimming and –
paul
– running from grizzly bears.
SUE
Paul!
jim
Not in this part of the state.
He approaches left turn side pointing to: BLACK IRON GULCH – HOTEL AND BAR. Huge rock and dirt debris is piled up against the sign post.
jim
But apparently there’s rock slides.
He takes the turn.
ext. black iron gulch hotel – day
The van pulls into the gravel drive. The hotel looms overhead: a warped red cedar structure with a wrap-around porch and pine posts.
The only other vehicle is a banged up pick-up parked against the side of a utility shed.
A RED SQUIRREL chatters from its perch on the end of tree limb.
The van parks next to the porch steps leading up to the front office. The family clambers out. Paul and Sarah push each other onto the driveway.
sarah
Butthead!
paul
Buttwipe!
Jim and Sue head up the steps. Kip gets out of the van and slams the door shut. He peers up into the woods.
AN OLD MAN IN BLACK hikes away from him, disappearing behind the trees.
int. black iron gulch hotel
Jim and Sue approach the oaken front desk. The rest of the family straggle in.
Sarah gazes around at the waiting room with its antique tools and old photographs. PICTURES OF WORKMEN in front of a mine, VICTORIAN ERA WOMEN posing with CHILDREN, MINED HILLS and WORK CREWS.
One picture captures Sarah’s attention:AN OPEN MINE WITH WORKERS STANDING IN FRONT OF IT. Ten or so MEN with tools pose, the black maul of the mine gaping behind them.
Sue peers at the photograph. Though grainy, ONE MAN WITH HANDLE BAR MUSTACHE grins back with obvious maliciousness.
Jim walks up to the front desk. A mounted elk stares down at him.
JIM
Well, where’s the front desk man?
kip
(gazing at photographs)
I think I saw him up in the woods.
jim
What?
The HOTEL CLERK, a frumpy middle-aged woman, appears. She’s holding a huge glass mug filled with some frothy liquid.
hotel clerk
She’s right here, darlin’.
jim
Hello there.
hotel clerk
Hello. Welcome to our humble abode.
She takes a slug. Jim looks at her awkwardly. She slams the mug down on the counter.
hotel clerk
Now what do you think this is, honey-doll? It’s lemonade. Run out of regular clean glasses so I had to pilfer the bar.
(gesturing around)
Not that it’ll matter to all these hard drinking folks.
Sue, Paul and Sarah wander up next to Jim.
paUL
I’m thirsty.
sarah
You’re always thirsty.
paul
Well it’s hot in Idaho.
hotel clerk
I expect I can rustle up some more lemonade for you all. Got a reservation? Guess what? Ya don’t need one.
The clerk laughs like it’s the best joke she’s ever told.
JIM
We’re a little early, I think. You should find us under Perrywhite.
hotel CLERK
From Pennsylvania! I remember ’cause we got so few reservations for this month.
Kip is staring at the photograph of the man with the handlebar mustache.
sue
How come? I would have thought –
hotEL CLERK
– you’d a thought the middle of summer we’d be packed? And most years, you’d be right. But I’ll tell you what: this year’s been different, on account of the economy.
sue
Oh.
jim
Which is just the way I planned it.
Sue looks at Jim.
sue
What?
jim
Plan for risks, my dear. Stanley was all booked up. Redfish Lodge was full. Some basic reconnaissance on the Internet, and I was able to find this nice little place, not too far from the Sawtooths.
hoTEL CLERK
We’re too far away from anywhere, here. As far as I’m concerned, you all can check in right now. Your rooms, you’ll find, are all ready for you. Have been for over a week.
Kip approaches. Paul is pulling Sara’s hair and she turns around and tries to kick him. He jumps over her leg.
Sue puts her hand on Paul’s shoulder.
SUE
Start bringing in the luggage.
kip
Yeah, underlings, start fulfilling your obligations as ungrateful subordinates.
PAUL
Oh I wish I could use big words like that.
sarah
Big show-off!
Kip jabs a finger into Sara’s stomach. She giggles and jumps away.
jim
(wheeling around on his heel)
March to! Get the gear!
Paul and Sarah skidaddle out of the hotel. Kip stands there, smirking.
jim
What are you waiting for?
kip
Nothing. I thought seniority had its privileges.
jim
I’m the only seniority in this outfit.
The clerk laughs.
sue
Sure. So what’s my rank?
Jim turns around, smiling sheepishly. He raises his hand in appeasement.
kip
Besides, not so sure I want to go outside with that crazy old man in black out there.
hotel CLERK
What old man in black?
KIP
The one went jogging up into the woods when he saw me looking at him. He looked like Boris Karloff.
The clerk appears anxious, but for a moment.
hoteL CLERK
Well, I don’t know who that would be. Let alone an old man. We get kids busting on through from time to time.
Kip leaves. The clerk pulls out a ledger.
sue
No computer?
hotEL CLERK
Oh, I got a computer. Do I ever. Don’t ask me if I know how to use the stupid thing the right way.
sue
I’m the say way. They just got us started on these little laptops that we roll around in the hospital, going from patient to patient.
hotel clerk
You’re a nurse? Bless your heart, honey.
jim
She’s a doctor, actually.
hotel clerk
Really?
sue
(laughing)
Yes!
jim
And thank god for the computers. You know doctors – with their illegible signatures.
sue
That would not be me!
jim
They sign off on a computer now. So you can read their signatures.
sue
Talk about computer illiterate. They sign with a pen attached to the laptop, and that doesn’t correct for illegibility. Anyway, why are we even talking about that? You know I have great penmanship.
Jim laughs and leans forward and kisses her on the cheek.
jim
I know! I know, Sue darling!
hotel clerk
(laughing heartily)
Sue darling! I do like that name. Dr. Sue.
They all laugh.
ext. BLACK IRON GULCH HOTEL
Paul and Sarah are bringing in luggage, swinging the suitcases into each other as they lug them up the hotel’s front porch.
sarAH
Paul, watch it! That hurt!
paul
That hurt! That hurt! Man up!
sarah
I’m not a man, retard!
paul
That’s obvious, mental degenerate!
(gleefully)
Hey,that’s one of Kip’s big words.
They go inside, bumping each other in the process.
Kip heaves two suitcases out of the back of the van and slams the hatch shut. He glances up into the woods and scans the trees.
He doesn’t see anything and turns towards the hotel.
But SOMEONE watches him. A BLACK FIGURE stands up a ridge.
int. hotel room, a little later
Paul and Sarah are bouncing on the beds and lunging back and forth between each one. Kip sits in the lounge chair in the corner, yawning as he reads a copy of THE WAYWARD PROLETARIATE.
KIP
(glancing up)
The flying chimps strike again.
Immediately, Paul and Sarah imitate chimps and slam into each other in mid-air. They collapse onto the floor and erupt into laughter.
kip
Imbeciles.
- a SMALL INDUSTRIAL CITY – DESERTED CHURCH – DUSK
A DERELICT stumbles in front of the church, a booze bottle in hand.
Dirty snow covers the steps. Pigeons flutter overhead.
The derelict stares up at the black steeple, watching snow come down. Flakes melt on his grimy face. He winces, revealing an ugly toothless mouth.
A police cruiser pulls up to the curb. The window is rolled down. A COP looks out, glaring.
COP
Where you goin’?
The derelict wheels around and slips on the slush, almost falling down.
DERELICT
Gots a date with ma Mother Mary. Sir.
COP
Yeah? Well you’re gonna have a date with my club right up your touchhole. Get off the street.
The derelict looks away, indignant. Then he bends over and pukes. ANOTHER COP inside the car groans in disgust.
COP
You little asswipe. Just what’s makin’ this town such a fun place to be a part of.
He pulls his club out and bangs it against the side of the car.
COP
We’re gonna swing around the block, vomit mouth. If you’re still here when we get back, we’ll drag you back to Riverside lock-up.
The derelict shakes his head and wags his finger at them.
COP
Now what does that mean? It means nuthin’. In that bottomless pit between your ears, it just doesn’t register. Does it, asswipe?
The police car sprays slush as it pulls away.
The derelict takes a few steps down the sidewalks, then turns and goes back up the steps. He approaches the front door: a gaping black maul.
INT. THE CHURCH
The door creaks open and the derelict steps inside. The interior is dark and decayed, with cracked stained glass windows and rotting benches.
The alter is nothing more than a broken dais. A cross without a Savior tilts sideways against the back wall. It is just two pieces of wood with the symbol ripped from it.
Pigeons walk between the pews. A rat scurries in front of the dais.
The derelict takes a swig from his bottle and shuffles down the aisle.
INT. An APARTMENT
KEVIN, a young man, pops a tape into a VHS player. A clock on the wall ticks. Gray light slants in through windows in the adjoining kitchenette.
As the the tape starts up, a RED LIGHT BLINKS from inside the tape compartment. It casts a red glow upon the ceiling.
The t.v. screen is fuzzy at first, then breaks into a blurry image. From
Kevin settles back onto a couch. A gloomy picture of a unicorn looms over him.
AN OLD WOMAN peeks around the corner, slouching over.
OLD WOMAN
What are you doing?
Kevin frowns, sighs. The blurry image is still running in front of him.
OLD WOMAN
What are you doing? Kevin, what are you doing?
Something starts to materialize on the screen. Kevin leans forward.
OLD WOMAN
What are you doing? What are you doing?
KEVIN
Ma, would you please shut the fuck up!
MA vanishes back around the corner.
Kevin slumps back, groaning. A scratchy picture begins to emerge on the screen.
KEVIN
Why can’t we have a DVD player like everybody else?
Haunting music with a western twang CHEATS UP over the t.v.
The grainy screen image is a PAN over a western plain, with a drive-in theater off in the horizon. Block titles DISSOLVE in front of the scene: SNUFF ENTERPRISES.
The scene changes to what appears to be a swamp. Dark cypress trees hang over the water. A rowboat floats in the middle of the swamp. Again, the picture is dark and grainy.
Large reptiles, just shadows on the screen, but apparently crocodiles or alligators, lay along the edge.
Someone suddenly narrates, with a loud Hispanic voice.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
It is spectacle to behold! Justice in the jungle swamp!
Strange bugle music BLARES.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
No one is exempt.
The rowboat moves across the swamp. A ROWMAN, his face concealed beneath a black brim, works the paddles. The outline of his form is dark and vague.
The image sometimes flickers and the cracks of old celluloid fly across the screen.
A burn spot drifts over the scene, then it suddenly changes to a CLOSE SHOT inside the rowboat. The man in the brim rows, his gaunt face hidden beneath it. ANOTHER MAN, A SOLDIER of some sort, points a rifle at a BEATEN PRISONER who is slumped down on the bottom of the boat.
The soldier grins and waves the muzzle in the prisoner’s face. The prisoner cries and appears to be wailing, but there is no sound.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
See the mumbling idiot begging for his life!
The prisoner shakes and a dark stain grows on his torn pants, around the crotch. The soldier laughs and points the rifle at the swamp.
Crocodiles slither into the water. A huge black bird hovers overhead, cloaked in gloom.
Kevin leans forward on the couch. Ma peeks around the corner, her face all but hidden behind the wall. Her eyes are dim and gray.
The soldier slowly squeezes the trigger, pressing the muzzle against the prisoner’s temple.
The rowman’s lips twist into a slight smile.
The prisoner closes his eyes and clasps his hands in prayer. The soldier pushes his head towards the edge of the boat.
The prisoner winces and wails – but no sound comes out.
He gets up, shaking. The soldier gestures to the water with the gun. The prisoner pleads, putting up his hands.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
What is going to happen? What will happen to this fool? What? What!
From the distance, black shapes slip into the water.
INT. THE CHURCH
The derelict stands behind the dais, swigging from his bottle.
A torn vestment hangs from a peg in the wall at the back of the church. The derelict tries to focus his eyes on it, with little success.
A clanking startles him and he jumps back. A beer can rolls across the aisle, followed by a furry lump that waddles away into the gloom. It is a raccoon.
The derelict slumps down onto the edge of the platform. He drains the bottle, then breathes into it, causing a deep whistle. He grins.
DERELICT
I got the spirit, brother.
He glances sideways and notices an object lying upon the planks, just on the other side of the dais. He drops his bottle and crawls over to the object and reaches for it.
The derelict brings it to his face. It is a porcelain figure of the Virgin Mary, dirty and cracked. His lips quiver as he kisses it.
The deep whistle repeats. This time, however, the hobo has nothing to do with it.
DERELICT
Whuz dat?
He peers throughout the gloomy interior. His gaze leads him back to the vestment. He stares at it, perplexed. And he tries to focus his bloodshot eyes.
Then he drops the Virgin Mary. He realizes that the vestment has changed position, extended itself – moved over to the side. Like it is moving.
The derelict tries standing up and stumbles backwards. Overhead, the cracked stain glass window grins at him.
He blinks. The vestment has taken on a shape. It is too dark to make out clearly. But the derelict thinks he sees the outline of a head – a woman’s head – with long hair streaming down.
DERELICT
Mother.
He gets down on his knees, clutching the figurine.
HOBO
Mother, jest save my soul. My mother…
INT. AN APARTMENT
Kevin stares in disbelief.
On the screen, the prisoner leans over the transom of the boat, the soldier’s muzzle pressed into his gut.
The rowman lunges up and pushes the prisoner into the water.
The prisoner goes under for a moment, then comes up sputtering. The scene becomes dark and murky, as the soldier seats himself and the rowman rows the boat away.
The scene breaks up as the print splice passes through a rough spot: then there is change, and the prisoner is seen close up, treading water.
And a dark swirl approaches him.
Kevin whirls around and snarls at the corner of the wall.
KEVIN
Ma!
Ma disappears again behind the corner.
The scene is suddenly under water: muddy, black, artificial. It’s as if the camera is now in a pool.
The prisoner’s legs, trousers ripped, dirty feet and all, kick desperately. Blurry lines, what appear to be the bars of a cage, separate him from the screen.
Bubbles burst in front of him, then dissipate. The crocodile’s mouth chomps onto his leg. The prisoner screams as he is dragged down.
The image is unmistakably real.
Flesh shreds off his leg, revealing bone. The snouts of other crocodiles slam into his torso. Teeth flash; scales scrape.
The image breaks up into a badly spliced section that doesn’t want to recover. It looks like the end.
KEVIN
No, not now! Not fucking now!
Kevin jumps off the couch and bangs the t.v., then the VHS player.
kevin
Goddamned bootleg Chink piece-of-shit!
The red light blinks on and off, from inside the VHS player.
int. THE CHURCH
A WOMAN stands,immobile at the end of the church. Long silver hair streams over her face. The outline of a chin and cheekbones is barely visible.
The derelict tries to get up off his knees and almost falls forward. When he looks up, the woman is standing over him.
He leans forward, squinting, to see her face better.
And he does see it. And what he sees twists his face into a horrified grimace.
The front door swings open and the wind screams through: it is an apt sound for the derelict’s open mouth.
INT. AN APARTMENT
The image on the screen re-appears as a long view of the swamp. The rowboat is fading into the mist as the water boils with crocodiles.
The image shakes and goes in and out of focus.
Kevin looms over the t.v., the shadow of his mother behind him.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
Say good night! Justice is done. Say good night!
The water becomes still. The gloom intensifies. Nothing is happening.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over, whispering)
Buenas noches..Buenas fucking noches. Buenas…
The scene breaks apart, then re-appears. A WHITE SHAPE stands against the treeline on the far side of the swamp.
Kevin crouches down and peers at it. It is a WOMAN WITH LONG WHITE HAIR. She’s too far away to really make out any detail, but she is there.
The swamp goes black and a gray background materializes with a cheap end title: ‘SNUFF ENTERPRISES. We Love Your Business, So Order Stuff Again.’
Kevin stops the tape and presses rewind. The tape starts to whirl, then jams up in the player.
KEVIN
Shit!
MA
(Off-screen)
Kevin, you know my thoughts on that word.
He ejects the catridge. Tape spews out all over the floor.
MA
(Off-screen)
It really upsets me.
KEVIN
Motherfucker!
He tosses the cartridge across the room. It hits the wall and drops behind a chair.
A red light blinks momentarily, casting a refection over the wall. Then it stops.
ext. THE CHURCH – DUSK
The derelict smashes through the front door and slips and slides down the stairs, still holding tight to the Virgin Mary.
The wind screams through the door, drowning out whatever sound is trying to come out of his mouth.
He tumbles into the deserted street. The Virgin Mary slides across the ice into the middle of the road. He crawls towards her, clawing the ice.
He’s just about to grab the icon when the screaming of the wind takes on a different tempo: high-pitched, agonizing, like a woman being slaughtered while she gives birth.
The derelict twists around and looks back at the church. The black spire towers over him; the steps rise up into night blackness.
At the top of the steps: The woman raises her arms and for a mere moment, skeletal hands appear. Her face remains concealed behind streaming white hair.
A blinding white light washes over the derelict. He turns back and tries to scream, but cannot utter a sound before the tires run over him.
His bones break and his head is dragged against the icy pavement, ripping the side of his face.
The car screeches to a stop.
voice
(Off-screen)
Fuck! Back up! Back up!
The car reverses but the undercarriage catches the derelict’s shirt and drags him backwards. He grimaces as what’s left of his face becomes pulp mashed into the street.
The car stops: it is the police cruiser with the cops who harassed the derelicts before.
The cop gets out of the passenger side and looks underneath the car.
COP
Jimmy, ya can’t go either way.
JIMMY lets out a groan from inside the car.
JIMMY
(out the open window)
I told ya we should have just booked the poor prick and brought him in.
The cop surveys the hobo and scratches his chin.
COP
Well, I think he’s meat.
The derelict moans, feebly.
COP
Well, maybe not just yet.
JIMMY
What are we gonna do? Jesus Mother of God –
COP
Get outta the car.
JIMMY
What for? Let’s just sit on it and call in the meat wagon.
The cop peers over the hood from his crouching position and glares at his partner. Jimmy’s fat face is visible through the windshield.
COP
‘It’? ‘It’? This is a human being. A person. You heartless piece of elephant crap.
Jimmy swings the door open and gets out, scowling.
The cop moves around to the front of the car.
COP
C’mon, let’s see if we can lift this heap up and free the poor slob.
(glancing down)
Jesus, he’s all hooked up and everything down there. What a frickin’ mess!
Jimmy positions himself next to his partner and puts his big hands under the front fender.
JIMMY
First time I’ve ever been called elephant crap.
COP
Well, you’re too big not to be called that. One, two, three….Go!
The two cops grunt as they manage to lift the car slightly. The cop kicks the derelict’s leg, trying to dislodge him.
They both grunt louder, sweating to move the vehicle. Jimmy kicks.
JIMMY
Think he’s loose.
They drop the vehicle. Jimmy bends down and slowly pulls the hobo out.
COP
Yep. Good work.
The bloody torso slides out into the open. The side of the face is not only ripped – it’s split open. The derelict has joined his Maker.
JIMMY
Yeah, real good work.
int. AN APARTMENT – night
Kevin is devouring a bowl of hash at the kitchen table. He scans a magazine as he eats.
Through the open partition between the kitchen and hallway, the shadowy outline of Ma is visible. She is just standing there, tipping back and forth very slightly.
The name of the magazine in front of Kevin is called ‘MAYHEM’. The pictures depict blood and gore, paramilitary destruction and images of real violent death.
He flips the page. A MAN is stretched out on a rack, his body being drawn and quartered.
He flips again. A panel of black-and-white snapshots shows A NAKED WOMAN running from TWO TIGERS. It is a sequence of pictures that reveal the tigers gaining on their prey.
The tigers spring at the woman in the last picture. Kevin flips the page.
For only a moment, he glimpses a blown-up picture of the tigers dragging down the woman, their massive paws and teeth burying themselves into her flesh.
He shuts the magazine and looks up at the partition. A swishing sound accompanies the tipping woman on the other side. She is just a shadowy figure.
KEVIN
What is that, Ma?
ma
I’m sweeping the hall.
KEVIN
That’s all you do.
MA
It’s imperative that we stay clean.
KEVIN
It’s what? A big word from you. You do nothing all day but sweep and wipe counters and mope around –
MA
It’s really necessary. It really is. It really, really is, Kevin.
She disappears behind the partition, the swishing sound fading with her. Kevin scowls and tosses the magazine away. Another magazine sits in front of him: Discreet Inquiries Proprietorship.
Kevin opens it up and sees the first add, delivered by an attractive FEMALE WITH SCHOLARLY GLASSES smiling back.
The blurb announces ‘Change your life by getting a life. It starts here, at DIP. Select positions for unique individuals.’
Kevin flips the page and TWO VIVACIOUS FEMALES, heaving out of their dresses with hefty endowments, smile back and hold up gold-trimmed diplomas with a private eye insignia
The blurb on the page promises ‘Come by. Check us out. If you’re naturally curious, you may be just the type we want.’
Kevin munches on his hash and considers. He looks up at the kitchen sink and sees the pile of dirty dishes. He glances back down at the table and scans an OVERDUE rent notice.
Something occurs to him, suddenly.
KEVIN
Did you get your check, Ma?
No answer. The two females smile at Kevin and seem to beckon to him.
KEVIN
Ma, did you hear me? Did you get your check? We got bills due, Ma!
Still no answer, for a moment. Then a low swishing sound. Then, the dark figure, tottering back and forth, appears at the edge of the partition.
Gray sad eyes peer out at him.
KEVIN
Ma?
MA
This has to be done. It has to be done.
Kevin sighs and drops his head down towards his empty bowl. The remaining bits of hash dissolve and mesh into strange wierd patterns.
He jerks his attention away and smiles at the two females.
KEVIN
I know it does!
Ma swings back and forth in the shadows. She starts to hum very low.
Kevin picks up the magazine and presses his lips against the two females’ breasts.
KEVIN
It’s gotta be done, Ma. I’m getting a fucking career tomorrow!
EXT. THE RIVER – NIGHT
The police cruiser is pulled up next to the river bank along a deserted access road. It is dark there, except for the reflection of light on the water, coming from buildings and park lamps on the other side.
The cops are lugging a body down to the edge of the water. They try to be quiet but one of them is grunting with the effort.
COP
Can’t you be more quiet?
JIMMY
There ain’t no one around. Who comes out here?
COP
Other cops.
Jimmy grunts loudly and snorts. They slide the body into the filthy water, then shove it over into a mass of reeds.
The cop takes his nightstick and pushes the body further out. The mangled face of the hobo glares up at them, then submerges into the muck. The current sucks him away.
The two look around and head back up to the car.
cop
This makes me real nervous.
JIMMY
Yeah, like it’s your first time.
They get into the car.
INT. POLICE CRUISER
Jimmy starts up the vehicle, without turning on the headlights. He swings it around carefully and proceeds down the road. The other cop stares out at the river.
COP
Ain’t no sense to it.
JIMMY
What?
COP
Our doing somethin’ like –
jimmy
You wanna do the report? You wanna do the explain’, the –
COP
I’m just sayin’.
JIMMY
You’re just sayin’. Like I say, it ain’t the first time we’ve had to play it our way. This goddamed shithole of a town.
The cop shakes his head. Then he squints at something he thinks he sees across the river.
JIMMY
No one’ll miss him. No one knows who he is.
COP
Was.
The cop is looking, and wondering: is it across the river, or on it?
JIMMY
All we gotta do is get the undercarriage washed.
It appears to be on the river, floating, close to the other side. Whatever it is.
The cop squints.
JIMMY
Keep our mouths shut.
It’s a SHE. In a white bloody dress, with long wet hair, and a face with shredded skin and bone and brain matter hanging out.
COP
Stop the fucking car!
JIMMY
What?
The cop opens the door. Jimmy slams on the brake.
JIMMY
Hell’s a matta with you!
EXT. THE RIVER
The cop scrambles out of the cruiser, his hand going for his weapon. Jimmy gets out from his side.
There is nothing on the river except the glow from the other side.
JIMMY
You losin’ your mind?
COP
Maybe.
The cop approaches the edge of the river and peers down into it. All he sees is murky blackness.
JIMMY
I don’t wanna be hangin’ around here too long just because –
COP
– I saw something.
JIMMY
Yeah, what?
COP
A woman.
Jimmy comes down next to his partner and glances uneasily at him.
JIMMY
A woman? You mean like in the river?
COP
On the river!
Jimmy shakes his head and looks at the river.
JIMMY
Partner, there ain’t no boat out there.
COP
She was walking on the river!
Jimmy stares at him.
JIMMY
You mean, like the Holy Savior?
The cop glances back at him with a lemon-sucking grimace.
Jimmy sighs.
JIMMY
Let’s get the frick outta here!
He wheels around and starts up to the car. The cop is gazing into the water, right into the reflection from the lights.
A WHITE FACE materializes: The Hobo, grinning with malevolence, rising up through the murk. The cop gasps and jumps backwards, drawing his weapon.
Jimmy swings open the passenger side door. The two LOUD SHOTS freeze him in his tracks. When he turns around, he sees his partner aiming at the water.
JIMMY
What the hell are you shooting at?
The cop twists his head around. He’s now looking at Jimmy, wanting to ask his partner if he can see what he sees.
But what the cop now sees, staring at the police car and the figure standing next to it, curdles his blood.
The SHE-BANSHEE towers over the vehicle, leering at him through rotted flesh. It steps towards him, beckoning with a long gnarled hand.
It communicates with a scream.
BANSHEE
What the fuck’s a matter with you!
The cop fires twice. It gasps and raises its hand. He tries to fire again and drops his gun. It approaches him.
Jimmy staggers towards the cop. He has two bullets in him, his shirt soaked in blood. But he has still managed to draw his gun to defend himself from his partner, who has apparently gone nuts.
JIMMY
(gurgling, spitting blood)
What’s gone wrong with you, you cocksucker!
Jimmy fires once and pitches forward. His partner’s cheek blows apart from the slug and he is driven backwards, tumbling into the river.
The river current takes the cop’s corpse downstream. It floats past the hobo’s corpse, which the current is pushing out of the reeds.
Jimmy’s fat body lies headfirst at the edge of the riverbank, blood dribbling across the ground and into the water.
The lights from the other side make the blood shiny and opulent.
EXT. DIP HEADQUARTERS – DAY
Kevin plods through the unshoveled snow to the front of the building. It is a small flat-roof complex. Ripped lettering on the door announces: ‘DIP HQ’.
He stops in front of the door and kicks the slush off his tredded boots. His hands are jammed into the pockets of a ratty sweatjacket, the hood pulled over his hair.
With his greasy goatee poking out, he looks like he might be there to rob the place.
He stares at the door. The small window appears to be covered with black tape. He reaches towards the door handle, and hesitates.
man’s voice
(Off-screen,grufly)
They all do that!
Kevin backs up and looks around. He can’t figure out where the voice originated. He peers towards the door again.
MAN’S VOICE
(O.S.)
You fucking idiot.
Kevin looks up. A craggy-faced little gnome of a man, LAZARUS, scowls back down at him. He leans against a snow shovel. His eyes are piercing pindots beneath a black wool cap.
Lazarus
Yeah, I don’t dance around the mulberry tree. Are you here as a client or job seeker?
KEVIN
The latter.
Lazarus laughs and tosses the snowshovel off the roof. Kevin steps to the side as it crashes onto the walk next to him.
LAZARUS
The latter! The latter! What the fuck is that? The latter! Intellectual type! Aren’t you? Well?
Kevin turns and starts to walk away.
LAZARUS
Oh, you pussy! You poor, poor pitiful excuse for a man! Yeah, go back to your Momma.
Kevin stops.
LAZARUS
Oh, ho! That’s the thing, isn’t it? I nailed that old horntoad right to your asshole, didn’t I?
Kevin glances over his shoulder at the man on the roof, still turned partly away.
LAZARUS
See, I know things about people. I know all about you. One of these dead end young men, no prospects, no money, no nothing. Just living with Momma and getting by.
Kevin wheels around and glares at Lazarus.
KEVIN
Not even close.
Lazarus hunches over the edge of the roof to the point where he looks like he’s going to dive off. He peers right at Kevin.
LAZARUS
Then what are you doing here, boy?
KEVIN
Kevin. That’s my name.
lazarus
Kevin. So what? Do you know what we really do here…
(mockingly)
Kevin?
kevin
Investigations.
LAZARUS
Really? Is that all your stunted perception managed to glean from the website?
KEVIN
In the magazine that came in the mail. I don’t have a computer.
LAZARUS
Oh, the bimbos! The bimbo ads. You don’t have a computer? Are you out of your mind? In this day and age!
KEVIN
My Ma and I don’t have a lot of money.
Lazarus grabs the edge of the roof and squats over it like he’s about to topple over. He grins like an ugly elf.
LAZARUS
Your Ma! You see, I told you I know things about people. Come inside!
Lazarus lunges forward then freezes on the edge. He cackles, before stepping back out of sight.
Kevin goes to the front door and grabs the handle. He pulls the door open and goes inside.
INT. DIP HEADQUARTERS
Kevin steps inside a gloomy room. A small shaft of daylight is the only thing illuminating the interior.
He squints and sees a figure rocking in a chair behind a table. It is Lazarus, staring at him with a twinkle in his eye. The man lights up a cigar and clicks on a table light.
LAZARUS
Bet you’re wondering how I got down here so fast.
Kevin takes a few more tentative steps inside and looks around. He now sees an assortment of laptops, monitors, printers, books, piles of papers and clutter spread throughout the room.
The walls are covered with newsprint and clippings: VANISHED PERSONS, MYSTERIOUS DEATHS, HAUNTINGS and PARANORMAL PHENOMENA.
One clipping in particular catches his attention. There is a grainy photo of a man’s torso hanging out of an alligator’s mouth and a headline above it: ‘WHAT IS BEHIND THE GRUESOME SNUFF ENTERPRISES? Are they really producing DEATH?’
lazarus
No bimbos here. Sorry, my late ad man thought putting in a couple of brainy looking girls with boobs would attract the right type of person.
Kevin walks around, looking at the strange and grotesque clippings. Lazarus watches him with interest.
LAZARUS
He was wrong.
Kevin stops and looks at Lazarus. The man blows out cigar smoke and points the stub up.
LAZARUS
He’s dead now.
Kevin shakes his head.
KEVIN
I don’t know if this is what I’m looking for.
Lazarus leans back in his chair and blows out a ring of smoke.
LAZARUS
Okay, that’s fine. That’s fine. You don’t know what ‘this’ is.
KEVIN
Whatever it is, it’s fucked.
lazarus
Don’t you tell me what’s fucked, Mama’s boy. In this business, I know all about ‘fucked’.
Kevin turns to leave.
laZARUS
Yeah, go ahead. Blow your chance, Mama’s boy. You don’t even know what ‘this’ is –
Kevin wheels around,glaring.
KEVIN
Stop calling me that! You don’t even know my situation.
lazarus
(standing up)
Your situation? Your situation is that you are looking for employment – meaningful, stable employment that fits your unique interests.
KEVIN
Again, what do you know about me? You don’t know anything! How can you?
(gesturing around the room)
This is all sick! These…these death things, these weird, sick, demented –
LAZARUS
– things like you like to watch and follow, while your Mama hovers over you and badgers you to be a good boy.
Kevin is agape.
LAZARUS
As I said, I know things about people. I know things about you.
Lazarus gets up and walks over to the alligator clipping. He points his cigar at it.
LAZARUS
In nineteen-ninety nine, somewhere south of Panama, a man by the name of Jose Guerrero went into the swamps of this little known region to investigate the disappearance of a young woman. He had information that she had gotten mixed up with a low-level drug dealer – a guy who went by the pseudonym of RatMan.
Lazarus puffs on his cigar and looks at Kevin as if to make sure he’s paying attention.
LAZARUS
After he’d had his fling with her, he allegedly killed her. Maybe because she knew too much about this operation. Or maybe because he just got sick of her. We don’t know.
Lazarus paces towards the back of the room, disappearing into the gloom. Only his cigar butt, glowing, reveals where he is.
LAZARUS
This Jose that I have mentioned – this man – he went down there. You have to understand, as I think you will, this man had a premonition. He had lady standing at the foot of his bed one night, a lady with streaming white hair. She lay across him –
KEVIN
– like a succubus.
LAZARUS
No…but that’s good of you to know that. To know things like that.
KEVIN
What does this have to do with anything?
The glowing butt swirls around a vanishes into the gloom.
The voice of Lazarus booms from the gloom.
LAZARUS
This Jose is the man you saw in your little snuff video, being eaten by an alligator.
KEVIN
How did you know –
laZARUS
– Jose used to work for me.
Lazarus materializes out of the gloom and approaches Kevin, the cigar hanging out of his mouth.
lazarus
About a year later, the movie began showing up – on the Web, in sleazy movie joints, on DVDs –
(staring right at Kevin)
– on cheap VHS tapes for people who can’t afford DVD players.
Kevin shakes his head.
LAZARUS
The RatMan has never been caught. He did reside in this city, as did the woman who we think was murdered down there in Central America and dumped in that now infamous, nameless swamp. The premonition piece is important. Because I think the fleeting image of a white-haired lady in the snuff film is what Jose saw at the foot of his bed.
KEVIN
Like I said, man, this is fucked.
LAZARUS
It may very well be, Kevin. But now I need someone to fill Jose’s shoes.
KEVIN
How did you know my name?
Lazarus now practically ignores him and goes back to his desk, burying himself in a pile of papers.
LAZARUS
Fifteen-fifty an hour, no health benefits, no career trajectory. Just a chance to go where few have gone before.
KEVIN
What makes you think I’m interested? I still don’t know what this whole gig is about.
LAZARUS
(muttering)
Neither do I, really. But if you want to learn, show up here tonight at midnight. We do night shift work. My somewhat geeky assistant, Brock, will be here to get you started.
KEVIN
I’m not interested!
(thinking, realizing)
And stay out of my mother’s mailbox. That’s gotta be how you found out about me.
Kevin stomps out of the office, the outside light washing over Lazarus. Then he is plunged into gloom. The white of his eyes appear as the door slams shut.
Lazarus chews on the cigar and jots notes on papers. He pulls clipping from beneath the papers. The headline reads: “Local PI Disappears, Feared Murdered – Leads Point to Central American Drug Organization”
LAZARUS
Never mind that her box is secured by a lock.
INT. AN APARTMENT
A broom sweeps the floor. It hits a cockroach and the nasty little critter rebounds off the wall.
Ma totters from out of the shadows, sweeping the hall – again and again. Her face is partly concealed.
ma
Such a pretty woman.
She backs up into the darkness.
MA
Why don’t you meet my boy Kevin?
INT. KITCHEN APARTMENT
Kevin sits as the table and watches a cockroach scurry across the floor. The DIP magazine is still open, the professional ‘bimbos’ smiling professionally at him.
MA
(off-screen)
– Kevin. You should, really.
KEVIN
I should what, Ma?
SOUND OF SWEEPING is the only response. Ma’s gray face peeps around the partition.
Kevin glances wearily at her. The corner of her mouth turns up.
KEVIN
All this cleaning you do. Why’s there so many cockroaches?
Ma backs up behind the partition.
KEVIN
We need a better place.
SWISHING OF THE BROOM.
KEVIN
We need more money.
SWISHING OF THE BROOM.
KEVIN
We need a life, Ma!
SWISHING OF THE BROOM.
kevin
Do you hear me, Ma?
ma
(off-screen)
You should meet her, Kevin.
KEVIN
What?
ma
Such a beautiful woman.
KEVIN
What woman, Ma? What woman?
SWISHING OF THE BROOM.
EXT. THE RIVER, CRIME SCENE – DUSK
All that is left of the shooting is taped off areas. SEVERAL DETECTIVES mingle outside, discussing it among themselves.
A few police cruisers and detective’s cars are parked along the road. A banged up subcompact rolls up to them and pulls in alongside the other vehicles.
A short young woman, DETECTIVE JENNY LIU, gets out and strolls over to the scene. One other detective, LONERGAN, acknowledges her with a nod.
Liu walks over the area marking where the cop, Jimmy, fell. She paces past down the riverbank and contemplates the other markings, indicating where Jimmy’s partner was swept away by the river.
Lonergan is talking quietly with the other detectives. He glances over at Liu. One of his partners, a BEEFY MAN, pipes up.
BEEFY
We got lots of help on this.
Liu ignores him. She is drawing sketches on a notepad. She scans the distance from the river to the body tape-off area and draws a line.
BEEFY
(without looking at Liu)
Too much input muddies the water, if ya know what I mean.
LOnergan
We know what you mean. Why don’t you take a break?
Lonergan meanders over to Liu.
BEEFY
Go see your girlfriend, Lonergan.
Beefy and his buddies smirk among themselves.
Lonergan approaches Liu. She glances at him and sighs.
LONERGAN
Ya know, he’s somewhere downstream. He might be in the lake.
Liu walks around the body tape-off and draws a trajectory from that angle to the river.
LONERGAN
All this shits been done already, Jenny.
Liu goes around to the other side of the tape-off and peers across the area. Lonergan puts his hands in his pockets and stares down at the ground. Something occurs to him.
LONERGAN
We’re two months into the year and the murder rate’s running way above the last twenty years.
Liu puts her notepad down and stares at Lonergan.
LONERGAN
It must be the economy. That’s all I can figure. What do you figure?
LIU
I figure that Jimmy Holander didn’t expect to get into a shoot-out with his partner. And I figure that Bobby Wells really didn’t plan on getting into a shoot-out with Jimmy. And I figure that something really, really fucked up happened here last night to get them blasting away at each other.
Lonergan looks down at the ground again and contemplates. His buddies are looking over at him.
LONERGAN
That’s a pretty good conclusion. What do you figure got them blasting away at each other?
BEEFY
(now looking at Liu)
Yeah, detective Liu. What do you now figure?
Liu jerks her head over at Beefy and glares at him: an icy, hard, veteran’s stare. It’s cold enough to stop him in his tracks and force his buddies to look away with embarrassment.
LIU
I figure that we owe it to Jimmy and Bobby to figure out what happened here. Instead of standing around like a bunch of num-nuts making good old boy jokes about the new gal on the block.
No one is willing to argue that point. Lonergan grins ever so slightly.
LONERGAN
You ain’t that new here.
Jenny turns and stares at Lonergan. But this time, her expression softens.
LIU
I’m not that old here, either. Jimmy was once my partner. He was my mentor. He’s the reason I decided to join you stuck-up bastards.
She walks around the tape-off area, peering at the ground.
LIU
I owe it to him to figure out what went down.
Lonergan looks at her curiously.
LONERGAN
Jimmy was your mentor? You did a beat with him?
Jenny ignores him.
LONERGAN
(to himself)
Well hell, little lady. There ain’t no hope for you, then.
EXT. A RIVER COVE – NIGHT
A GIRL and her BOYFRIEND are ice skating on a frozen cove at the river’s bend. The lights from the city sparkle across the water and highlight them.
The girl does a few half-baked figure skating moves and almost falls. Her boyfriend laughs and does his hot-shot Wayne Dresky imitation, stopping fast in front of her and scraping ice slivers onto her pants.
GIRL
(laughing)
You asshole!
BOYFRIEND
You don’t like it? Come catch me!
She quickly pushes him and he sprawls out on the ice.
BOYFRIEND
You slut!
She laughs and skates away, pointing down at him.
GIRL
You’re the slut! Least that’s what all the boys say about you – faggot!
She skates down the edge of the cove. Her boyfriend leaps up and races after her. They approach the bend in the open river.
The boyfriend closes in on her as she skates past a thick line of reeds poking through the ice. He dives at her and misses, sliding out past the bend.
The reeds slap his face. He is laughing, right up to the point where his lips bump into the half-devoured face of a CORPSE.
The body is that of the cop, Jimmy’s partner. It is bobbing in a hole in the ice next to the shore.
The boyfriend screams. His girlfriend is laughing as she skates up to him and scrapes to a stop. He scrambles away, spitting with revulsion. She sees what he kissed, and her laugh twists into a silent scream.
EXT. DIP HEADQUARTERS – NIGHT
The house is dark and the windows frost-covered as Kevin shuffles up to the front door. He looks around and approaches the front door. As an afterthought, he glances up to the roof.
He goes up the steps and tries the doorknob. It’s locked.
He hesitates, then pushes the doorbell. He doesn’t hear anything from inside, so he bangs his glove against the metal frame, rudely cutting the quiet.
Kevin waits – there is no response from inside. He pulls down his coat sleeve and notices from his digital watch that it is 11:59PM.
A black van, its headlights off, crunches down the road and stops in front of DP. Kevin turns and looks at the vehicle. The passenger side window rolls down with a squeak.
The butt of a cigarette glows from inside the van. A monitor hanging over the dashboard flashes on. A scene very familiar to Kevin appears: the swamp scene from his SNUFF videotape.
The prisoner trembles in the rowboat; then he is being torn apart by the crocodile; the water boils, THEN:
The white-haired woman materializes in the background, blurry but horrifying in her nightmarish shape. The image freezes as Kevin stares into the van, transfixed by the woman.
The cigarette butt moves back into the gloom. SOMEONE COUGHS and spits a gob out into the snow.
GRUFF VOICE
Let’s get to work, you little fucker.
MIDNIGHT CHURCH BELLS PEAL. During this tome, Kevin slowly moves towards the van. The white-haired woman shrieks silently at him.
The embers from the cigarette peer at him.
A raven gazes down at him from a flittering lamplight.
A MANGY DOG wanders past.
The cigarette vanishes back into the gloom.
VOICE
Lazarus said you’d show.
Kevin stops a few feet from the van.
voice
He said you’d go home. He said you’d lie down somewhere. Maybe watch one of your sick movies.
The white-haired woman is still shrieking silently.
VOICE
He said you’d probably have your Momma ridin’ your ass – or someone. Or you just got off your ass, and decided to go for it.
Kevin nods and looks down. He sees the gob of phlegm freezing in the snow. He sees, in FLASHBACK:
– His mother’s gray eyes darting back in forth
– The broom sweeping the dirty tile floor
– The cockroach on a dish in the apartment sink
– The bimbos in the magazine, smiling, beckoning, as his hands RIP the page out
VOICE
To do what you’re meant to do.
KEVIN
Which is what?
A FACE very slowly FADES in from the gloom. The dead cigarette drops over the window, into the slush.
Kevin leans forward, almost putting his face inside the van.
The last church bell peals.
The face materializes: a scarred, bearded, long-haired man with black eyes and bad teeth. This is BROCK, Lazarus’s main investigator.
BROCK
Bring down that bitch.
Behind him, the white-haired woman shrieks.
He gapes, revealing a repulsive mix of gum, yellow teeth, a few white teeth, a few gold-capped teeth, and a long purple tongue.
BROCK
I’m Brock.
Kevin steps back, wary.
KEVIN
He said you’d be a geek.
Brock guffaws, turns around to move back into the driver’s seat, and reveals a bare muscular arm rippling with serpentine tatoos.
BROCK
I am a geek, you dumb fuck! Get in!
Before Kevin can reach the door handle, a kick from Brock shoves the door open. For a moment, his jackboots and chains are visible.
INT. APARTMENT
Ma stands in front of the t.v., staring at the screen. It is a gray background, the end of a tape or something. It is nothing.
Ma stands and stares with her sad gray eyes.
EXT. A RIVER COVE
Police lights flash on the hill above the spot where the cop’s body has been sound. POLICE stand near the river bank, talking with the girl and her boyfriend, both of them frantic.
BOYFRIEND
I just about kissed that dude!
Jenny Liu appears on top of the hill.
BOYFRIEND
What’s he doing in the river? What’s going on?
A FAT FEMALE COP interviewing him raises her notepad into the air.
BOYFRIEND
Was he shot? What’s going on? You know, the murder rate is up in this town. I just about grew up all my life in this town! You know – you know, miss – I’ve been a part of this town –
FEMALE COP
I know.
BOYFRIEND
I’m freaked, lady!
GIRL
I am. We both are.
FEMALE COP
We all are. We’re investigating.
The boyfriend sees Liu staring at him and raises his hand, crying hysterically.
BOYFRIEND
What’s going on?
LIU turns and walks away.
BOYFRIEND
What’s with her? I’m all in shock. I’m a victim, in a way ya know. So what’s her problem! What’s her –
feMALE COP
– The murder rate on cops has gone up.
int. the dip van -night
Kevin is staring at the butt of a very fat cigar, smoke blasting into his face. A muscular forearm pushes it towards him.
BROCK
This is a perk. We get a lot of perks with this company. But the pay sucks my sainted Grammy’s tit.
KEVIN
That’s one visual I can’t quite get.
Brock leans sideways, revealing a huge rock-jawed face, silver cross earrings hanging off his ears, and long blond hair. His eyes are piercing blue. Despite the cold, he wears just a leather vest over a t-shirt.
BROCK
In this job, there’s a lot of visuals you won’t get. Trust me.
The van engine roars to life as they gun down the road. The video screen DISPLAYS: The prison being devoured by the crocodiles.
Brock rams the accelerator and grabs the wheel. He’s a man on a mission. Kevin watches, again, the prisoner being torn to shreds by the crocodile.
KEVIN
What is this job?
BROCK
A nightmare.
KEVIN
What is it?
BROCK
You’ll see.
KEVIN
What is it!
BROCK
(gritting his teeth, hissing)
You’ll see, trainee!
EXT. CITY STREET – NIGHT
The van peels around the corner. In the background, the decrepit church looms.
Brock stares wild-eyed out the windshield, a maniacal grin on his face.
INT. THE DIP VAN
Brock rocks back and forth in front of the wheel, growling.
KEVIN
Where we going?
Brock glances over at him sardonically. He doesn’t answer.
KEVIN
Where are we going? Simple enough question.
BROCK
There is not a simple question.
KEVIN
Cut the crap. If you’re not going to let me in on the gig, if you’re not going to know what I’m being hired for, then –
BROCK
– Then don’t stick around! Don’t bother. Never mind that this outfit could make you one filthy, stinking, hot-sucking rich bitch!
Kevin looks in disbelief at Brock. The scene on the monitor goes blank. The SILHOUETTE of the church steeple slashes Brock’s head.
BROCK
Lazarus informed me that he thinks that you might have a critical skill.
KEVIN
What?
BROCK
Lazarus has been poking into this squalid freakin’ mess for almost ten years. But he hasn’t found the connection.
KEVIN
What connection? To what?
BROCK
Then he says, you came along, and he saw in you the connection – the talent – to break this thing wide open.
KEVIN
To break what open, for Christ’s sake!
Brock laughs, punching the dashboard.
BROCK
That’s what everyone thinks. For the sake of Christ. God. The Holy Trinity. Far from it. Far from it, brother!
Kevin sighs.
KEVIN
Then what? Why did guys you hire me? I just need some money, to take care of my Ma. To get a life. I don’t know.
Brock turns and looks at Kevin.
BROCK
You see? That’s it.
keVIN
(resignedly)
That’s what?
BROCK
The connection.
The van approaches a dark corner. Something SHADOWY pierces the sky over head.
KEVIN
Can you at least cut some of the cryptic bullshit and tell me where we’re going?
They turn the corner. The church looms before them in the windshield.
BROCK
Church.
INT. APARTMENT
A SOFT KNOCK on the apartment door. Then another. And another. Then silence.
Ma shuffles down the dark hallway, her sad eyes staring at it.
She stops in front of the door. A FAINT WHIMPERING comes from behind it.
KEVIN’S VOICE INSIDE MA’S HEAD WHISPERS:
KEVIN’S VOICE
We’re gonna be okay, Ma. We’re gonna be fine.
Ma reaches for the bolt lock.
KEVIN’S VOICE
Open the door, Ma. I’m hungry. I’m tired. Ma. Ma….
She turns the bolt.
KEVIN’S VOICE
There you go.
(echoing)
That’s a good girl. Good, good. Good..Ma…
EXT. THE CHURCH – NIGHT
A COYOTE bounds across the cracked steps leading to the front of the church.
An OWL peers from on top of the church’s cornice.
The DIP van pulls up in front of the church.
The coyote dashes away.
Brock and Kevin get out of the van.
KEVIN
Do I punch a time card?
Brock steps around the front of the van and glares at the coyote. The coyote stops, turns around and hangs its head own on the sidewalk. It sniffs the concrete, but doesn’t act like it’s planning on going anywhere soon.
Brock is even more imposing in his cut leather vest – tall, bull-like, challenging – than what he looks like inside the van.
He’s Ghost Hunter Bill Murray on a pot of steroids.
Brock has a big black holster, from which he pulls a black, long-muzzled gun.
He points it at the coyote.
BROCK
These goddamned varmints showin’ up all over the city. All over the city!
kevIN
You aren’t really gonna –
CABOOM! from the gun. The coyote ‘YIPS’ and raises up on its hind legs. Brock levels again, but the ‘varmint’ scurries away.
Brock shoves the gun back into his holster and glances over at Kevin. Then he pulls out his I-phone and boots it up, staring intently at the screen.
BROCK
Don’t go thinking you get a Dirty Harry piece from us. You’re not ready for that. I’m the brawn here for this outfit.
(tapping his I-phone vigorously)
And the brains.
He breaks into a stride and lunges up the church stairs. Kevin tries to catch up to him.
KEVIN
What’s that make me?
BROCK
The trainee.
Brock gets to the top of the stairs and halts in front of the huge plaster-chipped door. A snow-capped gargoyle scowls down at him.
BROCK
No.
He grabs the handle and wrenches the door open. Kevin gets behind him, huffing and puffing.
KEVIN
No what?
They go inside.
INT. THE CHURCH
Brock’s massive figure steps in with a thunderous CLOMP. Kevin steps in behind him. The door starts to swing shut.
BROCK
Time card.
The door SLAMS shut with finality. All is momentarily dark. Brock stares down the aisle at the dais and cross without a Savior. He spits onto the floor.
Kevin walks in front of him, kicking a bottle aside. Brock scowls at him.
Kevin approaches the dais and stops. He ponders the cross without the Savior. He looks around, pondering: the cracked stain glass windows, the pigeons cooing along the ledges, the cold dark shadows flitting around inside.
A CREAK alerts them to a door off to the side. It opens just a bit, pushed by a draft. Then it stops. Brock has already advanced towards it, his hand on his holster.
Kevin is frozen, watching him. Brock reaches out to the door. Kevin sees what appears to be a white dress fluttering at the bottom corner of the door.
Brock grimaces and leans forward to grab the edge of the door…
INT. APARTMENT
Ma turns the doorknob, slowly. Her sad gray eyes peer into the blank white panel of the door. She turns the knob, all the way.
She starts to the open the door.
MA
Kevin. Kevin.
It opens just a bit more.
MA
I can make you some hash – after I finish cleaning – I have to clean, Kevin – Kevin?
INT. THE CHURCH
Brock flings the door open and lunges over the threshold.
Kevin follows him into the what turns out to be an old vestment closet. Brock is twisted up with shredded priest’s cassock.
A bat flies out, narrowly missing Kevin.
KEVIN
Christ!
Brock cusses under his breath and heaves the cassock aside. Kevin snickers.
KEVIN
Talk about melodrama! Why didn’t you just blast it.
He laughs.
Brock glares at him.
KEVIN
What are we here for? More to the point, what exactly am I gonna get paid for?
Brock picks up the cassock and pushes the rotten shreds at Kevin.
BROCK
Breath this in!
He shoves it right into his face.
INT. APARTMENT
A white cloth descends towards Ma’s face. She smiles.
As the WHITENESS ENGULFS her, she murmurs to herself:
MA
It’s like that time that I remember, Kevin. Of the soft fabric of your diapers, Kevin.
Ma is SWIMMING IN A POOL OF WHITENESS. Her sad gray eyes have turned placid and peaceful.
MA
I’m such an old fuddy-duddy
(confusedly)
Whatever happen to Kate?
A FIGURE approaches through the WHITE FOG, beckoning to her.
MA
Kevin?
A WOMAN’S LONG-NAILED, DELICATE HAND reaches towards her.
MA
(echoey)
Kevin? Kevin?
Ma’s smile disappears. The FACE OF A WOMAN looms in front of her – a murky opulent image.
int. THE CHURCH
GRAY MATTER covers Kevin’s face. He gags and throws the rotted garment aside.
KEVIN
What the fuck’s your major issue?
Brock brushes past and tears something out of the side pocket in his vest. He points whatever it is up into the air.
KEVIN
What’s that?
Brock is pointing a probe towards the top of the church. An electromagnetic swirl GLOWS from the object he holds in his other hand.
BROCK
It’s phase one of your training, dipshit. Assuming you’re not ready to walk out on us. Like the other pathetic motherfu-
KEVIN
-On us? On who? On what!
Kevin stomps over to Brock and stands in front of his probe. The swirls leap all over the display.
A DARK FORM darts by at the front of the church, all but concealed in the shadows. But Kevin and Brock see it.
BROCK
Dark mass! I tagged it! I tagged that bitch!
KEVIN
I saw the bitch too! What the hell was-
A LOUD CRASH from the corner of the building. Brock whips out his gun.
BROCK
(whispering)
Not typical. Physical manifestations like that.
KEVIN
(whispering loudly)
I guess you mean like loud bangs?
Brock crouches down and stalks his way towards the corner. Kevin glances around and throws his hands up. He crouches down, clutching corner of the pews, ready to dive behind it.
KEVIN
Like we’re gonna blow away a ghost with a bullet.
Brock whips around and points the muzzle right at Kevin.
BROCK
It ain’t for no ‘ghost’, ya little prick-assed whelp.
Kevin puts his hand up appeasingly.
BROCK
It’s to keep your ass behind me.
The DARK MASS is coming up behind Brock.
int. APARTMENT
The apartment door SLAMS SHUT.
A cockroach scuttles across the hallway floor onto the living room rug.
The BLANK GRAY BACKGROUND of the t.v. screen peers into the living room.
Then, it becomes a SNOWY, FILM-TORN image, like an old film: it is nothing more than a foggy backdrop, with what looks like the spire of a church in the foreground, albeit very blurry.
INT. A MORGUE-NIGHT
A hand grabs the handle of a cadaver drawer. It wrenches the drawer open, and the decomposed face of the bum leers back.
WOMAN’S VOICE
(off-screen)
It being winter, his facial could have been a lot worse.
LIU
(off-screen)
That’s pretty worse to me.
GLENDA, the night shift morgue manager, busty and lascivious, peers down at the corpse, a few inches from what’s left of its face. Jenny Liu looms over her, grimacing.
GLENDA
It’s okay. Just okay.
LIU
That’s one of those empty generic expressions everyone uses nowadays, when they want to quickly undercut something. You know, like a wanna-be movie critic or a sideline player watching the game and rendering an opinion that he thinks is going to make a difference to the shining star’s performance.
Glenda stands up and stares at Liu.
GLENDA
Well, detective, I know it’s late. But what the frick is biting your ass?
liU
This is a disgustingly awesome work of art. A sublime piece of rot. A Magna Carta of how to start decomposition. And you say it’s just ‘okay’.
GLENDA
Excuse me for being an experienced observer of cadavers.
Liu pulls out a pen and just traces a line around the bum’s jawline. The skin is ripped off all the way down along the neck.
liu
Being experienced at observing is not the same as seeing what is actually going on. You say he was pulled out just upriver from where we found Officer Bullock’s body?
GLENDA
I didn’t say. One of your good buddies said. He brought this fella in right after we slabbed Bullock.
Liu frowns.
GLENDA
Sorry.
LIU
Show some respect.
Liu examines the rest of the body.
LIU
What did the examiner say?
GLENDA
The who?
Liu shoots Glenda a you-gotta-be-kidding look.
GLENDA
Oh, ho! My boss! The medical examiner. The so-called examiner, you mean. Anyone today can be a ‘stiffer,’ pulling out giblets and pronouncing a guy dead. Don’t even need a real license. It’s true. I saw all this on t.v., on Sixty –
LIU
– I don’t care! Did the examiner finish a report?
GLENDA
How the hell do I know?
Liu shakes her head with disgust and is just about to slide the corpse back into the drawer when something catches her attention.
She peers down the neck line to the naked shoulder. She moves closer.
LIU
I need a magnifying glass.
Glenda pulls a very broken, taped up glass from her lab coat pocket.
LIU
Is this part of the cost cutting crap?
GLENDA
If you look through the corner, just above the crack, it will work. Believe me.
Liu does just that, moving up and down the corpse’s neck and shoulder, down along the arm and side of the torso. Behind the crack lines, small metal shards are visible.
Liu stands up and sighs. Glenda drops her chin and sighs.
GLENDA
What do you see, girl?
LIU
The examiner not doing his job.
Liu hands the glass to Glenda.
LIU
Take a good looksy along the side.
Glenda examines the corpse and murmurs.
GLENDA
Hmmm…hmmm…oh yeah, yeah. Rot, mildew, scratches and scrapes.
Liu prods Glenda away and points with a pen at the shoulder.
LIU
I thought maybe there was some hope for you, Glenda. Maybe take over as the new examiner. At least you’re here when he’s not. Do you see this?
Glenda looks carefully and shakes her head. Liu frowns.
GLENDA
For crying out loud. These are metal fragments. And these here –
Liu presses against the neck. Dark specs are visible.
LIU
– these I’ve seen before. Covering the usual carnage out on I-46 when some drunk goes flying out of his car and rips himself against the pavement for a hundred yards.
GLENDA
Sweet.
LIU
Not exactly. I could be wrong, but these little buggers are road. The metal shards are maybe part of a vehicle. Maybe even the undercarriage.
GLENDA
I didn’t even see those buggers.
liu
I know.
Liu pops the pen back into her front pocket.
LIU
Does this shithole of a city fund a lab anymore? Let’s get someone on this poor bastard and figure out how he really died.
She pat’s the corpse’s shoulder.
INT. THE CHURCH
The dark mass is coming up fast behind Brock. Kevin goes three shades paler. Brock’s gun is right in his face.
BROCK
You don’t understand what we do here yet,do you, puckernuts?
Kevin ducks under the muzzle and lunges past Brock, diving into the dark mass.
keVIN
Watch out, Brock!
Kevin disappears into the blackness and tumbles behind one of the pews. CRASHING and GROANS as Brock whirls around and points the gun at the general commotion.
SEVERAL GRUNTS, then Kevin stands up, his hair all over the place. He stares down in disbelief.
KEVIN
Well I’ll be a –
lazarus
– fuckfaced motherfucker!
Lazarus leaps up, sputtering and spitting. The hood from his black winter shawl has slipped down.
KEVIN
Whatever.
Brock shoves the gun back into his vest and reaches for Lazarus.
LAZARUS
Get back, bozo. I’m all right. You’re all right –
brock
We’re all all right!
Lazarus shoves Kevin out into the aisle. Brock steps past him and slaps palms with Lazarus. Kevin blinks in disbelief.
kevin
No. No, clearly we’re not all right.
Lazarus walks past Kevin towards the front of the church, measuring his steps, pondering. Then he speaks:
LAZARUS
Getting back to Jose Guerrero and his terrible demise. Because this is what makes our life, right now. He died the death of a martyr –
KEVIN
– shit, you’re picking up right where you left off! And I don’t even know what you were talking about in the first –
Brock cuffs Kevin in the back of the head. Kevin wheels around and pulls back his fist. Brock backs off, grinning.
BROCK
– Listen to him, trainee!
Walking up to the broken dais, without even missing a beat.
LAZARUS
Jose – and the Rat Man – is the gig. If you had stuck around the office long enough today to listen, you would know that.
Lazarus hops behind the dais, a little ugly gnome, spins around and grins.
lazarus
Son…
Brock puts up his fists, swinging them mockingly.
BROCK
This is the fucking gig!
Lazarus claps and giggles like a little girl.
LAZARUS
We are being paid to avenge the great Jose Guerrero. Find the Rat man. He’s in this town, Kevin boy!
The Rat Man is here! And we’re going to hunt him down, and –
Brock slams his palms together and laughs.
BROCK
Crush his cock in a cider press!
Lazarus and Brock both laugh uproariously. Kevin can only stare at the two of them.
KEVIN
You’re both obviously on angel dust or something.
EXT. A DESERTED SIDE STREET-NIGHT
The lamps along this street flicker on and off, highlighting the abandoned cars and slushy pavement.
Ma wanders along the edge of the street in her bathrobe.
HER INNER VOICE BABBLES ON:
MA’S INNER VOICE
In all God’s Universe, none rises so far above grace than –
A cat lunges in front of her.
MA’S INNER VOICE
– the downtrodden.
Ma shuffles along. TWO DARK FIGURES emerge from an alley. The flickering light reveals a SCAR-FACED MAN and an ALBINO MAN with a goatee. Scar-face twirls a toothpick between his teeth, his hands shoved down into the pockets of a long wool coat.
MA’S INNER VOICE
Grace is the gift that He gives us, if we so accept it.
The Albino looks both way, sidling up to Ma.
ma
Kayla.
ALBINO
What?
ma’s INNER voice
Kayla is grace. She was always grace. You know that. You know that. Kevin doesn’t.
Scar-face approaches from the other side. They are all meandering to the middle of the street.
MA
Kayla was grace. She always was. Kevin doesn’t know that. My Kevin.
ALBINO
What?
scar-face
Motherfucker, what? Whazat old woman saying?
ALBINO
Motherfucker that I be, if I know that!
MA
Kevin? Kevin? Get out here and sweep for a change.
Albino halts, steps back and laughs.
ALBINO
Who’s that, old woman? That’s your stud man? Kevin? Kevin the stud?
Scar-face steps in front of Ma and waves his hands.
scaR-FACE
Is that it, lady? Are you one of those cougars?
He purrs and growls. Albino steps in front of her on the other side and grins.
SCAR-FACE
One of them motherfuckin’ old bitches out huntin’ young-assed studs?
Ma stops and stares emptily at him, her sad gray eyes perplexed. Then, she frowns.
ma
Prick.
Scar-face’s jaw drops. Albino laughs.
ALBINO
Old lady got some balls.
scaR-FACE
If she does, I’m cutting them off!
Scar-face flicks out a switchblade and thrusts it under her neck.
int. THE CHURCH
The door flies open as a gust of cold air blasts through the church.
Lazarus breathes it in and stretches out his arms, moving into the wind.
lazaRUS
The streets are alive, with the sound of screaming!
Brock follows. Kevin slumps against a pew and shakes his head. Brock glances over his shoulder and snaps his fingers.
BROCK
Let’s move, asswipe!
Lazarus plunges outside.
KEVIN
Why did we even come here?
BROCK
To pray! What the fuck else?
KEVIN
Man, you guys are demented!
EXT. THE CHURCH
Lazarus stumbles down the steps. Brock exits the church and follows his boss. Kevin walks out and remains at the top of the steps.
BOOM BOOMING from down the street. A black suv approaches them. Lazarus grins.
KEVIN
Can I at least know when I get paid?
Lazarus wags his finger and addresses Kevin over his shoulder.
laZARUS
Come down here, Kevin.
The suv pulls up front. The driver’s window pulls down a crack and slitted yellow eyes peer out.
Kevin starts down the steps. The BOOM BOOMING abruptly stops. VOICES MUTTER from inside the vehicle.
lazarus
It’s about time.
More MUTTERING, then:
IRISH VOICE
(inside vehicle)
You’re a bloody douche to be bringin’ me out here in this cold, Laz old lad.
laZARUS
Got to be done.
(turning, pointing to Kevin)
Here he is.
The window rolls the rest of the way down. An ugly pock-marked old man, JIMMY SULLIVAN, glares out.
sullivan
Well, he is a squirmy little prick of a prick, isn’t he?
Sullivan pulls out a sawed off shotgun and points it right at Kevin. Kevin freezes, two steps above the vehicle. Brock moves to the side.
Lazarus laughs.
EXT. CITY STREET
Scar-face draws the knife across Ma’s throat. It’s just a slight cut but the blood spurts out and:
MA SCREAMS. AND SCREAMS. And the SCREAM PIERCES EVERYWHERE.
Scar-face drops the knife and stumbles back. Albino jumps.
The SCREAM INTENSIFIES. Ma’s mouth is open but the sound doesn’t emit from it. It’s coming from everywhere, all around.
Scar-face glances around: at the rooftops, in the dark alleys, in the blacked out windows. At first, he doesn’t see anything.,
Then all the DARK SPACES become FLOWING WHITE DRESSES, LONG WHITE HAIR, GLEAMING WHITE FACE that shimmers so brightly, the features are not clear.
SCAR-FACE
Yo’ are you seein’ what I’m seein?
Scar-face turns to Albino. But in his place, he sees IT: the bloody white She-Banshee. Her face drips with skin; bones poke through, the eyes are gleaming yellow and putrid.
Her tattered gown blows open, revealing her torso, which parts at the middle. The entrails spill out.
And then, from the slopping mess of her insides, a SIX-HEADED HYDRA with the face of the She-Banshee shoots out and spins in front of Scar-face.
The Hydra cackles; the She-Banshee SCREAMS AND SCREAMS…
Scar-face staggers back, trying to speak but only gasping.
Albino stares at him.
ALBINO
You flippin’ out, man?
He puts his hand out towards Scar-face.
Ma is wandering away from them. Scar-face reaches down and picks up his knife. He slashes the air in front of Albino.
ALBINO
Chill, man!
But all Scar-face hears is a SCREAMING, BELLOWING VOICE:
SCREAMING VOICE
CHILL…CHILL…DIE…DIE…BURN….BURN!
And all he sees is the She-Banshee and the Hydra heads swooping at him. He lunges at them with his knife, stabbing at them.
The knife slashes Albino across the neck. He drops back, grabbing his blood-gushing throat. Scar-face keeps coming at him. Gurgling and coughing blood, Albino backs up.
Ma meanders down the street.
Scarface pursues the She-Banshee as the Hydra hisses at him. All around him, bloody white-robed BANSHEES stand upon Gothic ledges and at every street corner.
Albino pulls out snub-nosed revolver and blasts away at his deranged partner.
The Hydra explodes out of the entrails and its three heads rip into Scar-face’s chest. The She-banshee drops on top of him, long-nailed fingers clawing at him.
Ma is far away from the thugs. She is turning a corner, just out of site, when something catches her attention. It is nothing more than a very FAR-OFF MURMUR, just for a second.
She looks back down the street. Albino is running away in the other direction, clutching his smoking gun. Scar-face is sprawled out across the pavement in a pool of blood.
A small figure – it looks like a little girl in a white dress, but very foggy and difficult to make out – stands beyond the body against a building.
MA
Kayla.
ext. THE CHURCH
The muzzle of the shotgun is practically pressed against Kevin’s face. Jimmy Sullivan leers down the barrel at him.
suLLIVAN
Ye do look a bit like a fuckin’ Mick, I will say that.
Lazarus grabs the barrel and moves it away.
laZARUS
Puts him at a bit of a disadvantage.
SULLIVAN
For who? Us or the she-bitch?
Lazarus looks gloomy all of sudden. He puts his hand on Kevin’s shoulder and peers into the car at Sullivan.
LAZARUS
She’s on the move.
sullivan
(cryptically)
I know. Don’t I know it. It took somethin’ like our boy Jose getting wacked to bring her out.
LAZARUS
Not something. IS. IS. Is because Jose was our friend. Is because he knew us. Is because we owe it to him to find his killer.
sULLIVAN
Is because the Rat Man walks this town.
Brock steps forward with his i-Phone GLOWING onto Sullivan’s face.
BROCK
Maybe. But my analysis of the data strongly suggests that he’s back down in Panama, ram-rodding whores and dead animals.
kevin
What?
sullIVAN
What?
lazARUS
What? What data? You better be wrong, my good friend Brock.
Brock turns the I-pad to Lazarus and Kevin. The split screen displays a GPS tracking points across North and South America, and a profile of the Rat Man. The mug shot reveals a MAN WITH A RODENT-LIKE FACE.
brock
I plotted all of our contacts from the past year. Including Rat and her. Then I ranked them by low and high probability.
Brock taps a button on his device. A colorful histogram materializes.
brock
Isn’t it sweet, this ass-kicking technology! See this? High probability, based on reports from our best sources and confidantes.
The high red bar is labeled: HIGH CONFIDENCE CONTACT.
Lazarus turns to Kevin and grins.
LAZARUS
Do you see, Kevin boy? He really isn’t just another muscle-head reality show wanna-be with tattoos.
suLLIVAN
It’s all a bloody show! Him and his mini-computer.
BROCK
It’s an I-pad, you ignorant pile of potato barf! Potato – because what else do you asshole micks eat?
Sullivan swings the shotgun into his face. Lazarus pushes it away.
lazarus
Am I wrong? Am I wrong? Tell me! Are we not all friends?
sullivan
We’re on the same team. We are not effen friends.
Kevin starts to walk away. Brock reaches for him. Kevin brushes his arm away.
KEVIN
Piss off!
BROCK
Why so pissed? Where ya goin’?
lazarus
Where are you off to, Kevin boy!
Kevin is half way down the block. Sullivan raises his eyebrows.
SULLIVAN
Oh I see. You boogle-heads haven’t told him?
lazarus
We told him. Some things.
brock
We told him he’s got the talent.
SULLIVAN
Oh, but you haven’t told him what will snag him.
Sullivan leans out the window and roars down the block.
SULLIVAN
That we are looking for Kevin’s –
int. A MORGUE
Glenda is dozing off behind a desk. The body lockers gleam white.
SOMEONE approaches from behind her: a dark shadow coming closer, very slowly.
Glenda’s breasts heave beneath her uniform. The shadow crosses her face. White-tipped fingers reach towards her.
She opens her eyes and gasps. A black disc descends quickly upon her. She raises her hands,as if to push. Then:
Her hands clasp a brawny neck. She reaches around large shoulders and presses the face to hers.
Glenda kisses the lips of the detective, Lonergan. They continue kissing long and passionately.
Lonergan squeezes her tits through the uniform. She sighs and smiles.
gleNDA
It started out a long night. But it’s going a little better, now.
lonergan
I bet.
glenda
Your friend was here. She’s working nights too, apparently.
lonERGAN
What did the little Chink want?
glenda
She’s tying things together.
Lonergan steps back and frowns.
Lonergan
What things? She’s got nuthin’.
glenda
We took in another stiff. A homeless guy. And he’s got something on his person that draws a bead right on your boys.
Lonergan reaches for Glenda and pulls her up. He buries his face in her tits and growls. She laughs. Then, he backs up, grabs the back of her head and yanks it back.
lonergan
And you’re gonna be a good girl and knock that bead off, aren’t you?
She glares at him, then he pulls her mouth to his and kisses her hard.
After a passionate moment, Glenda wrenches herself away and looks at Lonergan defiantly. He walks towards the lockers. They each have tiny name tags on the end but he doesn’t pay any attention to them.
lonergan
Which one of these stiff pricks is our guy?
She doesn’t answer. He goes down the row, sliding out one CORPSE after another CORPSE. All sorts of hideous white FACES stare up at him.
He opens and slams them shut, one right after another. Glenda frowns and lights up a cigarette, the NO SMOKING sign prominently displayed above her.
The smoke curls across the room and floats across Lonergan’s nose. He glances at Glenda and smirks, shaking his head.
She takes a deep drag on her cigarette and finally speaks.
glenda
Like following the rules ever mattered to you.
He opens and slams shut another locker.
lonergan
Bending the rules has made me a more effective law enforcement officer. And you know, a good cop is hard to find nowadays.
GLENDA
Please….
Lonergan opens another locker. A FAT-FACED FEMALE CORPSE leers back at him.
LONERGAN
(glancing at Glenda)
My, looks like someone familiar.
He slams it shut.
lonergan
C’mon, for Christ’s sake. Where the hell’s the bum?
Glenda points her butt ahead arbitrarily.
glenda
Why don’t you look through the John Does? See the little tags on the end of the lockers? And they’re even dated and time stamped.
Lonergan harrumphs.
glenda
Should make it easy for you. I know how challenging detecting can be for you.
lonERGAN
Yeah, fuck you.
glenda
Whenever, lover.
Lonergan finds what he is looking for and yanks the stiff out. He jumps back.
lonergan
Yeee-ayyyyyye!
The corpse of the bum is grinning and its hands stretched straight out, the fingers bent claw-like. A BLOODWORM crawls out of its mouth.
ext. an alley – night
Ma stands at the end of a dark alley, her feet blue in the icy slush and snow. SOMEONE beckons to her.
A LOW VOICE murmurs:
low voice
Come closer, querida mama.
Ma wobbles and starts into the alley. A BLADE GLINTS in front of her.
She continues, trance-like.
low voice
You’ve nothing to fear from me, sweet, sweet mama. She protects us both.
ma
Why don’t you come to me, Kevin?
low voice
(under his breath)
Who the fuck is Kevin?
As Ma goes further down the alley, the FACE OF THE RATMAN materializes out of the gloom: a sharp-angled rodent of a face, a Hispanic man with black eyebrows and gleaming white teeth.
The BLADE GLINT becomes nothing more than a thermos with a silver top, which the Rat Man holds in one of his hands.
RATMAN
Got some hot chocolate for you, Mama. I bet you are cold. So very cold.
ma
I’m very chilled. You are good to think of that, Kevin.
The Rat Man frowns. Ma holds her hands out to him. The DARK SHAPE of another MAN appears behind him.
ratman
Kevin? Who is Kevin?
Ma laughs all of a sudden, displaying rotten gums.
ma
So silly. Kevin.
ext. a street along the river-night
The black suv cruises along the river, passing an occasional tenement or fence, but otherwise paralleling the open ground next to the water’s edge. The DIP van follows.
LIGHT from buildings on the other side of the river shimmers over the street.
INT. THE SUV
Kevin sits between Brock and Sullivan. Tightly.
SULLIVAN
Kin.
Kevin turns and looks at Sullivan, the butt of the shotgun in his face. Brock nods.
Lazarus is in the front passenger seat, next to a BURLY RED-BEARDED DRIVER.
KEVIN
What?
sullivan
You are connected to this whole thing by kin. I don’t know if that sleazy little leprechaun in the front seat has explained any of that to you.
kevin
All I’m getting is this weird Rat Man, she-bitch, stuff-going-on shit from you guys. All I wanted was to start a meaningful job. And instead, we’ve been driving around all night, and we went to an old burned up church, and you stuck a gun in my face –
sullivan
– for which I profusely apologize. But we’re dealing with scum, every day, Kevin.
kevin
Yeah, I’ve heard. But what scum? What is the outfit? How do I come in?
Sullivan looks at Lazarus. Lazarus looks at Brock. Brock looks at the burly driver, who glances at Brock in the rear view mirror.
burly driver
Well, don’t fuckin’ ask me. I’m just the driver.
Sullivan sighs.
sullivan
Kevin, my boy, do you know anything at all about Celtic mythology?
kevin
What?
brock
Now we’re into it.
lazarus
Don’t know if that’s the right approach, Jimmy.
sullivan
Better than your leave-the-boy-in-the-dark approach.
kevin
So now we’re going from meeting at gutted churches to talking folklore in a SUV, driving along the river in the middle of the freakin’ night?
Lazarus, Brock and Sullivan all look at each other. And then they all start laughing, including the driver.
int. A MORGUE
The bloodworm drops onto the floor.
The derelict’s corpse grins at him, its hands clawing the air.
lONERGAN
What did you give him a blow job or something? That’s one happy piece of slab meat.
gleNDA
Okay, that’s fucking creepy.
Lonergan glances around, as if he expects someone to be eaves dropping.
lonergan
You gotta make sure this guy gets moved outta here. Tonight.
glenda
I gotta what?
Lonergan tries to wrench the corpse’s arms down. He gets one to stay; the other one pops up. He tries to force it down again. This time, the arm CRACKS, and it does indeed stay down.
lONERGAN
Give me half an hour. I’ll provide the transportation. You figure out how to slip this bad boy out the door, so no one will see.
Lonergan walks over to her.
glenda
I could lose my job over –
Lonergan grabs her arm and pulls her close. He grabs her tit without any presumption.
lonergan
– over what? We’re in bed together already, in more ways than one.
ext. another side street – night
Albino staggers down the street, glancing around with terror. He dry heaves, then runs across the street towards an abandoned storefront.
He stops at the boarded up front door. He tries the doorknob. It comes off in his hand and the BANG against the sidewalk scares him so that he stumbles and falls backwards.
BLINDING LIGHTS wash over him. He crab walks backwards to try to escape the lights, but they only grow more and more intense.
And behind the lights, a BLACK BEAST with a GLEAMING ROW OF TEETH descends upon him.
Albino holds his hands up and SCREAMS.
EXT. THE MORGUE – NIGHT
A coffee van idles outside the building. A dimly light sign over the front stairs reveals : COUNTY MORGUE.
The front door opens. Lonergan pokes his head out, glances up and down the street, then walks out onto the top of the steps.
int. a morgue, hallway
Glenda rolls a body bag stretcher down the hallway.
glenDA
Goddamn! What I get for falling for a crooked cop.
ext. a morgue
The van’s back door opens and Lonergan shoves the cart at the opening. SOMEONE grunts from the inside.
someone
Watch it, prick!
Lonergan bashes the cart against the van and smirks.
loNERGAN
Prick, yourself! Hurry the fuck up before someone sees us!
Lonergan’s partner, the Beefy Man, peers out of the van. He grabs the end of the cart and unstraps the body bag.
SOMEONE
Like who? Another cop!
lonergan
Got a point. What’s it matter?
Lonergan pushes and Beefy pulls. The bag slides off the cart into the van with an unceremonious WHUMP!
BEEFY
Yeah. Whaz it matter? In this piece of shitbox of a town.
lonergan
Take this piece of shit and burn it. Otherwise, someone will find out.
Beefy grabs the van doors, but right before shutting them.
beEFY
Everyone already does.
The doors SLAMS SHUT.
INT. UNMARKED CAR – NIGHT
Jenny Liu sits by herself watching the black suv just about run over the Albino. She has a softphone headset around her ears.
ext. aNOTHER SIDE STREET
The fender grill of the suv just presses Albino against the storefront. He tries to squeeze out from in front of it.
The front passenger door opens slightly and a shotgun muzzle points out. Albino freezes.
SULLIVAN
(from inside van)
No, no, no! Stay put you whiteheaded bugger!
The back passenger door starts to open.
LAZARUS
(from inside)
Go now, Kevin my boy!
brock
(from inside van)
C’mon, go talk to him. Like we told you.
Albino starts to move again. The shotgun is COCKED.
SULLIVAN
Uh-uh, no, no! If you bolt, you better be holding on to your pecker, ’cause that’s where I’m aiming.
Albino stops again. The back door swings all the way open.
albino
What the fuck do you want?
int. unMARKED CAR
Liu sees Kevin get out of the suv. He approaches Albino and starts talking to him, his hand out almost appeasingly.
Albino shakes his head frantically and puts his hand out. Kevin tries to grab it. Albino backs away, gesturing wildly.
int. THE SUV
Brock uses his mobile device to film the interaction between Kevin and Albino. He aims it right down the barrel of Sullivan’s shotgun.
brock
Let’s see if the kid can find the Rat Man.
sULLIVAN
Hell of a coincidence to find one of his gang roamin’ the bloody streets tonight.
Sullivan glances back at Lazarus.
sullivan
Letting the kid do the interviews now? When he’s not even up on what’s going on?
Lazarus smiles slyly.
lazarus
He’s more up than you think, Jimmy. He’s the key. He’s the key.
ext. aNOTHER SIDE STREET
Albino has backed against the storefront and glares at Kevin.
albino
– I don’t know nuthin’ about no Rat Man. And who the fuck are you?
kevin
I’m new to this outfit. The boys asked me to ask you – politely – if you had any new news for them.
albino
By ‘boys,’ I expect you mean Sullivan’s gang. Ain’t nuthin’ polite about them.
kevin
Anything about this ‘Rat Man’.
Albino clams up. Kevin just throws his hands up in the air.
brock
(yelling from inside car)
Don’t be such a pussy! Give him a few kicks in the nuts!
lazarus
(inside car)
Shut-up, Brock!
Sullivan laughs.
albino
Look, I don’t run with his gang no more. Man, I was just headin’ down the street with my bro’, just killin’ time. Then he gone loco, tried to kill me! Can you believe that shit?
kevin
Why are you out here this time of night?
albino
And we come across this old lady. All screwed up in the head. She was mumbling something – forgot what.
brock
Cut the shit! We don’t care ’bout no old lady.
albino
Something crazy, like Carla…no, not Carla.
brock
Kick him in the balls!
laZARUS
Shut-up!
Sullivan laughs.
kevin
What about Rat –
aLBINO
Kayla! That was it! That old lady mumbling Kayla! And then –
kevin
What! What! What did you just –
albino
– Kayla! Then that’s when my man went nuts. Looked at me like I was some sort of goonball fuckin’ zombie and pulls out his blade and comes at me –
kevin
– What! What old lady? Tonight, on the street? She said Kayla? Where is she? Where’d you leave her! Where’d you leave her!
Kevin lunges wildly at Albino.
int. unMARKED CAR
Liu watches Kevin grab Albino by the shoulders. Albino tries to go for his knife. The end of Sullivan’s shotgun sticks out of the open door.
Liu talks into her soft phone.
liu
This is not good. Requesting back-up.
A CRACKLE, then:
MALE dispatcher
(voice over)
Are you kidding, Liu? Everyone who’s on this thing is tied up.
Liu sees Albino drop back again and lower the knife.
liu
What do you mean ‘thing’?
disPATCHER
The cop killing. Is your need for back-up urgent? Are you facing imminent danger?
Albino drops to his knees and begs.
liu
Why don’t you go home to bed.
Kevin pushes his face into Albino’s. A shotgun muzzle sticks out of the SUV, bobbing up and down.
disPATCHER
Why don’t we both go home to bed. You just tell me where, Jenny.
ext. aNOTHER SIDE STREET
Albino is on his needs.
albino
She walked off, man! I don’t know where!
kevin
(frantically)
Where? Where!
The shotgun waves at Albino. He puts his hand up.
albino
A few blocks away. I don’t remember exactly where.
Kevin turns around and gestures at Sullivan, who is sighting down the barrel, wearing a big grin.
albINO
No, hold off, man! Hold off!
kevin
That’s my fucking mother! Where’d you see her?
albino
(covering his face)
Somewhere around the corner of Dryden and Palm Avenues. Somewhere –
Kevin jumps back into the car. Sullivan winks and points the barrel right at Albino.
albino
No!
int. unMARKED CAR
Liu sees a blast from the gun. Scatter shot sprays past Albino.
liu
Oh, holy shit…
She starts up the car and is about to hit the siren, then:
Albino stands up, wobbling against the storefront. The scatter shot landed way beyond him – it was only a ‘scare’ shot.
ext. anOTHER SIDE STREET
Albino pisses his pants as the SUV roars off down the road.
ext. a tin trailer along the river – night
A rusty sedan pulls up in front of the trailer. The trailer is surrounded by brush and small trees and stands by itself, along an access road.
The lights of the city GLEAM from across the river.
The driver’s side door swings open with a SCREECH. A cowboy boot CRUNCHES onto the dirt. A wiry figure slowly gets out of the car.
The Rat Man emerges and peers inside the sedan.
RaTMAN
C’mon, Ma. Let’s get some cocoa.
The passenger door swings open. SOMEONE ELSE, A HUGE BALD MAN in a hunting jacket, gets out. He turns and offers his hand to someone inside the vehicle.
Ma extends her hand and the bald man helps her out.
bald man
C’mon Granny, we ain’t got all day.
Rat Man glares at Bald Man.
ratman
(hissing)
Kindness!
They head towards the trailer.
ma
Kindness killed Kayla.
int. the trailer
Ma sits on a dumpy couch, surrounded by filth and burning candles. A widescreen display in front of her shows the Snuff Enterprise clip of the prisoner being eaten by a crocodile.
The clip is at the point where the narrator mumbles:
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
It is spectacle to behold! Justice in the jungle swamp!
Strange bugle music BLARES.
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
No one is exempt.
Ma stares, transfixed. The Rat Man sits next to her and hands her a steaming cup of cocoa. She takes it without looking at him and gasps.
ma
Oh! It’s so hot.
The Rat Man grabs her hands and gently tries to take it away.
Ratman
Then I can hold it –
ma
(grabbing it back)
– Get the fuck away from my cocoa!
INSERT SCREEN: The man in the brim rows, his gaunt face hidden beneath it. The soldier points a rifle at the prisoner who is slumped down on the bottom of the boat.
The Bald Man emerges from the shadows, laughing silently.
The Rat Man puts his hand up to calm the old woman.
raTMAN
Okay. Okay, my sweet, sweet Mama –
ma
– I’m no one’s.
INSERT SCREEN: The prisoner pleads and wails without a sound. The Narrator explains:
NARRATOR
(Voice Over)
See the mumbling idiot begging for his life!
Ma sips her cocoa, then leans forward.
ratman
What is it? What do you see?
Ma extends her hand towards the screen. She just about drops the cocoa. The Bald Man starts, about to catch it.
REFLECTED in Ma’s eyeball – A WHITE FLUTTERING SHAPE, sparkling and dancing.
INSERT SCREEN: Against the backdrop of the swamp woods, the White Dressed Woman stands in front of the trees. The water boils with crocodiles.
THE RETURN
A Teleplay
by
Jim Willard
EXT. DIRT ROAD, HIGH IN nEW ENGLAND MTS.-NIGHT
A luxury SUV winds up the road, threading along a passage that is both narrow and rut-filled. Its highbeams cut along the thick wall of trees lining both sides of the treacherous route.
The night is a one of those strange late-autumn evenings for this part of the country: the moon is shimmering with a sickly yellow vividness and the wind blows hot and wildly, preclude to a storm.
This night, however, no storm will arrive.
The wind continues and whips the trees about so that they throw shadows across the moonglow. It is a wild night of shadow play that will not culminate with a cleansing rain.
INT. SUV-NIGHT
TED and MARY stare with foreboding out the front windshield and try not to notice each dark shadown lunging at them from the woods.
TED is a heavyset man, with a tired, lined middle-aged face and gray-streaked short-cropped hair. His hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, white-knuckled. TED’S eyes, tired and almost world-weary, hint at a deep, barely restrained trouble lurking within.
MARY is a woman whose eyes dart around like fireflies in a jar. Every leaping shadow, every unusual movement in the darkness causes her to jump, to worry, to react with intense overbearing.
She was once attractive. Now the years of high-strung disconfiture have whitened her hair and sprung tight lines on her face and neck. Like TED, she wears an anxious expression which, even though it seems to react to every sign as an exaggerated warning, conceals an even deeper level of anxiety.
It’s as if both of them, husband and wife, have born their surfeit fears upon a real one.
MARY
(sighing)
God Ted, we should have stayed down in the islands for a few days more.
TED
Got to come back sometime, my dear. Work to do, people to see, responsibilities…
MARY
Oh, yes…all those responsibilities.
They exchange a brief glance that exposes mutual bitterness towards one another.
MARY
It’s so incredibly lonely out here.
TED
That’s a switch from five years ago. You were more than willing to leave the ‘rat race’ then.
MARY
Well, we had to leave the city, then. You know that.
(darkly)
You know that..
They watch the headlights sweep over the phantasm of trees writhing in the wind. Their PAUSE is unsettling.
MARY
And God, how dark it is here! Atrociously dark!
MARY shudders and shuts her eyes for a moment.
MARY
Even that moon…so yellow and rotten…it’s like the inside of a rotting pumpkin.
TED laughs roughly. The MOON seeps through the car windows with a putrid hue.
MARY
Well, I sure don’t see anything funny about that…
TED
The moon is nice tonight. Pleasant in a strange way.
MARY
Ha! It’s horrible!
TED
Well, I haven’t got a problem with it.
MARY
This whole place is horrible! We should have stayed on vacation! Now we’re back to it all again. Day in and out, you driving up and down this horrid stretch to work in that stupid little office in town, and me by myself all alone, out here in a nowhere land, looking forward to nothing…
TED
(gruffly)
Well, would you rather we move back?
MARY goes silence, considering the options which, she realizes, do not exist. Her face draws tight and pale.
MARY
Anything could happen out here.
LONG PAUSE.
MARY
Anything could happen out here, tonight.
TED
(irritated)
Like what?
MARY
(jumping on it)
A tree falling across our path, crushing us…
TED
Ha!
MARY
Well, look at this wind! Right on top of us!
TED
For Christ’s sake, Mary…
MARY
We’ll get back and find out the house has been ransacked.
TED
Would you be quiet.
MARY
Better yet! They’re waiting for us! Waiting in the shadows with guns and knives…
TED
Would you shut the hell up!
MARY
He could waiting there.
TED’S silence is deafening. The trees seem as if they are swooping down to grab the vehicle. MARY glances uneasily at him, bearing herself to say more of what needs to be said.
MARY
He could be.
TED
That’s a stupid idea. How?
MARY
It’s what we’ve been expecting for sometime now, isn’t it?
TED
I haven’t been expecting anything.
MARY
You’ve got a conscious, dear. At least, I think you do. At least, when it comes to him.
TED grips the wheel. He is fighting an impulse to pull over and argue with MARY. She gazes out the window, momentarily losing her anxiousness as she relishes in having had the last word.
EXT. THE DIRT ROAD-NIGHT
The SUV rounds a sharp corner, passing beneath thrashing branches. In the GLARE OF HEADLIGHTS, a brown figure darts out into the road.
INT. THE SUV-NIGHT
TED and MARY see the deer skitter out into the road, then freeze. For an almost imperceptible moment, the deer’s eyes, wide with terror, DISSOLVE into HUMAN EYES. Those eyes become MARY’S. She gasps.
TED wrenches the wheel and the vehicle lurches to the side.
EXT. THE DIRT ROAD-NIGHT
The SUV swerves around the deer and slams over the washed out dirt shoulder, narrowly missing trees. The deer bounds over the shoulder and vanishes into the woods, its white tail fading away.
INT. THE SUV-NIGHT
TED regains control of the vehicle and attempts to steady himself.
MARY
We almost hit it!
TED
We didn’t, Mary! I missed him.
They drive on in agonized silence. The past seems to creep up on them, engulfing their thoughts.
The headlights reveal a steep drive on the right. TED turns towards it.
TED
Well, good…we’re home.
MARY
(sarcastically)
Home…
EXT. HOME-NIGHT
The SUV guns up the rough gravel drive, approaching a renovated farmhouse and adjoining barn. The barn stands forlornly against the dull, sickly glow of the moon. The farmhouse is a bleak shadow against the tree-shrouded landscape.
The SUV labors to get over the last part of the drive, its wheels spinning in deep troughs.
INT. SUV-NIGHT
mary
You’re going to get us stuck!
TED
Would you blasted well shut…
MARY
Push the gas, Ted! Push it!
TED
I am, dear!
EXT. HOME-NIGHT
The SUV spins and spews gravel, precariously close to stalling out. As it struggles up over the top, the headlights cut across the top of the swaying trees, illuminating a phantom-like cluster of branches and thick, gnarled limbs that flay wildly.
The SUV grunts, then eases over onto the flat, spacious drive in front of the house. The headlights sweep over the the farmhouse and come to rest upon the barn.
The car stops in front of the barn, the highbeams exaggerating the gaping iron-hinged door that flaps about in the wind. The dark maul from withing gapes at TED and MARY.
mary
My God! Ted, look at that…
TED
(indifferently)
Let’s get the bags out of the back, shall we?
MARY
I know the barn was locked shut before we left. I know it!
TED grunts and gets out of the car. MARY remains frozen in her seat. She is riveted to the sight of the barn door swinging open and shut, BANGING, BANGING….
EXT. HOME-NIGHT
As TED gets out of the SUV, the wind slams it shut. MARY jumps. TED mutters something and walks to the back of the SUV. He pulls out his electronic key and pops the back of the vehicle.
Through the open rear of the vehicle, he peers at MARY, who isn’t budging.
TED
You wanna go unlock the house, or what?
MARY does not respond. TED pulls two suitcases out.
TED
C’mon, Mary! The goddamned latch broke. I can see it from here.
He slams the back door and lugs the cases over to MARY’S window.
TED
I’m tired. You’re tired.
(through the closed window)
I’ll fix us some Bloody Marys, Mary. We’ll try to sit back and relax, whadd’ya say?
TED stares in disbelief at MARY. She continues to stare at the barn. TED can see that the end of the lock brace is torn from the outside corner and that the padlock is still locked around the swinging door. To him, it looks as if the wind simply ripped the brace end from the building, rendering the padlock useless.
To MARY, the swinging door is the result of not something, but someone.
TED
Mary, would your rather stay here all night?
MARY
(barely audible)
I know I secured that door.
TED
What?
MARY doesn’t answer. Out of patience, TED flings her door open. She gasps. He drops ones suitcase and grabs her arm.
TED
Settle, settle…
MARY
I shut and locked it!
TED
And the wind ripped the latch off its hinges.
MARY
No, I don’t think so.
TED
I can see it from here!
MARY
That’s a brand new latch and hardwood siding. It’s been forced!
TED bumps the other suitcase against the vehicle and shakes his head with disgusted impatience.
TED
Go in the house. Turn on the front lights and wait. I’ll check the goddamned barn!
TED stomps away, cursing under his breath. He pushes the barn door open all the way and vanishes into the yawning darkness.
MARY gets out of the SUV, moving slowly. The wind lashes her. Her hair whips over her face. She hugs her purse close to her and shuts the door.
She pulls the handles on the luggage cases and wheels them over the gravel. She tries not to look around at first, but is then compelled to scan the grounds. Shadows leap from everywhere, and she forces herself to look at just the house.
As she approaches the front door, the portico seems to wink at her in the flickering shades that fly about its surface. Her creeping, slow figure, fighting the wind and pulling at the weight of the suitcases, becomes diminutive against the background of dark swirling shapes and the dim glow of the MOON. MARY bends from her burden, struggling over the ground.
She arrives at the front stoop. She glances back at the barn. The SLAMMING of the barndoor is contrasted with the KNOCKING and BANGING sounds that TED makes inside, rummaging around.
A light turns on from within the barn. It casts a pallid rim onto the driveway, cutting across the front of the SUV.
MARY sees TED’S shadow moving, stretching over the gravel. She seems almost relieved, for a moment.
The barnlight flickers, then goes out.
A cloud passes over the MOON. MARY’S face darkens.
MARY
Ted?
A LONG SILENCE ensues.
MARY
Ted? Ted! Are you all right in there?
ANOTHER LONG SILENCE
MARY
(shaking)
TED! TED!
A LOUD GROAN comes from inside the barn, then:
TED
(inside barn)
The damn bulb blew out!
The MOON illuminates MARY’S face again. She sighs and proceeds to the stoop. She is still weary, anxious, staring about.
She feels around in her purse and finds the house key. She approaches the door, about to go up the stoop, with the key extended, when she hears a LOW MOAN.
MARY drops the key.
MARY
What? Who’s that?
There is no answer, except the MOANING WIND. She bends over and rakes the gravel, peering into the ground for the key.
Under the MOAN of WIND, another LOW MOAN. MARY finds the key, jumps up onto the top stoop and rams the key into the lock. She struggles to undo the lock. She can’t get it to work.
MARY looks about and behind her, her forehead creased with hot-flashed anxiety.
MARY
Who’s there?…Ted?
BEAT PAUSE.
MARY
I know someone’s there.
She glances around. What she sees is the wind’s frantic, swirling shadows. She sees the moon’s yellow slash against the field and the line of trees, and she sees the constant, threatening onslaught of the shadows.
Then, she sees one LARGE HULKING SHADOW cross the field of shadows, stop, totter and roll, in the light of the moon.
MARY
Who’s that?
The SHADOW writhes in place. Mary shudders, fumbles with the key and tries to wrench the lock open. TED SMASHES and BUMPS inside the barn. MARY glances over her shoulder, then shouts:
mary
Ted!
But TED does not answer, and the wind reaches a SCREAMING CRESCENDO. MARY works the lock, panicked, as the shaft of moonbeam slices across the door. As the key starts to undo the lock, she glances over her shoulder just long enough to see the SHADOW move out of sight, and the MOON DISSOLVING in the corner of her vision as a pale yellow eye: a reflection of MARY’s own watery petrified expression.
int. home, vestibule-night
MARY wrenches the door open and the security system WHINES. She SCREAMS.
EXT. THE BARN-NIGHT
The door is swinging wildly. It SLAMS open and shut in the wind, gaping and closing like the mouth on a dying man.
INT. THE HOUSE-NIGHT
MARY gasps, then remembers what she has to do. She scrambles along the wall, finds the alarm box and fiddles with the keypad. The WHINE stops.
She proceeds out of the vestibule into the kitchen, a package of high-load nervousness.
INT. THE KITCHEN-NIGHT
She steps into the kitchen, reaching for the light switch. In the darkness, she sees the MOON floods a large-paned window with epheremal light. She stares into this glow, gradually seeing the horrific abherration:
A crack runs down the window: a jagged, obscene streak, beginning at an epicenter which can only be the point upon which the window was hit. At least, according to MARY.
MARY freezes in her tracks. She stares in horror – then glares in irritation – at what she sees. Her fear has become defiance, and she wants no more of these antics.
The window GLARES back at her, heinious and mocking.
TED stomps into the kitchen and drops all the luggage on the floor. The wind bursts inside behind him. He goes back into the vestibule and slams the door shut.
mary
God, Ted! You could have said something out there!
TED hangs his overcoat on a peg in the vestibule and huffs his way back into the kitchen.
TED
What a goddamned night to come home. What the hell’s a matter with you, Mary?
MARY glares back at him. TED sighs and shakes his head.
TED
Could you have put on some light?…God I could use a beer and a bite…You?
TED flicks a wall switch. An electric candelabra goes on, revealing a spacious hardwood kitchen adjoining a dining room and hallway. Beyond the hallway is blackness.
TED looks at the refrigerator, then looks past it to see the cracked window.
ted
Look at what the wind did!
mary
Wind? Wind!
ted
One of those straight-line winds. Not normal but damned if we don’t get them. Wonder if anyone up the road got hit…
mary
Who’d do this? Who would?
ted
What are you talking about?
TED goes over to the refrigerator and opens it up. The glassy crack splits over his head and MARY is keen to notice this bizarre image. She walks towards TED, removing her winter coat.
MARY
Why does someone do this?
TED grabs a beer out of the fridge and pops it open, angrily. He flings the cap onto the counter and takes a long hard drink.
MARY
There’s not a sane soul up around here. No kids to throw rocks…no one with the sort of time, and disposition, to just saunter on up and decide to crack our window and break into our barn and raise this sort of hell with…
TED
Oh for God’s sake, Mary…
MARY
There’s no one! Just you and me, Ted…Just you and me….
TED leans against the counter, sucking on his beer and glaring at his wife. The WIND HOWLS and the cracked window RATTLES. Finally:
TED
I’m also hungry. Why don’t you fix us something to eat…Take your goddamned mind off things.
MARY walks past TED and stops in front of the window. She is thinking, thinking beyond the window, the night, and the immediate moment.
MARY
What did you find in the barn? Inside, Ted…what did you see?
TED
(disgustedly)
What the hell do you think? The same old junk…tire irons, chunks of wood, rags….
MARY
You know what I mean.
TED guffaws, slams his beer bottle on the counter and goes over to the luggage. He siezes all three pieces, then drops one, curses, picks it up and stomps down the dark hallway.
BUMPING AND CLUMPING as TED brings the luggage upstairs. MARY walks with trepidation into the darkness of the hallway. She stops at the bottom, listening to his cursing.
SMASHING of suitcases hitting the wall. MARY grimaces and slumps against the staircase. She can hear him somewhat, enough to make out his last words:
TED
(Off-screen)
Why can’t she let it go….bitch!
She walks angrily back into the kitchen and stands before the cracked window. She grips the edge of the counter and breaks a nail. SHADOWS of wind-blown branches, cast by the MOON through the window, slash her face.
TED
It was a goddamned animal.
MARY jumps. She turns to see TED standing on the other side of the counter, his face dark and miserable. He has re-possessed his beer.
MARY
In the barn?
He nods and slurps on his beer. The action seems to replace any need for conversation. She wants him to reveal more. He takes another gulp.
MARY
What exactly did you see, Ted?
She leans towards him with frantic inquisivitness.
TED
Like an animal got in.
MARY
What kind of animal?
TED
The kind that is determined and resourceful…
MARY
Like a raccoon, or weasel…
TED
…and big and burly!
MARY gapes. TED finishes his beer and bangs the bottle onto the counter. She says it slowly:
MARY
Someone…a person…him..
TED
A bear, Mary! A big old brawny son-of-a-bitch!
MARY
A bear!
TED
Is is that time of season, you know! They are capable of breaking into barns, you know!
MARY
You don’t need to condescend to me…
TED
It’s not like it doesn’t happen around here.
MARY
All right then…what did it look like inside?
TED throws his hands up and walks over to the fridge. He opens it up and rummages around.
TED
Must be something you can fix for us…here we go.
He grabs another bottle and rips off the top. His quick motion to start drinking belies his desire not to talk anymore.
MARY
Well, what did it look like inside?
TED
Oh Christ, here we go! It knocked over a few things. That’s it.
MARY
What things?
TED
Mary!…some stuff, that’s all….cans, boxes, some junk was tossed around.
MARY doesn’t answer but her look implores him for more detail. He hesitates, then:
TED
Nothing out of the ordinary…except maybe…
MARY
What?
TED
Well, a little odd….
MARY
(insistently)
What? What, Ted?…
TED
Well, your mother’s old dresser that we’ve been meaning to move inside…
MARY
Ted, that dresser is way over in the corner, behind all those tables and boxes. It couldn’t just be moved…
TED
Well, it wasn’t moved. It was pushed over and the drawers tossed out.
MARY gasps. She moves along the counter, slowly making her way to TED. Understanding something with dread, something that even her husband appears to be uncertain about.
MARY
Tossed out?….what about the glass pictures…you know, Ted?…
TED
Yes, I know!
MARY
Our wedding pictures?
TED
Some of them were on the floor…smashed.
MARY
My God…
TED
But a bear could have done that.
MARY is almost next to him, staring at him.
TED
It’s nothing. A lot got thrown on the floor. A hungry bear looking for food would smash into anything, knock anything over – heavy things, anything – sticking its dirty paws wherever…
TED stops, not completely convinced of his own argument. He takes a long hard drink, trying not to return his wife’s gaze.
MARY thinks for a moment about something, something from a long time ago. Then she looks back at the cracked window. TED’S impatience and disgust at her emotion returns.
TED
Could we have something to eat?
The electricity goes out, plunging the house into DARKNESS. MARY gasps, her face SILHOUETTED against the GLOW OF THE MOON through the window.
TED
Of all the blasted luck.
INT. THE KITCHEN, LATER THAT NIGHT.
DARKNESS. Then LIGHT FROM A MATCH as it is struck. The LIGHT moves to a kerosene lamp.
BLUE FLAME on a gas burner, and MARY’s hand extends forward and turns off the gas.
The kerosene lamp is placed by TED upon the kitchen counter, illuminating two plates and silverware. MARY’S face bobs out from the darkness, next to the window.
Gradually, as if one is becoming accustomed to the lack of light, other aspects of the kitchen take on a dim manifestation. Two lamps throw off an ephemeral glow; another lamp flickers above a mantlepiece in the dining room. Like before, outside, shadows dance everywhere, flitting across the walls.
MARY moves, phantasm-like and grimly, into the FOREGROUND, gliding to the table. TED’S face materializes at the side, heavy and gloomy. MARY sets a bowl of soup and a plate of dinner rolls upon the table. She then turns and vanishes into the darkness.
TED ladles soup into his bowl, breaks a roll in half, butters it, and begins to eat with a fundamental lack of enthusiasm.
MARY returns with a bottle of beer and a glass of wine. She places the beer in front of TED, sips her wine and sits down to commence her meal.
They both eat with finality, faces drawn and drained of emotion, deformed in the FLICKERING YELLOW LIGHT.
The wind HOWLING outside and the angry RATTLING of the cracked window comprise an ominous dinnertime melody.
A clock upon the dining room mantelpiece CHIMES. MARY looks at it. Its face shines with a sick tangerine hue. She glances back at TED, and observes the pallor of his wasted face. She wants to puke, so she gulps some wine instead.
The obscene crack gapes at her. She stares at it, at the crack’s lines meshing with shapes from the trees. Limbs intertwine with the cracks.
A DARK SHAPE passes all so quickly in front of the window. She gasps as the clock CHIMES its last time: ten.
TED halts his spoon midway to his mouth.
TED
What’s a matter with you?
MARY
I saw something, Ted.
TED
When?
MARY
Just now. In the window. Outside.
TED slurps some soup, then goes for his beer. He doesn’t seem convinced.
TED
I’ll go into town tomorrow and see about getting that goddamned thing replaced.
LONG PAUSE. MARY is still watching the window.
TED
(ruminating)
You know, Mary, somehow we’ve got to move on. Get past all this. It’s ridiculous.
MARY
(not hearing him)
I don’t know how that could’ve happened…it’s very odd.
TED
We’ve been stuck in a rut for awhile. And I guess I’m just a poor SOB for being sick of it.
MARY
I mean that’s no accident.
TED
Of course it was!
MARY
The way it’s cracked. Someone deliberately did that!
TED realizes that they are not having the same discussion. He drops his spoon in his soup and presses his forehead against his hand in dismay.
MARY
It’s so bizarre…and I have to say, Ted, it is frightening…
TED
(gruffly)
Either the wind or or a bear, Mary!
MARY
You and your bear!
TED
What do you think it was, then? You tell me. You tell me!
MARY
I’m not sure. But I’m sure not going to make up causes and provide all sort of excuses for…
TED
(angrily)
Mary!
TED glares at her. Then, without saying anything more, buries himself in his meal, gobbling the soup and wolfing down the rolls. She grimaces at him, holding back the desire to say something nasty, then she turns her attention back to the window.
A HULKING SHADOW twists in the window, drops and vanishes. MARY screams. She points at the window.
TED
What’s the matter now?
MARY
It was there!
TED
What the devil was…
MARY
The shadow! Of him…It was him! Him! I saw him!
TED jumps up, pushing his chair so hard that it flies onto the hardwood floor with a WHUMP. He stomps over to the vestibule and the door.
MARY
What are you going to do? Ted? Ted!
TED
(rushing out the door)
I’m going to find out myself!
MARY
(frantically, standing up)
Don’t! Come back! Ted, you don’t know what he’ll do! You don’t!….
The wind ROARS through the open door, careening through the house, flinging dust and paper. The lamps FLICKER and nearly go out. MARY holds her knuckles to her mouth. She walks over to a small window over the sink and looks out.
She sees TED crossing back and forth, his fist raised with defiance, searching for something or someone. There is purpose to his action and he does not appear so skeptical about events now.
TED’s eyes flash with demonic rage and wisps of hair fly about. MARY steps back, surprised by his appearance.
TED looks at her through the window, aware that she has been watching. He is bitter and bold in his report to her:
TED
(muffled through window)
There’s nothing out here!
He surveys the darkness around him again. He squints suddenly, and bolts out of sight. MARY leans into the window, trying to see where he’s going.
But all she perceives is the dark line of trees WAVING across the gravel drive, behind the barn, and the limestone ground GLITTERING in the MOONLIGHT.
TED
(Off-screen, muffled)
You! You! Hey…
His voice FADES under the WIND MOANING. MARY bends sideways, peering through the window, frustrated in not being able to see where he has gone. But she doesn’t have to wait long.
A FIGURE hobbles along the line of trees and slips into the woods, then emerges again for just a moment, towering on two legs. It almost steps into the edge of the rim of the MOON’s glow, but retreats into the blackness.
MARY watches the trees for a LONG MOMENT. TED enters with a loud THUMP. MARY whirls around with a gasp, then shows relief.
He walks toward her, looking down, ashen-faced. The LAMPLIGHT only intensifies his appearance.
He passes her and slumps into a chair. He drums his fingers upon the kitchen table. MARY approaches and puts her hand on his shoulder and he gives a slight recoil. She removes it.
MARY
What did you see?
TED merely closes his eyes and sighs. MARY sits down. She does not want to say anything more, aware of his volatile state. But she says it anyway:
MARY
It was him, wasn’t it?
TED
(exploding, slamming his fist down)
No, goddamned it!
LONG PAUSE. TED puts his hands in his pocket and starts to pace across the floor.
MARY
What did you see?
TED doesn’t answer. He continues to pace.
MARY
Right before you came in. I saw someone. In the tree line. Did you see him?
TED
(monotone)
I saw something.
PAUSE. MARY waits, drawing her breath in somber eagerness.
TED
I followed it down to the stream but I think I lost it at the edge of the woods.
MARY
You’re lucky he didn’t have a gun.
ted
It might have doubled back.
mary
He might be right outside!
PAUSE.
MARY
We should never have come out to this miserable…this, this ugly lonely place…
ted
We had to.
mary
No we didn’t.
ted
We had to leave it behind. We had to forget about it, somehow.
mary
Which we’ve managed to do so well.
TED
I thought the further away, the better! But it’s not like that. Everywhere we go, everything we do, it’s still with us!
SHADOWS SWING AND PLAY across TED and MARY’S faces. Each of them hang their chins down and their expressions become mirror images of each other: tragic, luminescent masks floating in the dark.
The MOAN OF THE WIND CHEATS DOWN. The INTERIOR deepens into gloom, so that surrounding features become almost invisible. Only TED and MARY’S faces remain.
Her gaze rolls up towards TED.
MARY
(determinedly)
But he must be dead!
TED
The thing’ll never die!
MARY
He can’t be here…he didn’t know us, he barely saw us!
TED
But it’s always with us!
PAUSE.
MARY
I can’t forget him…
TED
Ten years ago, on that night…
MARY
I can ever forget! Ted, I can’t…
TED
…Remember that night! Remember it, even if we don’t want to…As if the morning never came.
MARY
Did it ever?…
TED
…We’re always in that night! All the time!
(remembering)
I was driving down the road. Fast. Very fast. Way too fast…
ROAR OF SPORTS CAR CHEATS UP.
MARY
I remember…
TED
…way fast for conditions…
dissolve to:
ext. highway outside jersey city, ten years ago-night
The road is slick with rain as a small sports car careens around the corner. The vehicle shoots through a funnel of tree stands and emerges out onto the open road, revealing the Manhattan skyline in the background.
Two laughing faces briefly appear through the windshield. The car screams over a rise in the road and catapults itself onto the downgrade.
It charges onto another tree-lined stretch, swerving several times over the centerline.
INT. THE CAR-NIGHT
TED and MARY, younger and vivacious and cocky, dressed in expensive dinner clothes, laugh at some incident that happened at the party from which they are returning. Their manner and flushed faces betray no small level of inebriation.
MARY leans against TED and puts her hand in his lap. Her bust rises and falls and TED cannot concentrate upon his driving.
MARY
(laughing)
I can’t believe he did that in the champagne fountain…
TED
But that’s it! That’s a shoe-in for me, honey.
MARY
And how! You’re going to get that promotion. You’ve got to. Your office buddy made a freaking fool of himself.
TED
(nodding vigorously)
You gotta hold your booze…ya gotta..uh, ya…ya…gotta hold the booze, go to the parties…
MARY
The right parties!..
TED
Yeah!…all the right parties…and impress the right people. And did ya see the way the boss was making me shake hands with all his clients, and the senior sales dudes, and playin’ me up…
MARY
I did, sweetie!…
TED
And then, goddamned it! Can you believe the luck of it? Old Lyle, my main competition, had to mix his whiskeys and beers just enough…
MARY
(laughing hard)
To piss in the champagne!
TED
In front of everyone! Can ya believe it!
They both laugh again. MARY kisses him on the side of the face. He returns the favor lustfully, forgetting about the road. She grabs the wheel and yanks it back into the right lane.
ext. HIGHWAY OUTSIDE JERSEY CITY, TEN YEARS AGO
The car veers back and forth at a high rate of speed. The road seems even more narrow, slick, glistening. The rain pelts down. The car approaches a curve.
On the other end of the curve, A BEARDED HITCHIKER in yellow rain parka hunches down against the rain, the SWEEP OF THE CAR BEAMLIGHTS overcoming him.
The car comes around the bend, hydroplaning just enough to hit the shoulder. It bears down on the HITCHIKER. For a moment, his EXPRESSION is one of irritation. It quickly becomes bewildered, wide-eyed and in shocked realization that…
INT. THE CAR
MARY’S shock matches that of the HITCHIKER.
MARY
(screaming)
We’re going to hit…
TED
Son-of-a…
TED wrenches the wheel to the left. He and MARY lurch to the side.
EXT. THE CAR
The car dovetails, the back end slamming into the HITCHHIKER. His body flies off the shoulder.
The car skids sideways and stops. The brake lights cast a red hue over the road. The feet of the victim are illuminated by the light.
MARY’S head bobs inside the car, her hands flailing about. Her MUFFLED WAILING pierces the silence.
The car noses off the shoulder and turns into the right lane. It pulls ahead about twenty feet, then moves onto the shoulder again. The hazards start to blink.
INT. THE CAR
MARY is hysterical. TED is pale and shuddering, but something in his eyes indicates that he already is deciding upon a plan.
MARY
I-is that person…did we?…
TED is breathing hard. He looks in the rearview mirror, glances ahead down the road where the lights from Manhattan are visible.
TED
Guy went off the shoulder.
MARY
He?…I couldn’t see! Ted, I couldn’t see! It was just a flash…the parka….
TED
(grimly)
I saw it.
MARY
(hysterically)
God, what was he doing out here, on a night like this. Right on the curve like that! The goddamned fool! The fool!…
TED opens his door.
MARY
What are you doing?
TED
(getting out)
What do you think?
ext. the car
TED emerges from the car and stands uncertainly on the shoulder. He is a shadow against the distant city lights, the drizzle coming down over him.
MARY gets out and tries to shield herself from the rain.
MARY
Where is he?
TED starts walking along the shoulder, back to the point of collision.
MARY
Where?
TED
I don’t know…
(seeing)
Yes, yes…here!
MARY
You see him? Ted? Ted! Is he…
TED
I don’t know!
A pair of sneakers poke up from the rim of a gutter. TED moves towards them. MARY starts to follow him. TED keeps glancing around nervously. MARY tries to catch up. TED steps over the shoulder and makes his way down the into the gully.
MARY stops on the road, seeing the sneakers. TED carefully descends into the gully. He glances back at MARY.
ted
Anyone coming?
MARY
I don’t hear anything.
TED
Keep you ears and eyes open.
MARY
Why, Ted?…
TED
(harshly)
Shut-up!
TED is now down in the gully. The parka is partly concealed by wet leaves.
TED crouches down over the body. He reaches forward and pulls back leaves and clumps of dirt. Rain washes away blood from the man’s face. His eyes are open but appear lifeless.
TED looks up to the road. MARY stands above him, poised at the edge of the gully. He returns his gaze upon the HITCHIKER.
The eyes move and the HITCHIKER groans. MARY gasps.
HITCHIKER
Help…
He stares up at TED. MARY is advances down the slope. She comes close enough to see blood on the HITCHIKER’s face and neck.
MARY
Oh my God…
HITCHIKER
Help me…
MARY
The blood! Oh God, the blood!
TED examines him. The blood spill becomes profuse.
HITCHIKER
Please call someone.
TED stands up, glances back at MARY. He muses for a moment.
Then he turns to go back up the bank, slowly. He doesn’t look back.
HITCHIKER
Please…
TED
I’m sorry.
MARY
Ted!
TED
Get in the car.
MARY
Ted, we can’t leave him…
TED is next to her and grabs her by the elbow. He drags her back up to the road.
TED
We can, and we will. He’s had it!
MARY
But we have to call! What kind of people…
TED
The kind that have lives to lead! I’m not blowing it over some drug-addled nut standing on the side of the road, at the wrong time!
MARY gapes at TED. He walks back to the driver’s side door and stands in the rain, glaring at her.
The HITCHIKER is breathing hard, trying to hang onto life. His expression changes from fear and desperation, to one of rage, as he sees MARY moving towards the vehicle.
HITCHIKER
(with his last breath)
You can’t…you won’t…I’ll make it out of here…I’ll…
His words are drowned out by TED SLAMMING his door as he gets inside.
INT. THE CAR
MARY gets in and shuts her door. TED turns on the ignition, rams the car into drive and races away. Neither of them look at each other.
LONG PAUSE.
ted
What did he say?
PAUSE. MARY doesn’t answer right away. But when she does, it rings with forbidding.
MARY
He said, ‘I’ll find you.’
PAUSE.
TED
No, I don’t think so.
EXT. THE CAR
The car sprints away against the backdrop of distant city lights.
The HITCHIKER glares up into the wet black sky, his eyes searing with hatred. At this moment, he appears fully alive.
DISSOLVE.
The headlights from their car as it surges into frame.
DISSOLVE.
INT. HOME-NIGHT
DISSOLVE.
From headlights into the pallid faces of TED and MARY seated around the table, looking forlorn.
TED
Four-hundred miles away, over five years ago, since the scene of the…
MARY
Don’t say it…
TED
Crime?
TED sighs deeply and pushes his face into his hands. MARY reaches out as if to touch him, then draws back. The cracked window looms over her.
TED
His last look at me was like I was condemned.
MARY
He’s dead! He has to be! You said it yourself, that he couldn’t have survived….
TED
Well, that’s what I thought then. But we checked the papers, the news, waited and waited and watched…something about a late night hit-and-run, a man on the side of the road…
MARY
I know, I know!…and heard nothing.
PAUSE.
ted
And here we are. Our runaway house.
MARY
Why did we even think we had to go away?
TED
Now I don’t know. I did then. Get as far away from the incident as possible. Start over and forget.
MARY
But here we are, Ted. Not forgetting.
TED glances at her in anguish. He gets up and walks in front of the cracked window.
TED
(muttering)
Damn, I wish he was here. So we can finish it!
LOUD THUMP from outside. MARY shrieks and TED whirls around. They are both wild-eyed banshees in the lamplight.
Something snaps inside MARY. She gets up, throwing her chair to the floor. TED watches her with anxiety.
TED
Mary, where are you…
MARY
You’re right! This has got to finish!
She leaves the room and STOMPS upstairs. TED is riveted in uncertainty, listening to LOUD CLOMPING and RUMMAGING AROUND.
mary
(yelling from upstairs)
Where are they, Ted?
TED
What?
She doesn’t answer him. The COMMOTION upstairs continues. TED sees a SHADOW pass quickly at the bottom of the cracked window. He goes over to the window and peers between the cracks.
Long through window – tree branches whipping about.
MARY comes down the stairs. She moves slowly, deliberately through the background murk of the hallway. She carries a object under her arm and a small black item in her hand. At first, they are not identifiable.
As she MATERIALIZES IN THE LAMPLIGHT, the long object becomes a bolt-action rifle and the black item a revolver. She puts the weapons on the table.
MARY
I don’t like these things and you should have had them locked up. But now we’ve got a good use for them.
TED gawks at the weapons for a moment. Then he goes over the table, picks up the rifle and shoots the bolt. He proceeds to the vestibule.
MARY wears an expression bordering on inspiration.
MARY
Now, now…
As TED flings the door open, the wind rushes in; the kerosene wicks flutter and the shadows grow larger and dance across the wall.
The door slams against the inside wall. MARY’s hand reaches for the revolver.
EXT. HOME
Dust and leaves swirl about in the piercing glow of the MOON.
LONG on ted passing the barn and heading towards the woods.
MARY appears in the doorway. Her face, which expressed a vague relief moments before, expresses worry.
TED’s silhouette crosses the field and blends in with the gloomy treeline. MARY becomes more frantic as he vanishes from her sight. Again, she finds herself scanning the surroundings, seeing intruders lurking around the corners of the barn and in every dark niche.
A cloud passes over the MOON. For a moment, the wind dies down. She hesitates, then steps outside. The quiet, though brief, is petrifying.
The wind picks up and the MOON casts a livid pallor over the driveway. MARY shudders. And then a LOW GRUNTING noise and scrape of dirt drives her back inside.
INT. HOME
MARY staggers back through the vestibule, tripping over a pair of work boots. She stumbles into the kitchen, backstepping and bumping into the table.
The gun rattles. She picks it up and tentatively examines it, playing with the safety and trying to remember how to arm it, the way TED taught her.
TWO BOOMING RIFLE SHOTS cause her to drop the gun. It discharges and a bullet blows a hole into the cracked window, shattering it. MARY screams.
The MOON peers in through the gaping hole.
Just over the WIND HOWLING she hears another the SOUND of GRAVEL SCRAPING. She picks up the gun and and pulls back the trigger, as TED taught her.
She holds it at half-arm’s length and keeps her sights down the barrel, trying to keep the revolver steady, as TED taught her.
MARY walks towards the door and breathes out slowly, keeping the revolver close but not too close, an extension of herself, ready just in case – as TED taught her.
She is now back in the vestibule, nearing the front door, the gun steady and the trigger just at the pull point, not but not quite.
EXT. HOME
The revolver glints in the MOON as it noses outside. MARY emerges, and another CLOUD PASSES OVER THE MOON, and now she is a shadow.
In the dark, she only sees outlines of long grass undulating eerily up in the field near the woods. She pans the revolver around.
MARY
Ted? Ted!…
A BLACK HULKING SHAPE moves inside the barn as the door swings open. She aims the gun at it. A LOUD BANG, followed by a GRUNT, originates from the barn.
MARY
(frantically)
Come out of there!
TED runs around the corner of the house, just behind MARY, raising the rifle at the barn. He kicks a stone and it CRUNCHES loudly. MARY whirls around and fires a bullet into his stomache.
TED groans and drops the rifle. MARY gasps. He slumps to the ground, a profound look of amazed disgust on his face.
TED
What…what the hell are you doing?
MARY
Oh God, Ted…Ted!
The barn door CRASHES open and MARY whirls around. A young bear charges out and gallops up into the field towards the woods.
TED holds his stomache, trying to stop the bleeding. MARY runs over to him, tosses the gun aside and tries to stop the bleeding.
MARY
My-my God, Ted. I didn’t know. You didn’t answer!….Oh Ted! Ted!
She tries to bunch his shirt up to staunch the wound but blood pours out and all over her hands.
MARY
(revulsed)
Oh God, the blood!
TED
Mary…
mary
I can’t stop it!
TED
Go away from me.
MARY presses on the wound, crying hysterically.
TED
Please don’t help me…
MARY
Ted, I didn’t mean to. I thought…
TED
(weakly)
Him…you thought..him..
(laughing sardonically)
What a thought.
MARY watches TED’s life ebbing away, the PALE GLINT OF THE MOON in his dying eyes.
TED
Go…
MARY
God, Ted! Ted! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!…
(sobbing violently)
What will I do? What will I do!
TED
Live on…
CLOSE on MARY’S EYES, WATERY AND LUMINESCENT.
TED
(death rattle)
If you can…
CLOSE ON THE MOON, PUTRID AND INDIFFERENT.
CLOSE ON TED’S DEATH FACE, PALE AND INDIFFERENT.
Clouds pass over the MOON, engulfing it and plunging the scene into DARKNESS.
FADE TO BLACK.
THE END
XT. AVENUE A, NEW YORK CITY, MID-1980S-NIGHT
MUSIC: ‘DESTINATION UNKNOWN’ by MISSING PERSONS
CHEAT UNDER.
PUNKS, ARTISTS, NEW WAVERS spill out of nightclubs and dingy bars, thronging the streets, slam-dancing, puking.
Chrome choppers extend out into the street. A ZIT-FACED PUNK bumps the tire of one bike. A BEEFY BIKER in a ripped sleeve denim jacket adorned with flaming sculls charges the punk.
The punk feigns terror and flees, dangling a middle finger at the biker.
BIKER
You frickin’ little freak!
The biker stomps down the street, drunk, defiant, pushing CLUB HOPPERS and punks, bowling over a PREPPY COLLEGE STUDENT, huffing and snarling.
He halts in the middle of the street and glares at nothing in particular. BLUE NEON flickers over his sweaty face. ‘TAR PIT’ blinks upon his forehead. He looks across the street.
WILD-HAIRED FREAKS stream into the underground dive.
BIKER
We’ll git all of you freaks!
He raises a hairy arm to the sky and growls.
BIKER
My brothers and me are comin’!
INT. THE TAR PIT
The grimy interior is flanked by a horseshoe bar tended by a CRAGGY-FACE UKRANIAN and stained tables across the aisle.
A monitor plays a MTV cartoon caricature of Ronald Reagan tumbling down the steps of Air Force One over and over.
In the back, SLAM DANCERS crash into each other in front of a jukebox. A BLACK MAN and BLONDE go arm and arm into the MEN’s bathroom.
The bartender pours out shots and draft beer. He scowls at everyone he serves, except for NICK, a young man in a hunting cap. To Nick, he nods his head once when he pours a drink.
Nick’s friend, GRAY, powerfully built, dressed in a suit, shoves his way through the crowd and sidles up to the bar.
The bartender waves his hand dismissively at Gray and spits on the floor. Gray flips him the bird and points to the tap.
GRAY
The usual!
(to Nick)
Nick, old boy, as a member of the X Generation. Let me say, life is shit. A pure, thick, undiluted pile of shit. That’s my thing.
Nick sighs and shakes his head. The bartender slams down a shot and mug of beer.
UKRANIAN
This is the usual. Shit for you!
Gray scowls at the Ukrainian.
GRAY
And you want the usual two bucks for this watered down whiskey?
The bartender waves his hand again Gray. Gray waves his hand back at him, tauntingly.
UKRANIAN
I like your friend. A nice Gentile boy, from the country.
GRAY
How do ya know he’s not a Jew, like me. You commy scumbucket!
Gray throws a pile of change onto the bar. The coins scatter over the wood. The bartender scrapes them up.
NICK
Course my buddy Gray’s a Jew. He’s a NYU graduate law student and part-time bouncer, full-time Zionist and dickhead. Part of the X generation. Gray’s one of these ‘X”s. He’s as much a ‘X’ as these punk cuckoos.
The bartender shakes his head and points at Gray but addresses Nick.
UKRANIAN
His type love Reagan. They all love Reagan. I’ll take your money, tell him. Tell your friend, Nick, that I’ll take his money – chump change or thousand dollar bills. I’ll take it all. And I’m Ukrainian. Not Soviet, you Reagan loving…
GRAY
Jew! Go ahead and say it. I don’t care, you commy pinhead.
The Ukrainian raises his fist in the air and stomps away. Gray and Nick laugh, down their shots and slug their beer.
NICK
Okay, Gray, let me tell you something, you privileged Long Island puke. Life is like a big bucket of worms. You can plunge right into it and get repulsed. You know – all the slimy shit and stuff. Or you can pull out a big old juicy worm and catch a big old fat bass with it. A goddamned trophy! A lunker!
GRAY
Just what I’d expect from a Maine hick majoring in liberal arts.
NICK
Philosophy.
GRAY
What’s the difference?
NICK
The difference is about one thousand dollars a year tuition.
Gray glances at Nick and shakes his head.
GRAY
Look around you, Nick. This is what it’s about: the eighties! Generation X. These queer freaks around us – wanting to be different, and they all look the goddamned same…
Gray slurps down his beer and burps with true gusto. A PUNK with COCKATOO HAIR bobs towards him. Gray extends his hand to stop him, but Cockatoo whirls around and lands in Gray’s lap, dumping his mug of beer onto his suit.
Gray leaps up and power drives Cockatu into a table of BLUE-HAIRED PUNKS. Cockatoo lands on the table, knocking drinks everywhere. The punks shove him off the table and start to butt him with their heads. A MADONNA LOOK-A-LIKE claws at him and hisses.
Cockatoo butts them back and sputters.
COCKATOO
Hey, Mon! Let’s be hip! Be hip!
Gray balls up one fist and stands in front of the punks, ready to mix it up. Nick leaps up behind him.
And at that moment, the biker and THREE GANG BUDDIES barrel into the bar, tossing a PRINCE LOOK-A-LIKE to the side.
GRAY
This is a three-hundred dollar suit, Mon!
NICK
You done it now, Mon! Gray ain’t no…
BIKER
Pussies! You freakin’ pussies! C’mon you freaks, you freakin’ freak pussies! C’mon!
Gray grabs Cockatoo and shakes him like a rag doll. Nick steps alongside his buddy, just as the bikers smash into him, knocking his hunting cap to the floor. One biker draws a blackjack and starts to swing it at Nick.
MUSIC: CLASH’S ‘ROCK THE CASBAH’ explodes throughout the bar.
Gray tosses Cockatoo to the side and grabs the biker’s wrist and twists it, snapping the bone. The blackjack falls next to the hunting cap. Gray hurls the biker aside and double punches the other two. Nick dives into the fray.
Slam dancers and punks swarm over the bikers and Gray, and the entire mob surges back towards the front door. Nick is carried along with them.
Cockatoo picks up Nick’s cap and puts it on his head and bobs up and down to the music. The Ukrainian stands behind the bar, waving a small bat and scowling.
The Prince and Madonna lookalikes chase the mob out the door.
Coated in white powder, the black man and blonde stumble out of the bathroom, the only patrons left inside.
EXT. THE TAR PIT-NIGHT
Police cruisers squeal up to the front of the dive and COPS leap out, brandishing clubs, knives and blackjacks.
Bikers, punks, patrons swarm out of the Tar Pit and clash with the cops. Nick, Gray and Cockatoo tumble onto the street and fall onto the pavement, face to face.
Cockatoo, grinning, plucks the cap off his head and puts it on Nick’s head. They stare at each other, an unlikely trio.
COCKATOO
Hey Mons, that was wild! You bloody buggers can mix it up! It’s so cool to be so, like, consolidated.
GRAY
(disgustedly)
Consolidated? What in hell is that?
COCKATOO
Mon, you know. Sticking together. The Power of One. Us, man. Us!
NICK
You’re out of it, cockatoo head.
COCKATOO
The Power of One! One, Mon! One!
GRAY
One waste of a night out. One big waste of time. What’s the rest of this goddamned decade gonna be like?
NICK
It should be awesome, Gray. Really. One hell of a decade. Completely, totally pointless.
GRAY
Goddamned philosopher.
int. a one-room apt., n.y.c-night
Circa 1985 – two roomates, JAKE and JOSH, sit around in a dumpy apartment.
Jake, a hairy young man, sprawls across a saggy sofa. Josh, spike-haired and stringy, sits in a lawn chair with his jack boots up on a footstool.
A scene from THE EVIL DEAD screams on a small t.v. in front of them.
josh
Most of my life has involved the futile pursuit of happiness.
jake
Me too. I think.
josh
But I don’t know what that is.
Jake lifts his arm and reveals a bottle of beer sopping with suds. He takes a swig.
jake
I do.
(thinking)
But do you mean, happiness? Or the pursuit of happiness. There’s a difference, you know.
josh
I’ve come to the conclusion, in any case, that happiness sits on the hairy edge of despair, of near doom. Or even, certain doom.
jake
What’s the question again?
josh
I’ve come to that conclusion more than once. It’s come to me in strange ways. Sometimes, as an epiphany. Sometimes, as just a subtle recollection of a past event.
Jake tips his head back and gurgles down beer. Then he burps.
jake
You mean like a past life? I don’t know if I believe in that sort of sh-
josh
-Like this morning, for instance. I was taking a shit.
A WOMAN SCREAMS on the t.v.
jake
Sure. That I can relate to.
josh
And I’m sitting on the john, just sitting and pushing and squeezing and grunting and it’s all so hard and rough and hard-
jake
-oh yeah! Been there –
josh
-and just so frickin’ hard to get out! But brother, it came out! And it was so good, when it came out. That I was, for that short period, during release and aftermath, at piece. I was happy!
jake
Happy.
Josh takes his boots off the stool and sits up, peering seriously at no one in particular.
josh
But you know, I was right on the edge. Right there, at the door. When I was squeezing and grunting and everything inside felt like it was ripping out, I thought that maybe I was going to explode!
jake
Sounds pretty hairy.
josh
My head, my head in particular, felt like all the blood was going to pour out of my ears and gush through my brain and just blow up all over the place!
A HEAD EXPLODES on the t.v. screen.
jake
Jesus, I’ve heard of that. A stroke! I’ve heard of that happening to people. On the toilet, they push so hard, then –
Josh slaps his hands together.
josh
Exactemondo! They die! They die! Right in the midst of happiness! Right there, when everything is just going right, when everything is just getting all right!
jake
They crap out while taking a crap on the crapper. I heard of that.
Josh muses. He looks depressed, all of sudden.
josh
Let’s go find it.
Jake shows more animation than ever, sitting up and clapping his hands together.
jake
Yeah! Let’s do it, Josh old boy. Now you’re talking my talk. Yes! Let’s go find it, that son a bitch!
(thinking)
What? What are we going to find?
Josh gets up, rattling his chains.
josh
Happiness.
ext. a club, lower east side-night
EXT. RIVERSIDE PARK, NYC-EARLY MORNING
The mist crawls over the grounds of the present day park; a barge creeps down the Hudson River.
In the deep background, a tomb materializes through the fog.
A BLACK GROUNDSKEEPER with a utility cart shuffles past.
The barge BLOWS ITS HORN.
A SOLEMN DRUM BEAT CHEATS UP. This is gradually mixed with MEN SCREAMING, ARTILLERY, WAR SOUNDS.
FADE TO BLACK.
INSERT
montage, civil war scenes
War photos:
SCENES of SOLDIERS posing in camp, marching, cooking, waiting.
Scratchy images of CORPSES upon the battlefield, laid out along roads.
A CLOSE SHOT of one corpse reveals a SOLDIER BOY, not more than thirteen, eyes open in an expression of fear that signifies his last living emotion. A burn mark streaks across his chin, blackening one side of his face.
diSSOLVE TO:
O’Sullivan PHOTOGRAPH of GRANT at City Point, leaning against a tree in front of his command tent, expressing grim determination.
FADE OUT.
GRANT mutters in a gravelly voice :
GRANT(V.O.)
I cannot…I will not…see myself consigned to oblivion.
FADE IN:
Against the BLACK BACKDROP, a crimson quote appears, accompanied by a drum beat :
˜The essence of war is violence. Moderation in war is imbecility. ˜- John A. Fisher
dISSOLVE TO:
DARK RED FIELD, another quote:
˜Let us have peace.’- Ulysses S. Grant
EXT. UPSTATE NEW YORK, 1885-MORNING.
The sun burns through a mist shrouding the mountains. Morning doves coo; a rooster crows.
A dirt road winds its way past a few small cottages and a line of oak trees. In the background, a summer home stands partially wrapped in the fog. A GUARD OF THE GRAND ARMY is poised in the forefront, rifle resting against his soldier.
From another time, not so long ago, the booming echoes of a great calamity rise above the morning tranquility.
EXT. GRANT’S COTTAGE-MORNING.
The explosions grow in intensity as the tip of a pen scratches upon a white background. The movement of the pen is strong, steady, deliberate. The outline of a cracked hand emerges. The words do not flow; they march, letter by letter, at a rhythmic pace.
GRANT (V.O.)
No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted.
The pens stops and the white of the paper overcomes the letters, washes out the writing and becomes another shimmering pale wall of:
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. SHILOH, APRIL, 1862-DAY.
Petals flutter down through the sky, wafting over the ground and beneath pear trees, tumbling onto dying soldiers. Blood runs beneath clumps of petals. The red-white sheet becomes even more dull and stained as rifles crack and cannons explode from the distance. The white is now the gray of:
EXT. THE WILDERNESS, MAY, 1864-DAY.
Fire and smoke engulf woods; saplings burn and twist and leaves rip free of branches, shot off by bullets and musket balls.
A lifeless eyeball reflects the smoky carnage. The white of the eye streams with red veins which become:
EXT. PETERSBURG, JULY, 1864-NIGHT.
Blood flows down the sides of a massive crater. Fire blazes beneath the stars and BLACK UNION SOLDIERS slide down the side of the pit, bayonets slashing at them from the edge.
The end of one bayonet glistens with part of a bloody scalp attached to it. Flames flare up and become:
EXT. VICKSBURG DEFENSIVE WORKS, APRIL, 1863-NIGHT.
Explosions rip into the bank along Vicksburg. Union gunboats maneuver through artillery that rains down upon the Mississippi and return fire into the Confederate entrenchments.
A YOUNG CONFEDERATE BOY, no more than thirteen, his eyes ablaze, fires down from his trench upon the boats. A shell drops in front of him, obliterating him.
GRANT
(Voice Over)
…unconditional and immediate surrender… I propose to move immediately upon your works.
The lamps and shell fire upon the river mingle with the myriad reflections of stars in the sky. The ghastly scene fades away into:
EXT. GRANT’S COTTAGE-DAY.
The guard stands upon the road in front of the General’s home, a strong young man, jaw clenched, bayonet fixed alongside his face. He is poised upon the road, gazing down its long expanse as it dissolves into the morning fog.
The hand directs the pencil across the page, and the word ‘Napoleon’ is visible.
GRANT
I never admired the character of the first Napoleon, but I recognize his great genius…
Blood drips onto the page and the hand ceases its effort; it appears to shake, but only for a moment. The hand dabs at the blood spot and wipes most of it away, but a slight trace remains upon the paper.
GRANT
That little Frenchman never smoked a good cigar…
The face of the AGING GENERAL GRANT and ex-president materializes over the manuscript. It is a pale grim countenance. It is the face of someone who has seen many men die. It is the face of a man acknowledging with irony his own slow demise.
Grant coughs and presses a cloth against his mouth. A silk scarf is wrapped around his neck and he is wrapped in a luxury bathrobe not at all the picture of unpretentiousness for which he is known. He is sunk down low in a wicker chair, his notepad on his lap.
He begins to write some more but a coughing fit stops him. The guard turns towards Grant with concern. A woman’s figure moves into view on the other side of a window over the General’s shoulder. The strong countenance of JULIA, Grant’s wife, materializes.
A FLASH AND BOOM; Grant winces.
INSERT
AN AMERICAN FLAG BLOWING AGAINST A GRAY SKY
DISSOLVE TO:
The flag has become a TATTERED CONFEDERATE FLAG, ripped to pieces in a fusillade of bullets. A line of snarling REBELS, bayonets bristling, swarm over a hill.
A BLOOD-SOAKED JOHNNY REB lunges into the frame with a bloody bayonet. A powder shot from a musket blows his face apart.
The musket is held by GENERAL GRANT, seated upon his horse.
CUT TO:
Grant drops his pen. Blood drips onto the arm of the chair. A strong feminine hand presses upon his shoulder.
GRANT
Miserable thing.
He takes the hand and brings it to his lips. Then he thinks better of it, and moves it to the side of his face.
julia
You’re not so bad today. Least not as warm.
GRANT
Tell that to my throat.
Julia bends down and kisses his forehead. She presses his brow, then the other side of his face. Grant sighs and leans back.
GRANT
Julia, I need a sniff.
JULIA
I’ll get it for you. I’d ask the doctor first, but I know –
GRANT
You know my propensity to do what I please.
Julia smiles, nodding.
JULIA
Despite the advice of one of the best doctors in the East.
She goes inside.
GRANT
Make it a strong sniff!
Grant coughs and grabs his throat in pain. He drops his pen. He grimaces, tilts his head back and shuts his eyes.
A CROW CAWS.
He takes a deep breath. The crow caws again. And again.
Then the CAWING becomes a SCREAM. Grant’s eyes open, and he stares ahead. The sun sparkles over the tree tops; the guard stand vigilant in front of him.
diSSOLVE TO:
ext. grant tannery, ohio, 1832 – day
A YOUNG WOMAN IN A PETTICOAT negotiates the dirty boardwalk in front of the tannery. A SCREAM makes her jump. She glances through the front door of the tannery, then continues on.
YOUNG GRANT, a boy of ten, short, lean and dirty, crosses the road and approaches the tannery. A blood-soaked BUTCHER with a leather apron crosses in front of him and smiles.
BUTCHER
Well, hello there, little Grant!
The butcher goes inside the tannery. The boy halts in front of the door. A BUSINESSMAN passes by and waves politely to him.
JESSE GRANT, the boy’s father, steps out the front door. He’s a stocky man in suspenders with strong arms and a strong Scottish jaw.
JESSE
I saw you crossing over here. But you won’t come in?
Young Grant frowns.
JESSE
It’s a business like anything else, You gotta learn it sometime. If you expect to take it over.
Young Grant jams his hands into his pants and glares at the front door.
JESSE
It’s either you or your brothers! I’d prefer all of you, as co-partners.
Young Grant kicks a stone which rolls against his father’s boot. His father spits and wheels around to go inside.
JESSE
Damned if I know where you get that blasted stubbornness! Stay out in the road then, for all I care.
Young Grant kicks another stone with fury. It slaps the front of the building.
A WORKMAN walks by and scowls at Young Grant. This makes the boy more angry and determined to do something. He approaches the front door.
GRUNTS and SCREAMS.
He goes inside, into the dark.
INT. THE TANNERY
The boy peers into the gloom. A BURLY MAN shuffles past, dragging an animal carcass. MORE WORKERS cross in front of him, holding carcasses and cutting tools.
He looks across the room into an opening to an adjoining room. His father pushes at something, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to see Young Grant.
The boy walks over to the opening. His father pushes at the rump of a sheep. The animal BLEATS and rushes towards another brightly lit opening on the other side of this room.
INT. THE TANNERY, ROOM OUTSIDE SLAUGHTER PEN
Young Grant steps into the room, staying behind Jesse. It is strewn with animal entrails, fur, shredded hides.
SHEEP and PIGS and run in and out of the opening, SQUEALING AND SCREAMING. A club flies at them on the other side of the room.
Jesse kicks at a panicked HOG which snorts and runs back outside into the pen.
Then, the boy hears a quick WHUMP, followed by a horrifying SQUEAL.
Jesse turns and stares hard at his son, the veins in his eyes freezing blood-like.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. GRANT’S COTTAGE – DAY
Grant can still hear the SQUEALING as he opens his eyes.
Julia brings a cup of water with a brown bottle Grant takes the bottle and uncaps it. He takes one swig and hands the bottle back to Julia. Then, with trembling hand, he sips water from the tin cup.
GRANT
A water chaser for the doctor’s laudanum.
JULIA
Yes, good cold,clean, Saratoga Springs water with your ‘sniff’. What were you expecting?
GRANT
A good warm cup of Old Crow.
Julia shoots him a look that instantly diminishes the General in rank.
GRANT
Well, a bit of cynical humor, my dear. Given the circumstances.
Julia peers into the distance and smiles.
JULIA
Speaking of humor. Especially cynical. Look who’s come for breakfast.
The guard escorts an old gentleman with a large handlebar moustach who walks with a dapper stride and twirls a cane. The gentleman bows several times, even before he has reached the porch.
JULIA
Good morning, Samuel.
GRANT
Mornin’, Mr. Clemens.
SAMUEL CLEMENS, alias MARK TWAIN, bows for the fourth time as he bounds up the steps. The guard salutes and turns to go back to his post.
Twain salutes Grant and bows again to Julia. He steps forward and kisses her on both cheeks.
JULIA
Oh, you are the dandy!
twain
Moi? Ce n’est pas vrai, mademoiselle.
GRANT
(chuckling)
Mais, c’est tout vrai!
Twain laughs and starts to pat the General’s arm. He thinks better of it, and pats the edge of the chair.
TWAIN
General, there really are not that many people in this world who understand how cultured, how intelligent you are.
GRANT
Which is of no matter to me.
TWAIN
And I know that’s not true! As your editor, I can categorically deny that assertion. And as your editor –
(glancing at Julia with favor)
– I can optimistically report that the proofs of the first part of your memoirs are outstanding. Absolutely, undeniably and irrefutably outstanding!
Twain winks at Julia.
TWAIN
Of course, that’s one man’s opinion.
GRANT
Well, I seem to remember, Sam, that you’ve done a bit of penning yourself. And so, maybe – just maybe – your opinion counts for something.
JULIA
I would expect so!
Twain stands up and gives a little dandified hop. He jerks his hand into the side of his vestcoat and nods quickly.
TWAIN
I’m only here to pay my respects, General. And to inform you of the latest status from New York about the results of your grand efforts to let the world know about your exploits and and keen understanding of national events –
GRANT
– spoken like a true politician.
Twain stops in his tracks and looks hurt.
TWAIN
Why General…in all due respect, you equate me with a lowly politician? Why there’s only one thing I despise more than a politician who appears to patronize for the purpose of profiteering.
GRANT
And what would that be?
TWAIN
A politician without those admirable political qualities.
Grant chuckles and Julia smiles.
TWAIN
Okay, my attempt at humour has rusticated with age. I have come for THE biscuits!
Julia laughs.
JULIA
Then THE biscuits you shall have, Mr. Clemens. And some coffee, I expect, as well?
Twain starts to bow.
GRANT
Oh, stop, Sam! For the grace of God, don’t we know you by now.
Julia goes inside the house, laughing all the way.
Twain grins and looks about, somewhat nervously. Despite his friendship with Grant, there is something always imposing about the General that makes him uncomfortable.
TWAIN
Frankly, we do have a solid chance of selling these memoirs to a broad public.
Grant’s smile is so slight as to be nearly perceptible. His eyes start to fog over and the tin cup slips down on his finger.
TWAIN
I would say we have more than a good chance for it to be a bestseller.
The laudanum is having its effect, as Twain BECOMES FOGGY and WAVY in Grant’s vision. Twain’s voice ECHOES and DISTORTS.
TWAIN
(echoey)
Everything in it, up to Vicksburg, punches. It really has the punch. People can feel what it was like.
GRANT
Good.
TWAIN
The intensity, the urgency – it matches the tone of your telegraphs. Of the dispatches on the field.
Grant’s head bobs. His vision swims. Twain blurs and floats above him.
TWAIN
General, if you can forgive what proper company might consider vulgarity: it has outright cajones.
GRANT
Samuel…cajones?
Twain’s face floats BALLOON-LIKE in front of Grant. His grin splits open like the Chestire Cat.
TWAIN
Balls! Balls, sir. Ball, General. It is Mexican for balls.
GRANT
Balls?
TWAIN
(echoey)
Yes sir! Balls. Like you exhibited at Donelson. At Shiloh, when everything was just about lost…like when your critics lobbed cannonballs at you about your plain dress, your quietness – which they took for imbecility.
Grant guffaws.
TWAIN
Listen, sir, I too exhibited cajones and imbecility, when I presumed to be a riverboat captain.
grant
(slurring)
Yes, I remember reading your –
TWAIN
Bull feces! What do they know? Your memoirs stand to be a masterpiece! Make no mistake on this, sir. Doubt it not, General Grant! The first sets of proofs show real cajones! True cajones!
Everything begins to FADE OUT in front of Grant.
GRANT
Cajones? What…again, what…
TWAIN
(fading out)
Balls! It’s Mexican for balls, bravery, guts!
GRANT
That part isn’t right.
TWAIN
What do mean, sir? What part? What isn’t right?
GRANT
Mexico. Mexico…I haven’t properly laid out the situation.
Grant’s head bobs and turns around and around. Twain GLIMMERS against the whiteness of the emerging day, but he is only an outline now.
GRANT
(echoey)
Haven’t explained it. How we got there. How we fought there. Why we stayed there.
Julia’s face appears in front of Grant. She appears to be moving forward towards him, to kiss him.
Twain’s face tries to swing around hers but she looms larger and larger, blocking him out.
GRANT
Mexico…Mexico…Mon amour.
TWAIN
(from far-off)
Ton amour? Plus de la culture, mon Generale?
grant
Mexico was our romance. It was our amour…
faDE TO:
EXT. THE RIO GRANDE, 1847 – DAY
BROWN TAWNY FEMALE LEGS wash in the river. MEXICAN WOMEN bath, half-naked, laughing and gesturing as water drips from their smooth skin under the hot sun.
On the other side of the river, the U.S. ARMY is encamped. SOLDIERS leer at the women, some of them standing close to the edge, paying no mind to the thickets and rocky hills behind the temptresses.
YOUNG GRANT, a quartermaster, leans against a supply wagon. Soldiers roll howitzers and lug supplies forward. CAPTAIN PAGE strolls by and salutes. GRANT returns the salute as PAGE grins.
PAGE
Like the scenery, Lieutenant?
GRANT
I hadn’t noticed, sir.
PAGE
Then you’re the only one who hasn’t, Grant.
PAGE proceeds up the line, inspecting the artillery pieces and infantry. GRANT at first pretends not to pay attention to him, then sneaks a glance at the captain, noticing the way he carries himself: his smart steady gait, the scabbard strapped to his hip, the tight-fitting uniform.
A DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER, a mere boy, stands at attention and salutes PAGE. The soldier, in contrast to PAGE, is dirty, sweaty and ill-fitted to his uniform.
DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER
Good morning, Captain Page. You’re looking well, sir.
PAGE
Thank you. You’re looking somewhat hot.
DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER
Yes, sir. I expect I am, a bit, sir.
PAGE
Well, get some water from the quartermaster.
DUSTY-FACE SOLDIER
I will. Thanks, captain.
Page disappears behind a bend in the line. The soldier gazes back at the river, lost in the scene of long legs and naked brown skin. A BLUE-EYED SENIORITA gestures to him, raising her leg up out the water, exposing her hip and just a peek of her dark womanhood.
The soldier is practically drooling. He rests his musket against a wagon wheel and takes a few steps towards the river.
Grant watches him. A FAT SOLDIER steps out from behind the wagon and grins.
FAT SOLDIER
I’d give three sides of beef for a slice of that meat-
DUSTY-FACED SOLDIER
Well I got somethin’ to give, I expect.
The dusty-faced soldier continues towards the river. The Seniorita giggles and splashes in the water. The fat soldier leers. Other men along the line take an interest in the enticing sight.
Grant leans back against his wagon and tightens his grip on a sidearm. His expression, in contrast to other soldiers, is grim and wary.
Beyond the river, a line of thicket and dirt hills stretch well back to the horizon. Mountains loom in the distance. The sun glares into the river, casting a blinding reflection upon the American army.
Dusty-faced soldier, smirking and gawking, approaches the river’s edge. Fat soldier takes a few steps past the wagon, partly blocking Grant’s view.
Captain Page races down the line and yells at the wayward soldier:
PAGE
Get back up here, you damned rascal!
The dusty-faced soldier turns towards page, still grinning ear to ear. A CRACK from the thicket and a musket ball rips off one of his ears.
He plows headfirst into the sand. The seniorita screams and dives under the water, just as a fusillade of lead balls rip across the river into the American line.
The fat soldier stumbles backward, trying to find cover behind the wagon. A musket ball splits the corner and throws wood shivers into his face. Blood streams down his cheeks and he begins to howl like a baby.
Grant draws his sidearm and steps in front of the fat soldier. Without a trace of panic, he points the barrel ahead, seeking a target.
A wave of MEXICAN SOLDIERS rises up from behind the thicket and hills and fire across the river. Lead tears into the Americans. Grant fires his weapon, unperturbed.
A MEXICAN SOLDIER, his eyes peering down the barrel of a musket, takes a bullet between the eyes.
Grant watches the man fall, even as cannon shot and bullets explode around him, intent only upon the result of what he has just done.
A SANDY-HAIRED SOLDIER, a mere boy, crouches down in front of the wagon and tries to fire his musket. It fails to discharge as bullets fling up dirt around him. He tosses the weapon and flees.
A BALD SOLDIER, a much older man, starts to pull his sidearm, then loses it in a paroxysm of fear. He bends over to vomit, just as a cannonball whizzes over his head and explodes.
Dust and smoke engulf everything; Grant takes cover behind a wagon wheel and reloads his sidearm. He tries to aim through the smog but can’t make out a clear target.
Captain Page dashes past, his sword drawn.
PAGE
That’s it, boys! Let the greasers have it!
American howitzers plaster the other side of the river with shells. American musket balls start making their point, and the Mexican line retreats back into the thicket.
The Seniorita lies dead behind a bush, part of her breast exposed with a hole in it.
DISSOLVE
EXT. PALO ALTO, THE MEXICAN LINE-DAY.
Smoke and dust swirls around the town as the Mexican army attempts to fortify it. They form a line, bayonets flashing. Artillery rains upon them but they remain steadfast against the Americans.
A thicket-strewn plain separates the two armies. The Americans advance through sharp blades of high grass. Howitzers throw shells over their heads.
A MEXICAN CALVARY OFFICER raises his saber. His soldiers point their lances and maneuver their horses out front, on both sides of the infantry. They appear poised to meet the Americans.
Shells rain down and the front lines of the Mexican infantry blow apart in the precise bombing.
The horses whinny and buck under the assault. The calvary officer drops his saber and his men scatter about in confusion. The infantry attempts to stay intact; the Mexican artillery begin to answer with cannon fire.
EXT. PALO ALTO, THE AMERICAN LINE-DAY.
Grant stands in front of a wagon behind the American lines, watching the tall grass rip apart in front of him as Americans slash through it. Cannonballs drop into the thicket, followed by an eruption of fire and dirt, then blood and bone.
Part of a limb smashes against the side of the wagon. A piece of flesh lands in a open bucket of drinking water, throwing the dipper into the air.
TWO NEARBY SOLDIERS drop to their knees and aim their muskets. Another close explosion throws rocks and bones into their faces, knocking them to the ground.
Grant is struck on the side of the face with a rock and he staggers against the wagon. He pulls up his sidearm as another cannon ball falls in front of him and explodes. The concussion rips the weapon from his hand and throws him clear.
Yet another explosion rips off part of the canvas from his wagon.
Page charges past, followed by a BAND OF SOLDIERS with bayonets drawn. From the ground, Grant observes the young captain in action:
Page thrashing his way through the brush, soldiers following him.
Page calmly raising his firearm, leveling it, and firing.
Page diving into the sharp grass, disappearing for a moment, then charging out the other side with his sword drawn as he leads his men right at the Mexican line.
Page thrown off his feet by artillery.
GRANT
(voice over)
The trouble is now made by men who did not go into the war at all, or who did not get mad till the war was over.
Page sprawled across the ground, blood streaming from his face, his molars gleaming through the hole in his cheek.
GRANT
(voice over)
Those of the battlefield dead know no cowardice. God, if there is one, shall bless their souls.
Grant crouches over Page and stares at the wounded man. Page tries to talk but blood in his mouth silences him.
TWAIN
(voice over)
What? What is that now, General?
THICK SMOKE crawls across the ground, cloaking Grant.
twAIN
(voice over)
If there is a God?
dissOLVE TO:
ext. GRANT’S COTTAGE – DAY
Twain leans into Grant’s face. The General stares ahead, glassy-eyed. He turns and looks at Twain, not recognizing him at first.
twain
Is there a God?
Grant stirs and picks up his pen. He points it at the manuscript.
Julia stands over Twain, who is holding a hot cup of coffee. Both of them are still swimming in front of Grant.
JULIA
What kind of a question is that, Mr. Clemens? Of course there is – in all of nature, in all the things we do.
Grant is trying to write but his heads swims. He scribbles something in the margin. Twain bends close, very interested in those scribbles.
GRANT
It’s not the point of the thing.
Twain sips his coffee, gazing at the page.
TWAIN
Point of what, General?
JULIA
The medicine is affecting him.
GRANT
God!
Twain straightens up and takes a gulp of his coffee. He looks at Julia. She returns his look with a slight trace of reproach.
grant
I never saw Him on the field of battle.
Grant nods off and his pen falls onto the wood deck.
EXT. MONTERREY, mEXICO, 1847 – DAY
A dense arrangement of adobe homes and buildings surrounds the U.S. ARMY as it streams down the narrow streets. MEXICAN SNIPERS peek over the rooftop parapets and fire down at the Army.
American SOLDIERS and VOLUNTEERS, caked in grime and dressed in a variety of uniforms, proceed in tight units from house to house, firing through windows and at the rooftops. The Army has learned to engage in urban fighting, taking out the enemy a block at a time.
A SNIPER pokes his head over a parapet and aims his smooth bore.
A SNARLING VOLUNTEER swings around with his rifle and fires a bullet into the sniper’s forehead.
A SQUARE-JAWED AMERICAN SOLDIER glances into the black hole of window. A BLAST answers him and he drops back, taking some flying bits of mortar in the face but recovering. A FELLOW SOLDIER fires into the window and SOMEONE INSIDE GROANS.
EXT. MONTERREY, AN ALLEY
Grant stands with a FAT SERGEANT and SKINNY CORPORAL. They are all holding rifles and wearing scabbards. Grant has a single shot pistol holstered at the hip.
The Sergeant opens his ammo bag, rummages through it and curses.
CORPORAL
You ain’t out, already, Sergeant?
sergeant
Goddamned right.
(turning to Grant)
Lieutenant, you got any?
Grant pulls out bullets from his pouch and hands them to the Sergeant.
GRANT
I know where there’s more. But it’ll take a faster means of transport to get through this mess.
SERGEANT
We’re stuck in this Mexican shit bucket of a city if we can’t get more. I can’t make it back unless I can shoot –
coRPORAL
– same here! I’m down to two.
A STALLION rears up at the far end of the alley. A U.S. CALVARY OFFICER raises his sword and brandishes it with much bravado. He swings it around and yells several HURRAHS, right before a sniper’s shot blows him out of the saddle.
The stallion snorts and charges into the alley. Grant grabs it by the reign and slows it down, drawing it back out of firing range.
The corporal attempts to approach the downed officer. A musket ball smashes into the wall over his head head, followed by a a spurt of shooting in his immediate direction.
CORPORAL
(backing up into the alley)
Damned greasers!
sergeant
Damned lousy shooters, lucky for you!
Grant pats the stallions neck and gingerly swings himself up into the saddle. He hunches down and turns the horse, just about to spur it.
seRGEANT
Where you off to, Lieutenant?
GRANT
Get some ammo.
Grant spurs the horse and gallops out into the street.
ext. monterrey, plaza
Fierce fighting between U.S. and MEXICAN SOLDIERS explodes across the plaza. SNIPERS fire from the roofs; both sides engage in close range combat.
Grant gallops through the middle of this melee. He is hunched down low over the saddle.
Bullets kick up dirt around the stallion. A shot blows past Grant’s head and slams into a well. Another shot tears through the top of his saddle, just missing his rump.
Rifle and musket barrels point over the ledges, aiming directly at Grant. He flies across the plaza and drops over one side of the saddle. For a moment, it looks like someone found his mark.
A SNIPER drops his musket and stares. The stallion gallops away but there is no dead Grant lying on the ground.
SNIPER
Dónde está la bastard americano?
CLOSE – Grant has his left hand clutching the horn on saddle, his left boot still in the stirrup, his right hand and pistol entwined with the thick neck hair of the horse.
He holds on for dear life, the end of the plaza fast approaching. A U.S. INFANTRYMAN blurs by, pointing at Grant.
INFANTRYMAN
Go lieutenant! That’s some damned riding!
The infantryman glances over a a FAT SOLDIER hunched behind the corner of a wall.
INFANTRYMAN
That’s the quartermaster!
fat SOLDIER
(skeptically)
Ya mean Grant? That little runt? He don’t say much. I figured him for an idiot.
The stallion barrels towards the gate to the city. U.S. DEFENSIVE BRIGADES and supply wagons congregate behind it.
Grant’s head presses tightly against the stallion’s neck, the thick hair whipping his face.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. WEST POINT, ABOVE THE HUDSON, 1842-DAY
The mist over the river crawls up the bank, partially cloaking the buildings. Sailboats drift by.
GRUFF MAN’S VOICE
(Voice-over)
You never get two words out of him. The little runt.
int. riding stable, west point
CADET GRANT presses his head against the neck of a brown steed, the horse’s mane slapping his face.
Grant swings himself upright, the horse at a furious gallop. He puts it through the paces over a sawdust floor, rounding obstacles and jumping over poles. A uniform clings tightly around Grant’s small frame.
TWO SENIORS, A BROWN-BEARDED CADET and A BLOND CADET with an arrogant look, watch Grant from just inside the entrance to the stable.
brown-beard
(Gruff Man’s Voice)
What do you make of a runt like that?
BLOND
The runt can ride!
brown-beard
I’ll give him that, I will. All the good it’ll do him.
blond
He’s got the talent for a calvaryman. Which this man’s army hardly recognizes. The poor bastard.
Grant spurs the horse over a high pole and vanishes into a plume of sawdust.
BLOND
If anything West Point teaches a young prospect, it’s that connections count. Who you know. Who will help you, after the fun is over. Who will advance your career.
The Brown-beard nods. His friend jerks his head with know-it-all arrogance.
BLOND
He might as well be riding a brayin’ jackass as a horse. Without connections, in this man’s army anyways.
Grant re-appears out of the gloom, staring intensely, grimly right at the two seniors. He rides right at them. The Blond Cadet barely contains a smirk.
brown-beard
Look at him!
blond
Yeah, look at him. The poor bastard. The poor, unknown bastard!
Right in front of them, Grant rears up and turns the horse. He glances grimly at them over his shoulder.
blond
Ride on, Grant! Ride on!
ext. monterrey, other side of plaza-day
Grant adjusts himself along the flank of the horse, pulling himself up a just a bit to get a better grip.
ext. rooftop
A GRINNING SNIPER aims at Grant, whose head is now exposed. The sniper pulls back the flintlock mechanism, squeezes the trigger, THEN:
BLAM! A bullet smashes into the sniper’s head, knocking him over. His musket drops without going off.
ext. an alleyway
A U.S. SNIPER, hunched behind a barrel, pulls his smoking rifle back. He spits out a wad of tobacco and reloads.
ext. front gate at monterrey
Grant arrives in a whirl of dust. A DASHING CALVARY CAPTAIN rides out from behind a line of wagons carrying WOUNDED SOLDIERS.
CALVARY CAPTAIN
That’s a fine piece of riding, Lieutenant.
Grant swings himself off the horse and coughs out dust. Bullets fly over them and they both duck down. The Captain gets a good look at Grant and eyes him curiously.
CALVARY CAPTAIN
Aren’t you the quartermaster?
grant
One of them.
calVARY CAPTAIN
How did you come across a horse?
grant
One of your men didn’t need it anymore, unfortunately.
The Captain peers carefully at Grant.
cALVARY CAPTAIN
One of mine?
Grant raises a hand.
GRANT
Shot off.
The Captain walks over to the horse and takes the bridal.
CALVARY CAPTAIN
What, pray tell, were you doing out there in the middle of that mess?
(pointing across the plaza)
Given that you are the quartermaster, and your wagons, presumably, are somewhere behind us.
Grant reacts with some impatience.
GRANT
I need ammo.
The Captain shrugs and starts walking away with the horse.
GRANT
I’ll be needing that horse, Captain!
caLVARY CAPTAIN
No, sir. I’m requisitioning it.
The Captain is getting further and further away. Grant explodes in silent rage, riveted to his spot, fists clenched.
The Captain glances back and yells out:
caLVARY CAPTAIN
This horse belongs with a calvary man. Not a quartermaster.
Grant takes a few steps forward, as if he’s ready to spring at the Captain. TWO WAGONS loaded with CORPSES rattle across his path. THE DEAD stare with apathy at Grant.
ANOTHER WAGON carrying WOUNDED SOLDIERS blocks his path. A SOLDIER WITH HIS ARM BLOWN OFF grits his teeth and seems to implore Grant to end his misery.
ANOTHER SOLDIER WITH ENTRAILS HANGING OUT props himself up in the wagon and releases an INHUMAN SCREAM.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. THE TANNery
The SCREAMS OF ANIMALS BEING BUTCHERED overwhelm Young Grant. He stands in a sawdust pit, trying to stay out of the way of WORKERS beating bloody hides and flaying carcasses.
Through the opening from the tannery, the boy sees a GOAT’S THROAT BEING CUT. He wheels around and flees, hitting a BLOOD-SOAKED WORKER on the way out.
ext. THE TANNERY
Young Grant spills out into the road. A CARRIAGE narrowly misses running over him. His father, smoking a pipe, stands over him with disapproval on his face.
jeSSE
Well, I don’t expect you’ll amount to much.
Young Grant glares back at his father. For a boy, his expression conveys a grim stubbornness well beyond his years.
ext. MONTERREY, PLAZA
Grant stands amidst the back lines, the dust and wagons rolling by him. He glares at nothing in particular.
A BOYISH CALVARY SOLDIER trots up to Grant, staring nervously across the plaza at the smoke and tumult before him. A STOUT CALVARY OFFICER rides past and points ahead.
stout officer
(to the Boyish Soldier)
What are you waiting for, sir? Head up the charge for the calvary boys!
The Boyish Soldier spurs his horse with very little energy. Just as the horse moves ahead, a WAGON WITH WOUNDED SOLDIERS rumbles in front of him, the MAIMED screaming and moaning.
The Boyish soldier pulls up, unable to continue.
Grant walks up to him and grabs the reigns.
grant
You are looking a touch peaked.
boyish soldier
(sheepishly)
I’m a feelin’ it.
GRANT
Let me take your horse. C’mon now.
Grant helps the soldier down, then deftly swings himself up into the saddle.
GRANT
Now I’ll tell you what: you race on back there to the ammo wagons and get me a satchel of rifle bullets and a satchel of musket balls. Enough to serve up a regiment. Think you can do that?
boyish soldier
I think so.
Grant stares grimly at the boy. It is his trademark look.
The boy straightens up and salutes. Then he turns and runs towards supply wagons at the front gate of the city.
GRANT
That a boy.
ext. MONTERREY, side street – dusk
Grant charges through the streets, musket balls smashing the walls around him. He steers the horse towards a BAND OF AMERICAN SOLDIERS hunched down along a building.
He gallops over to them and throws an ammo satchel at them. ONE SOLDIER
XT. NORTHWEST TEXAS-DAWN
A COMANCHE WAR PARTY moves along a ridge above a rocky cliff of mesquite and prickle pear cactus.
The WANDERER, a scruffy mean-eyed man hunches down on a stallion behind a large rock, watching the Indians pass ahead. He’s well armed, with a smooth bore musket resting across his saddle and wearing a holstered Colt revolver and sheathed Bowie knife.
The last of the party disappears over the ridge. The Wanderer spits, revealing a row of vicious yellow teeth.
EXT. COMANCHE SETTLEMENT-DAY
The Wanderer gallops out of the thicket and charges at the first tee-pee, his right hand gripping the musket.
A BOY BRAVE lunges from behind the tee-pee, tomahawk raised. The Wanderer rears up, aims his musket and blows a hole through the boy’s chest.
As the Wanderer reloads the musket, SCREAMS OF WOMEN and CHILDREN rise from the settlement.
ANOTHER YOUNG BRAVE AND HIS MOTHER emerge from a tent. The brave pulls back on the shaft of his arrow as the Wanderer grins and leaps off his horse, putting the animal between himself and the brave.
The brave keeps a steady line on where the Wanderer stands. He can see the man’s boots beneath the horse’s belly. The brave holds the shaft firm: steady, steady…
The horse wheels around face first, kicking up dirt. The young brave is momentarily blinded, and the Wanderer coolly steps from behind the horse and fires the musket, hitting the boy in the head.
The mother screams and lunges with a tomahawk raised. The Wanderer draws the Colt and fires into her heart.
He rips open the flap of the nearest tee-pee and enters. A YOUNG SQUAW screams and tries to scratch him. He backhands her, then points his Colt at her. She crouches against the corner.
The Wanderer grabs pelts, blankets and beads and goes back outside to his horse. MORE WOMEN AND CHILDREN rush towards him; he fires one shot in the air, and they stop.
He straps the pelts and blankets to his horse, and stuffs the beads into a saddle bag. He moves on to the next tee-pee, rummaging around inside for a few moments, then coming out with another haul.
A VERY YOUNG BOY advances on the Wanderer, brandishing a small knife. The Wanderer stops in front of his horse, wheels around and grins with amazement. He holsters his Colt and whips out the huge Bowie knife, waving it and shaking his head at the ‘naughty boy’.
He laughs as the boy stands in place, sulking but not doing anything.
EXT. A RIDGE ABOVE SETTLEMENT-DAY
The Wanderer trots away from the Comanche settlement, his horse weighted down with booty. COMANCHE WOMEN wail over the bodies of their dead.
EXT. A DENSE THICKET-LATER
The Wanderer whistles quietly as he and his horse meander through the brush beneath a high cliff.
An arrow whistles through the trees and strikes the Wanderer in the shoulder. Another hits him in the leg. He groans and raises his musket.
A SHADOW FIGURE crashes towards him through the trees, a sharp black point rising above its head. The Wanderer aims and starts to pull the trigger.
A lance strikes him in the back of the head. The musket EXPLODES and all goes BLACK.
FADE TO:
ext. open plains-day
The Wanderer is stripped to the waist, lashed to a pole. The hot sun beats down. A cigar curls smoke into his face.
A MEXICAN BANDIT and COMANCHE CHIEF stand before him, their horses off to the side. The Mexican grins from beneath his sombrero.
MEXICAN
Ah Gringo, as a fellow bandido, let me give you some advice.
He chomps on his cigar, chuckling. The Chief stares impassively at the Wanderer.
MEXICAN
You can kill their braves, you can raid their tee-pees. That is something I know, si? But you never kill the wife of a chief.
The Chief begins shouting in gutteral angry spurts. The Mexican nods, then shrugs.
MEXICAN
I understand little of what he says but it cannot be good. I am just a paid guide for his people, for now. I show him where to raid, he pays me in plunder.
The Mexican taps the cigar approvingly.
MEXICAN
Good cigars, coin, guns…very good. But you, now, what is in store for you?
The Chief pokes the Wanderer in the chest, then presses his finger into the arrow wound in his arm. The Wanderer winces and moans. The Mexican feigns surprise.
MEXICAN
The braves wanted to gut you and leave your insides hanging out for the vultures and coyotes. But the chief, he does not care for this thing.
The Chief steps back and gestures to the blazing sun, then to the expanse of sky above. Vultures circle overhead.
MEXICAN
This wise chief, he thinks you are a warrior on the wrong path. He wishes to give you a chance to fight. I know this from having seen it done before to others.
The Chief points down to the Warrior’s waist. His Colt is still attached to him.
MEXICAN
It is said among these people that the spirit of the dead will follow you through the ages. So you keep your weapon. You will stay alive, on this pole. And as the hot sun beats down on you, gringo, you will move through time, pursued by the spirit of the chief’s wife.
The Chief ‘harrumphs’ and strolls over to his horse. He untethers a small pouch.
MEXICAN
Her spirit, it is said, is a towering ugly beast, a pointy thing. It is summoned by the Sun.
The Mexican points his cigar at the burning sun and laughs. The Chief walks over and holds up the pouch to the Wanderer’s mouth.
MEXICAN
I know nothing of these stupid tales. These are stupid things that they believe. But I know that if I were you, tied under this sun, I would see a beast coming. Oh yes, my gringo friend, I would see a Beast!
He laughs heartily and taps the pouch.
MEXICAN
You had better drink!
The Chief shoves the mouth of the pouch against the Wanderer’s lips. The Wanderer sips, then gulps, then chokes and spits it out. The Mexican almost falls backwards with mirth.
MEXICAN
Oh, the chief did not tell you, non? That is the water that passes through a man! Ha, ha! Water on the ground is hard to come by here! So you drink what you already have. Ha!
The Chief glares at the Wanderer, then abruptly turns and mounts his horse.
The Mexican pats the Wanderer’s shoulder, just above the wound.
MEXICAN
These stupid tales. Do not believe them. The only Beast you will see is above you.
The Mexican peers up at the sun, then looks over at the chief and grins. For the first time, the Chief appears to smile, ever so slightly.
The Mexican glances back to the Wanderer and nods.
MEXICAN
Yes, gringo, I will cut his throat the first chance I get. That you can believe. Once I have what I need from him, I will send him to his wife.
The Mexican goes over to his horse and mounts it. He tips his sombrero to the Wanderer.
MEXICAN
And then you will have two Beasts following you through the ages. Adios!
The Mexican and the Chief gallop away, the Chief’s hairdress becoming a black point against the horizon, as both riders vanish into the shimmering heat waves.
DISSOLVE TO:
The sun blazes upon the Wanderer’s blistered face. He tries to work his hands and arms free from the tight bound rope. There is some play, but not enough to get loose.
The vultures circle overhead. A MANGY COYOTE meanders in front of him and disappears behind a line of boulders.
The landscape SHIMMERS and PALPITATES. Features move in and out of FOCUS.
The Wanderer’s lips crack and bleed; his hands continue to work on the knots. His head lolls and he fights unconsciousness.
The sun ENGULFS his sight, encompasses his very being. Then, a PHOENIX-LIKE SHAPE blocks it. A VULTURE swoops overhead, its triangular head reaching a black point, its eyes beady and red.
It swoops closer to the Wanderer, and he SCREAMS. The vulture SCREECHES.
FADE TO BLACK.
FADE IN:
ext. a dry creek bed-day
A mass of metallic figures, meshed together, approach from the distance. LIGHTNING FLASHES BEHIND them.
The Wanderer lies face down in the rocky bed. He lifts himself up, groggily. He is still stripped to the waist, his arm caked in dried blood and mud.
He examines his wrists, scraped and raw, broken strands of rope wrapped around them.
He looks down the bed and watches the metallic procession rapidly closing. LIGHTING AND THUNDER CLAPS.
The mass becomes AN ARMY OF CONQUISTADORS, swarming over the landscape, muskets and pikes waving, spiked helmets leaping up and down.
The Army is rushing right at the Wanderer as the sky rips open with a sudden downpour of rain and hail.
He reaches for his Colt and aims it at a FIERCE-EYED SOLDIER. He’s about to fire but LIGHTNING STRIKES in front of him.
The first line of soldiers is electrocuted; the rest tumble over them. Water rushes down the bed like a tidal wave and sweeps them off their feet.
The Wanderer scrambles up out of the bed, trying to get above the flash flood. As he does, a nightmarish ROAR mixes with the THUNDER.
Some of the soldiers make it above flood and disperse on both sides of the bed. ONE SOLDIER shouts and points at the frothing water: THE BEAST, metallic and barbed, with a black point above its searing red eyes and dragon-toothed maul, materializes liquid-like at the surface of the water.
Then, the Beast rises up against the sky, and SCREAMS. Like a metallic serpent, it glistens and sizzles with electricity. Lightning strikes it and forks from it, cutting down many of the soldiers.
Other conquistadors fire muskets and hurl lances at it. A MOUNTED CONQUISTADOR races along the bank and aims a lance squarely at the Beast’s eye. He is just about to throw it, when the Beast lunges forward with iron claws and grabs the horse’s head and rips it off.
The Conquistador somersaults forward into the water. The Beast reaches down and impales him on its claw and throws him high into the sky.
The mangled body drops in front of the Wanderer. The face is that of the Mexican.
The Beast is looking at the Wanderer, its eyes burning into him like red-hot coal.
The Wanderer pivots and staggers away, clutching his Colt. He hears the ROAR of the Beast behind him. He hears its DEEP VOICE, in COMANCHE, speaking to him.
BEAST (SUBTITLE)
Like the lightning around you, I will strike no matter where you go.
The Wanderer climbs a hill above the tumult. CALVARY swarm below, clashing with the Beast.
Lightning FLASHES before the Wanderer.
BEAST (SUBTITLE))
We have forever to meet, in Endless Moons.
Lightning STRIKES in front of him. ALL GOES WHITE.
BEAST (SUBTITLE)
There is no death.
DISSOLVE TO:
THE MOON.
EXT. DECK OF A PIRATE SHIP-NIGHT
The Wanderer is sprawled out upon slimy planks, rope still dangling from his wrists, his Colt still clutched in his hand. His pants are shredded up to his knees.
A SHADOW passes over him. He looks up to see a huge bearded black bucaneer, the CAPTAIN, with an array of rings, shells and finger bones dangling from his ears.
More PIRATES gather around him and stare at the Wanderer.
CAPTAIN
Look at the bloody eel washed up on the deck.
A SCAR-FACED PIRATE leans down and leers.
SCARFACE
Aye, and I wager there be more of the English scurvy tryin’ to climb up.
The Captain draws a cutlass and waves it over his head. Pirates scurry to look over the deck.
The Captain slashes his cutlass down upon the Wanderer’s gun hand, pinning it to the deck and drawing blood. Scarface points a blunderbuss in his face and pulls back the flint.
CAPTAIN
We give the Queen our fond regards for sending us her vermin.
AN EXPLOSION rips apart the forecastle and sets the mast on fire. The concussion throws Scarface backwards and his weapon fires into the air.
The Captain raises his cutlass and runs to the bow. The Wanderer scrambles away, barely able to hang on to his gun with his wounded hand.
CANNON BALLS CRASH onto the deck, blowing holes in it. Pirates race to the aftdeck canons and fire out into the sea.
The glow from the fire illuminates another ship closing fast, the English flag flying from it. The Captain gets behind one canon and kicks the GUNMAN in the rear.
CAPTAIN
Blast the beggars to hell, damn you, you piece of rat shit!
The gunman torches the canon. As the wick flames up, the water between the ships boils. The Captain stares at the sea, perplexed.
Another canon ball smashes behind him, throwing debris and splinters into the Wanderer’s face.
The aft canon fires and the flaming ball arcs over the sea towards the English ship. As it does, the water is illuminated, and a MASSIVE BLACK FORM cuts the surface.
CAPTAIN
Spawn of hell!
Tenacles rise in a frothy mix of seeweed and CORPSES. The bulbuous mass stretches across the expanse of sea and tenacles slam the English ship, ripping its sails to pieces.
The Wanderer slinks back towards the rear of the ship as the tenacles tower overhead. He glances down the deck to see Scarface aiming his reloaded weapon at him.
The Wanderer draws his Colt to fire, just as a tenacle crashes down upon the ship, obliterating the pirate and tossing the vessel sideways.
The Captain, his gunman and the canon slide towards the side. Other pirates tumble overboard.
The Beast rises: a black-pointed, barnacle encrusted behemoth with glowing-red eyes and a dagger-like beak.
The ship lists violently. The Captain slashes at a tenacle with his cutlass and falls into its slimy grip. He bellows as the Beast drags him over the side.
A tenacle sweeps across the deck and catapults the Wanderer into the sea.
EXT. BENEATH THE OCEAN
Bubbles swirl around him; blood and bones float past. The Wanderer dives below the morass of tenacles and debris, down into the blackness.
A PIRATE CORPSE floats past him. It leers back at him with the face of the Mexican.
The Wanderer chokes on water, struggling to hold his breath as he clears the sinking wreck.
As he glances up to the surface, the Beast’s eyes glare back at him. A tenacle reaches down, trying to sieze him.
The Wanderer dives deeper, choking and gagging. BUBBLES ERUPT AROUND HIM.
DISSOLVE TO:
ext. beneath a swamp
The BUBBLES DISSIPATE, revealing a murky green world of STRANGE FANG-TOOTHED FISH and GOGGLE-EYED EELS.
The Wanderer flails near the bottom, stripped now to a mere loincloth, the Colt in his hand. He launches himself to the surface.
ext. a jungle-day
The Wanderer gasps for breath as he drags himself up onto a sandy shoal. A canopy of moss-covered trees and giant ferns surrounds him. BIRDS SCREECH and UNEARTHLY SCREAMS emanate from the woods.
He struggles to his feet, then gasps. His legs are encased in long pulsating leeches.
Panicked, he rips them off. The Colt DISCHARGES accidentally.
The jungles becomes silent, for a moment.
The Wanderer staggers up the beach and stops at the edge of the trees. He stares up through the trees. The tops of them start to shake.
The branches part. A pair of eyes glowers at him. A huge grated head pokes through, white teeth prominently displayed.
The GIGANOTOSAURUS ROARS.
The Wanderer slips between some ferns and hunches down behind them. The branches snap and fall to the ground as the dinosaur moves towards him. He aims his Colt at it.
The swamp churns as a SERPENTINE SHAPE glides along the surface and rises. The head of the Beast emerges: scaly, black-pointed, red-hot coal-burning eyes.
The Giganotosaurus lunges and tears into the Beast. They thrash and struggle and collapse into the swamp.
The Wanderer backpeddles deeper into the jungle away from the tumult. He gets just out of sight and feels his legs sink suddenly.
Quicksand is sucking him down. He struggles as the putrid muck engorges him, and a BROWN VEIL COVERS his sight.
DISSOLVE TO:
ext. a desert
A SANDSTORM RAGES. The Wanderer fights his way out of a dune and looks up.
THE SPHINX towers over him, its base half-covered in sand.
Beyond, just visible through the walls of blowing sand, the Pyramids loom. Between them, a line of camel-mounted BEDOUIN WARRIORS move towards the Wanderer. They brandish scabbards and shields and don’t look friendly.
The Wanderer, pathetic in his nakedness, barely able to stand, points the Colt at the approaching line.
A FUNNEL OF SAND shoots up in front of the Bedouins, causing the camels to halt. The Voice of the Beast cuts through the ROAR of THE WIND, first in Comanche.
BEAST (SUBTITLE)
Through many moons and places I will hunt you.
A LONE BEDOUIN slaps his camel and screams. He raises his scabbard and dashes straight at the funnel. The Beast speaks in English.
BEAST(V.O.)
Through endless moons.
The funnel transforms into a hulking SAND BEAST, the black-pointed head and coal-red eyes seeming to float upon its shifting mass.
BEAST (V.O.)
Through endless moons, where there is no death.
The Bedouin plunges directly into the funnel and is sucked up into its vortex and hurled forward. He lands headfirst at the Wanderer’s feet, his neck SNAPPING.
The wind rips the veil off; it is the face of the Mexican.
The Bedouin Warriors charge the Beast. It rotates and expands and EXPLODES into the midst of the sandstorm.
The Wanderer sights down the Colt at the only thing he can still see: the red eyes. He pulls back the trigger, but a WALL OF SAND drops upon him.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
A WALL OF DUST and DEBRIS cascades through the streets as a panic-stricken MOB flees from disaster.
INSERT
TWIN TOWER COLLAPSING.
The Wanderer coughs and gags as he runs, nearly naked, through the street, still clutching his Colt. The dust cloud rushes up in back of him.
A PARAMEDIC tries to stop him.
PARAMEDIC
Hey buddy, let me help you!
The Warrior points the gun in the Paramedic’s face. The Paramedic puts up his hands and steps aside.
The Wanderer takes a turn into an alley and plunges down it, desperate to escape the smoke and people. He squeezes past a delivery truck which is blocking most of the passage.
Right in front of him, TWO SCRUFFY DRUG DEALERS are completing a deal. FIRST DEALER wheels around and sees the Wanderer. He has the Mexican’s face. The Wanderer freezes.
first DEALER
Hey man, vamos!
The SECOND DEALER shoves money in his pocket and pulls out a pistol. He has a hard expression, like he’s killed before.
He aims the pistol at the Wanderer.
SECOND DEALER
Nowhere to go, brother. The world’s coming to an end, ain’t it?
He no sooner says this, then SMOKE POURS into the alley. The second dealer lowers his weapon and scurries away.
SECOND DEALER
Let’s get outta here!
The Wanderer raises his Colt and points at the second dealer, but he has already disappeared out the other end of the alley. The first dealer stares at the Wanderer.
FIRST DEALER
Man, were you part of all that?
The Wanderer doesn’t know what he means. SMOKE SURROUNDS him and the first dealer starts to FADE. They both start to cough.
FIRST DEALER
You look like you were. You look like you come out of one of those buildings. The ones that fell.
They both DISAPPEAR in the GLOOM.
The black-pointed head and eyes float through the smoke.
FIRST DEALER (O.C.)
You look like you got away. You cheated death. You got away from it.
(fading)
You got away from it.
FADE TO:
ext. london-night
INSERT
BIG BEN CHIMES MIDNIGHT.
The Wanderer creeps from out of a dark alley onto a gaslit cobble street. There is no one else around.
He walks past a poster proclaiming: ‘Have You Seen The Fiend Known as Leather Apron?’
Further down the street, he sees a DARK SHAPE crouched over a BODY. As he gets closer, the Wanderer notices the blood spilling onto the street and that the body is that of a WOMAN.
The RIPPER is dressed in a dark derby and overcoat. He has a black bag next to him. He works feverishly over the victim, cutting out organs.
The Wanderer comes up behind him and aims his Colt at the Ripper. The fiend turns around slowly, as if expecting him, a long bloody knife moving into the light.
As the Ripper faces the Wanderer, his derby falls off, revealing a hideous black point, red-hot eyes and a fanged, wolfish mouth. It is the Beast.
BEAST
What a bloody coincidence, eh? We can’t seem to get away from one another, can we, now?
The Wanderer squeezes the trigger. The Beast grins with malevolence.
beast
I right well expect you to join in with this little party. You, who knows a bit about killing? Isn’t that right? Isn’t it?
A BOBBY steps into the street at the far end and holds up a lantern.
BOBBY
You there! I say…
The Beast lunges past the Wanderer, slashing him in the side with the knife, and disappears into the shadows. The Wanderer grabs his side and staggers off the street into an alley
BOBBY (O.C.)
Stop! Stop!
A WHISTLE BLOWS. SHOUTS and CLOMPING OF MANY FEET.
bobby (O.C.)
It’s the Ripper! The Ripper!
The Wanderer slinks into the dark. He goes a little ways, then falls into a DARK HOLE, tumbling down an incline that does not seem to end.
DISSOLVE TO:
ext. a devestated city-dusk
The Wanderer tumbles down a garbage shoot and falls into an open bin. He is surrounded by rotted, rancid garbage, overrun with rats and insects.
Revulsion overcomes him as he pulls himself from the bin and drops onto a deserted street. He knocks cockroaches and slime from his near-naked body, the Colt still clutched in his hand.
He gazes around at the bombed-out buildings, gutted vehicles and CORPSES in various states of decay sprawled out on the street and sidewalks.
No birds flies overhead; nothing is alive. The sky is a strange blood-red hue, without a setting sun to view.
The Wanderer scans the tops of the buildings and sees SOMEONE standing in a blasted out window, ten stories above.
It is the figure of a MAN, dressed in a dark suit, with a white, fang-like smile. He waves.
The Wanderer squints, and can make out that the man is none other than the Beast. The black-pointed head nods; the coal-red eyes pulsate.
The Wanderer raises his Colt, yet again, to his target. The Beast does not move. His hand trembles as he squeezes the trigger, yet again.
Past the building, a MUSHROOM CLOUD billows overhead. The sky tears open with a FLASH OF LIGHT and an EXPLOSION.
All goes SEARING WHITE.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. OPEN PLAINS-DAY
The post upon which the Wanderer was lashed is toppled over, rope hanging off of it. A rattlesnake slithers past.
EXT. OPEN PLAINS, SOMEWHERE ELSE
The Wanderer glances away from the burning sun, his naked body blistered and scraped. He staggers across a desolate expanse, the heatwaves SHIMMERING before him.
He collapses into the dirt and gasps. He can see a line of rocky hills far off in the distance, his view partially blocked by the Colt.
A EERY WHISTLING stirs him, so that he looks up. Something approaches.
The Wanderer forces himself to his feet. He slowly breaks into a grin, raising the Colt as he does.
In the distance, fluttering in the heatwaves, a dark-pointed metallic FORM advances, coming at him fast and hard. The eyes are glowing red and SMOKE pours from its nose.
The Beast is coming.
The Wanderer smiles ever more, the Colt wavering in his hand. He walks feebly forward to make his rendezvous.
COMANCHE DRUMS BEAT and CHANTING RISES from the plain. The Beast speaks in Comanche tongue.
BEAST (SUBTITLE)
Many moons, and many places, you and I shall go. Forever. Forever…
WANDERER
No! Not forever. I can’t die. You said that!
The Wanderer begins to laugh hysterically. A LOUD BLASTING WHISTLE accompanies the DRUMS and CHANTING.
WANDERER
You said that! Heh, heh! You said that!
He pulls the trigger. The Colt FIRES.
wanderer
But I can kill you! I can kill you! I can!
The SCREAMING Beast bears down upon him. The Wanderer fires and fires and fires. The Beast is on top of him.
WANDERER
Die, you son-of-a…
Fires. Fires.
The black-point, glowing-red eyes descend upon him. The Wanderer SCREAMS as the massive thing smashes into…
ext. the ridge-day
From his mount high upon a cliff, the Chief observes the train as it plows through the naked, beserk man upon the track.
He glances down in front of his horse. The Mexican is stretched out upon a rock, wearing a stupid grin above the deep cut in his throat. His torso is shot through with arrows.
The Chief turns his head and gazes to the horizon, where he sees his BRAVES riding against the sun.
THE END
Creativity