"Dark City", early, by Alex Proyas
DARK CITY
by
Alex Proyas
REVISED DRAFT
November 29th, 1992
DARKNESS
A LOW RUMBLE increases in volume.
FADE UP:
A BLACK-GLOVED HAND wraps around a bulky electrical lever,
thrusts FORWARD.
SNAP! - Electricity arcs through darkness.
O.S. sound of MACHINERY turning ON.
TITLES OVER
MONTAGE OF CLOCKS starting - various. Second hands turn -
TICKING gets louder.
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
SHADOWS DANCE. A bare bulb swings from the ceiling revealing:
clothes on a chair, puddles of water on the floor...
SLEEPING EYES in and out of darkness. The eyes open.
Confusion.
WIDEN ANGLE ON JONATHAN WHITE - a man in his early thirties,
dark featured.
He sits up. Water splashes. He's in a tub of long cold water.
His neck aches like he's been sleeping forever.
He looks down into the murky water around him. A feint
movement beneath the surface, something swimming - A SMALL
DARK SHAPE. Startled, he leaps from the bath.
ANGLE - THE SWINGING LIGHT BULB. The man's hand reaches up,
stops the light-bulb mid swing.
He steps to a circular window. The glass is cracked, covered
in grime. He wipes it, this only smears the dirt.
It's dark out there.
EXT. BUILDING - NIGHT
ANGLE ON WHITE - from outside the window, through blurry
glass.
A RAPID FLYING P.O.V. PULLS BACK in silence. The window is a
SPECK on the side of a vast grey tower.
BACK IN THE BATHROOM
White shivers, cold. He stares down at the puddle he drips on
the floor. He looks at his feet and legs, covered with
numerous SMALL BITES. He dries the bloody wounds with a towel.
He picks up the clothes lying on the chair, puts them on.
Loose trousers with braces, a plain shirt, leathers shoes with
HOLES in both soles. In his trouser pocket he finds a key -
a room number on a plastic tag.
He hears splashing in the bath-tub. He steps over, looks into
the murky water. Suddenly a SMALL SILVER FISH leaps from the
water, lands at his feet, panting heavily and flapping about.
He leans down, picks the fish up, throws it back into the
water.
Like a blind man, he feels the walls, comes to a door in the
shadows. He hears something on the other side, hesitates, hand
inches from the doorknob. He leans down.
TIGHT ON HIS EYE
Blinking through the key-hole.
P.O.V. OF AN EMPTY ROOM - A glimpse of motion - the door
across the room (leading to a corridor?) is shutting.
INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
WHITE pushes the door open, steps into the adjoining room.
No sign of life. Cheap decorations. He walks around
cautiously. Turns lights on. Then reconsiders. Turns them off
again. Disturbed, he studies his features in a wall mirror.
ANGLE ON OPEN BATHROOM DOOR - the fish has jumped from the tub
again and is flapping on the floor.
White steps back into the bathroom. He picks up the fish again,
doesn't know what to do with it, so he puts it in his pocket.
BACK IN THE OTHER ROOM
He searches through things. A grey overcoat in the closet. He
goes through the pockets, finds a WALLET. No I.D., just a
laundry bill, some money and a postcard from a sea-side town.
ANGLE ON A REVOLVER on the bed-side table. He picks it up, his
grip tightens on the handle, his finger applies pressure to the
trigger and...
BANG!
The gun goes off. A BULLET RICOCHETS wildly around the room,
bounces off the metal bed-head, smashes a vase, embeds itself
in the wall.
Startled, he holds the gun away from him like it might go off
again. He examines it carefully now. Opens the chamber.
TIGHT ON THE GUN - Five bullets left.
He turns the chamber carefully, shuts it, puts the gun in the
inside pocket of the coat.
He moves to the bed. A RIPPED PHOTOGRAPH on the rug. A
fragment of a woman's face, her left eye. He lifts the
fragment up. There's handwriting on the back, part of a note:
...MEANS THE MOST TO ME. LOVE YOU
FOREVER. - E...
The rest is missing.
He sits on the edge of the bed. As he does this, he notices
something else on the floor.
HIS P.O.V. - follows a dark stain on the floorboards, to a
woman's bare foot behind the bed. He stands abruptly, fumbles
across the bed to stare into a dark corner of the room.
In the shadows he can make out a woman's naked BODY lying in a
pool of blood. Her eyes stare lifeless.
White stumbles back in horror, throws his hands across his
mouth.
INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT
White stumbles from the room, leans against a wall for support.
Lights flicker.
At the end of the corridor, elevator doors open. Light and
musak flood out.
INT. LOBBY - NIGHT
White staggers from the elevator, moves past a deserted front
desk. A VOICE from the back room:
HOTEL MANAGER O.S.
Hey, you! You gotta message.
White stops, looks uncertainly towards a bead curtain.
WHITE
What?
MANAGER O.S.
Message in d'box! You deaf?
White sees several nooks for messages and keys in front of him.
Reaching across the desk, he glances through the bead curtain
into the manager's office. TELEVISION SOUNDS O.S.
HIS P.O.V.
Hard to see - the man sits in the chair, lit by the glow of
the T.V. set. White grabs the note, looks at it. A PHONE
NUMBER, also his room number, and what appears to be his name:
JONATHAN WHITE. That's all. White thrusts the message in his
pocket.
MANAGER O.S.
Got my money?
WHITE
What? I... How long have I been
here?
MANAGER O.S.
Jeez, too damn long if you ask me!
What about the two weeks y'owe me...
Totally confused, White turns to leave, sees something. Stops.
HIS P.O.V. - A painting on a wall (cheap print variety) -
waves on a beach. A breeze rustles the pages of a calender,
pinned beside the picture.
TIGHT ON WHITE - MOVE IN on his ear. O.S. SOUND - surf
crashes on shore. A WOMAN'S VOICE WHISPERS:
VOICE O.S.
What is your name... What is your
name...
He backs away from the painting, looks about the lobby in panic
- sees a sign: TOILETS. A painted hand points the way.
MANAGER O.S.
Hey!
WHITE (without turning)
I'll be back later.
MANAGER O.S.
Yeah. Well, y'better be.
CAMERA REVEALS A FIGURE - watching from a shadowy corner of
the lobby.
As White runs out, the MYSTERY MAN picks up a pay-phone, dials.
Whispers into the receiver in a foreign language.
INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT
White pushes shakily through a red door, runs down a corridor.
Pipes steam and drip water. He rounds a corner, slips, nearly
falls.
INT. MEN'S ROOM - NIGHT
Puddles on the floor, stains on the walls.
White bursts through the door and into a cubicle. He bends
over a toilet bowl and VOMITS.
ANOTHER ANGLE
He looks up, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. A breeze tugs at
his stringy hair. A tiny ventilation grill above the cistern
looks out at the street.
HIS P.O.V. - OUTSIDE
Sheets of newspaper blow past. A full moon, surrounded by
blood red clouds, hangs above empty streets.
INT. CINEMA - NIGHT
A WATCH - on a hairy wrist. Seconds tick past. Soft
flickering light. VOICES O.S.
ANGLE ON FRANK BUMSTEAD - police inspector. He looks down at
the watch. Time to leave. He STANDS, heads for an illuminated
exit sign.
Images flicker on a SCREEN. The inspector rushes to the door,
runs into an USHER, who gasps.
BUMSTEAD (to usher)
Gesundheit!
Bumstead quickly moves off.
INT. CINEMA LOBBY
The INSPECTOR makes a call, licks the tip of a pencil,
scribbles in a notebook. Behind thick glass, he argues
soundlessly into a phone.
BIG IN FOREGROUND - a popcorn machine rattles noisily.
INSIDE THE BOOTH
The inspector is upset, face strained. A MALE VOICE chatters
quickly through the receiver.
BUMSTEAD (cuts in)
...but you told me the meeting was
ten-thirty.
A burst of chatter.
BUMSTEAD
I know, sir, but I can't make it at
nine-thirty... It's - um - well,
inconvenient...
A stream of chatter stops him.
BUMSTEAD
Yes, sir... I understand... Yes...
But, I've done fine so far without an
assistant...
The inspector tries to interject as the VOICE cuts in again...
BUMSTEAD
But... But I... I...
(defeated)
Nine-thirty. Yes.
INT. MEN'S ROOM
We are underwater. WHITE's FACE swims into view. Bubbles spew
from the mouth, the eyes stare in horror.
ANGLE ON MEN'S ROOM
White washes his face in a sink. He looks up, wipes his face
dry with his coat. He turns towards the door to leave.
There are TWO - identical. He cannot remember which he came
through. Takes a guess, opens one and steps into darkness.
He realizes he's picked the wrong door, tries to go back but
the door CLICKS behind him: locked.
INT. CONCRETE TUNNEL
Pitch black. Trickling water. A distant voice over a P.A.
system recites names, followed by numbers. A LIGHT, far away.
White walks towards it.
He steps into a bare concrete area, a public phone hangs on a
blank wall. He pulls a coin from his pocket, puts it in the
slot, dials the number on his message. Ringing - no answer.
Suddenly White feels cold.
VOICE O.S.
There you are.
Startled, White drops the phone and turns. A figure moves
forward out of darkness:
ANGLE ON THE MYSTERY MAN from the hotel lobby. The stranger
wears a long black coat, dark glasses, and has extremely pale
skin. He is completely bald. He studies White carefully.
White glances about nervously - walks back up the corridor,
his eyes pinned to the man.
MYSTERY MAN
You are lost, yes?
White retreats faster.
A FLASH OF STEEL - a dagger appears by the stranger's side,
gripped in a black leather glove. He moves forward, a grin on
his pale face.
White stops, backs against the wall.
MYSTERY MAN
Co-operate. Do not make this
difficult.
White panics - he's cornered. He remembers the revolver. He
pulls it from his coat and LEVELS it at the stranger, his hand
shakes terribly.
ON THE STRANGER continuing to advance. Something about his
eyes makes White immobile, unable to think clearly.
MYSTERY MAN
You will not shoot, yes. There is a
place in your mind, a corner of
darkness...
THE GUN FIRES again and again. Red splashes appear on the man.
His shoulder. His leg. His neck. He walks forward, with
spastic jerks as bullets RIP into him.
A final shot POINT BLANK into the stranger's forehead. A
stream of black liquid spouts from the hole.
Blue smoke clears. The man stands motionless, his mouth hangs
open. Then his eyes roll up, and he collapses to the ground.
INT. MORGUE - NIGHT
CLICKING of new leather shoes, walking, striking tiles.
INSPECTOR BUMSTEAD strides down a silent corridor. He reaches
into his pocket, removes a SURGICAL MASK, places it over his
nose and mouth.
WIDER ANGLE
Bumstead steps up to a bald man with a moustache standing at
the end of the corridor. The man, who is dressed identically
to the inspector, is his superior: CHIEF-INSPECTOR STROMBOLI.
BUMSTEAD
Good evening, sir.
STROMBOLI
Yes. This way.
STROMBOLI leads the inspector into a tiled room containing
several COVERED BODIES. The two men are greeted by a cheerful-
looking MORTICIAN.
MORTICIAN
Welcome, gentlemen. Youíre early.
Here for the examination, right?
Stromboli nods, then ignores the mortician and walks along the
row of corpses. Bumstead follows.
STROMBOLI
The handiwork of an extremely sick
individual.
He throws back covers to reveal horrible mutilations.
STROMBOLI
Youíve read the reports. Not much to
go on. We know nothing about him,
except that he likes to cut them...
Always the same type of blade.
Forensics match in each case...
Anyway, it's all in the reports, read
them for yourself.
STROMBOLI shakes his head, turns away from the final body,
looks at the inspector.
STROMBOLI
Why are you wearing that thing on
your face?
BUMSTEAD
Germs, sir. These places are full of
them.
STROMBOLI
I see.
(continues)
One thingís for sure, heís ambitious.
Youíll be a busy man from now on.
MORTICIAN
You can say that again.
Stromboli looks annoyed at the smiling man. The Mortician
becomes serious and goes back to his work.
BUMSTEAD
What about Thompson, sir? Wasnít
this his case?
STROMBOLI
Thompson suffered a kind of severe
delusion or some damn thing. Anyway
he isnít with us any longer. The
case is yours. Go through his files.
Take what you need.
(less business-like)
By the way, howís your mother?
BUMSTEAD
Sheís getting better, thanks. She...
STROMBOLI (cuts in)
Very good...
The chief-inspector turns, paces to the door briskly.
STROMBOLI
Letís go, Bumstead. So much to do
and so little time.
EXT. BUILDING - NIGHT
A large faded BILLBOARD advertisement on a building facade. A
portrait of a smiling woman clutching a product called, "LUMP-
O" - a cereal box carton.
THE CAMERA MOVES IN STEADILY, rises upwards, CLOSER on the
womanís face, finally enters a hole at the centre of her
PAINTED IRIS.
INT. STAIR-WELL
A raftered room on the other side of the billboard. CAMERA
TILTS TO a convoluted staircase - at the base, the SHADOW OF
A MAN runs.
FEET pace rapidly. TILT UP TO REVEAL - WHITE.
CAMERA FOLLOWS as he tries to lose himself from possible
pursuers. He steps through a low archway into a back alley,
rounds a corner.
A DEAD-END. White stops, looks around, then up. Heís breathing
heavily, trying to catch his breath. He starts to shake.
ABOVE, the walls stretch into darkness. An OPENING way up
there - he can see stars. Something dark crosses the gap of
sky. A RUSHING NOISE in the distance. Wind starts to pick up.
Trash is being kicked up. A sheet of NEWSPAPER wraps around
Whiteís leg. He tries to kick it away repeatedly but it wonít
come off. He bends down, grabs it to throw it away, but
something grabs his eye.
He stares at the page for a moment - then his LEGS SLIP from
under him and he falls to the ground. He holds his head like
itís going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body
is trembling violently.
PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page
headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER!
White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again.
HIS P.O.V.
ON THE WALL facing him, a DOOR has appeared where moments
before there was nothing. The door creaks open to reveal
ANOTHER DOOR WITHIN. This one extends outwards on the end of a
lengthening wooden shaft.
White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket.
Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can
only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the
wall.
INT. HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT
HAND-HELD P.O.V. THROUGH the swaying beads hanging in the back-
room doorway. TWO FIGURES peer into the room.
FIGURE 1
We are looking for Jonathan White.
THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat,
hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads,
glares at the intruders.
MANAGER
What for?
ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to
kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy.
A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face
and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air.
Heís pushed back heavily against the wall.
MAN 1
Which room is he in?
The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís
ears, through the fingers.
INT. ROOM 43
ANOTHER (VERY SHORT) FIGURE is searching the room. He hears
NOISES O.S. in the corridor, runs to the door, presses against
the wall.
ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head,
thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow.
The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room.
ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They
search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the
womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still
hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed.
EXT. FLYING P.O.V. - NIGHT
A FLYING PERSPECTIVE past buildings. An INSECT-LIKE BUZZING
O.S. Way down BELOW, in a canyon of silent buildings, a LONE
FIGURE walks.
EXT. DOWN ON THE STREET
A breeze pulls at WHITEís hair and coat. He takes out the
wallet - a few dollars.
HIS P.O.V. AS HE WALKS
The city is DEAD. Empty. Desolate. Buildings hang down out
of black. Day-time was never invented.
As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he
hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up.
In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number.
Scribbled handwriting on the back says: Thursday 0930.
ON WHITE - he glances across the street.
HIS P.O.V. - A cafe. A broken NEON FISH buzzes above the
doorway.
INT. CHINESE CAFE
He walks up rickety stairs, into a small room with five or six
tables. Empty. Dirty. He sits and waits.
A CLOCK ticks on the wall - midnight. White coughs, for
attention.
A NOISE from a doorway. A SHADOW moves towards him, dragging
one foot as it walks. A SMALL ASIAN WOMAN appears and limps to
his table. She speaks very quickly IN CHINESE. He does not
understand.
She points to a chalk board on the wall - a list of dishes
also in Chinese, only one in English - the last one. At the
bottom. In small print. "NOODLES".
WHITE (nods)
The noodles. Iíll have some noodles.
The old woman rips a YELLOW TICKET from a pad, gives it to
White. A number on it. She points her crooked finger again
at a SPEAKER BOX above a small serving window in the wall. A
greenish fluoro pulses from the room within.
WOMAN
We call.
She leaves again.
White looks about the empty room. Insects are zapped on an
illuminated DEVICE hanging on the wall. An old air-conditioner
RATTLES noisily.
NOISES from the kitchen - voices argue in Chinese, a baby
cries. Then SILENCE.
White removes the newspaper from his coat and spreads it on the
table.
He overcomes his fear, starts to read the article. Leans
forward, hands trembling. Without realising, he holds the
paper OVER A CANDLE burning on the table. The paper CATCHES
FIRE, is engulfed. He drops the flaming page on the table. Now
the table-cloth starts to burn.
White is frantic. On a nearby table he finds a pitcher of
water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but
leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash.
He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the
smoke away.
INT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT
BUMSTEAD is moving quickly. He suddenly trips and falls to the
floor. He curses under his breath, then looks up.
HIS P.O.V.
A door - THOMPSON: DETECTIVE/INSPECTOR on the frosted glass.
Bumstead stands, pushes into the office.
INSIDE
A total mess - paperwork everywhere, dozens of used coffee
cups, rotting food in greasy paper bags. Bumstead shakes his
head.
BUMSTEAD
A real shame...
He starts to look around.
TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open.
Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake
his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP!
BUMSTEAD (screams)
YAAAAAAAAAH!
He recoils. A mousetrap has snapped over his fingers. He
pulls it off his hand, throws it to the floor, cursing.
INT. CHINESE CAFE
White is still waiting for his food.
He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg
to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to
wipe at the pus.
AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down
on White.
ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on
another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE
DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE
IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits
on the food behind it.
White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg,
is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly.
A NOISE. White looks up.
A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black
leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows
through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING.
ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean.
The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms.
One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room,
floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward.
ON WHITE rigid with terror.
ON THE MEN - though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the
gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier.
They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads.
Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically.
MAN 1
Donít fall asleep.
(chuckles softly)
Might never wake, yes.
This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back
to White.
MEN (in unison)
Fifty-six.
ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder.
Repeating:
VOICE
Fifty-six... Fifty-six...
ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor.
White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a
DREAM - he had dozed.
WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the
serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing
fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with
noodles. He sits down.
He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead
of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the
kitchen.
INT. CORRIDOR
He takes a door beneath a set of wooden stairs and finds
himself in another corridor. He looks about, unsure which
direction to go in.
INT. SERIES OF ROOMS - LATER
White is lost, still holding the soup.
He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and
shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor.
Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling.
He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and
looks at it.
White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup
in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl.
INT. CORRIDOR
A TICKING SOUND O.S.
White stops. Looks up. A large clock suspended from the
rafters. A tug at his coat.
Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís
hotel room.
FREDRICK (stutters)
Where have you been? The doctorís
been worried about you.
WHITE
What? Who are you?
Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor.
FREDRICK
Címon, letís go! We donít have any
time.
The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along.
WHITE
Hold it a minute. Letís start at the
beginning, huh?
ANGLE ON - the top of a set of stairs in front of them. Two
dark figures appear.
Fredrick looks up at them in horror.
FRERICK
Shit!
(looks at White)
Quick! Run!
Both men run like crazy, White awkwardly holding the bowl of
soup. They come to a junction, each takes a separate corridor.
Fredrick finds some stairs, climbs two at a time.
White climbs INTO FRAME, looks around, finds another corridor.
The little man is nowhere to be seen. White reaches another
junction - several corridors branch off.
HIS P.O.V. PANNING AROUND
Each passageway completely deserted.
WHITE
Shit.
He keeps running.
INT. HOTEL LOBBY
A PHOTO FLASH - illuminates the dead body of the hotel manager,
slumped in his own blood.
Bumstead leans INTO FRAME, examines the corpse. He notices
several stab wounds in the manís abdomen. Various cops search
the room.
One cop walks up to the Inspector.
COP
We got another one upstairs
BUMSTEAD (deadpan)
Great.
INT. ROOM - NIGHT
A SMALL ROOM with arched windows that look over the city.
Fredrick is pulling a notebook and pen from under an upturned
table.
He scrawls rapidly, screws the message into a tight tube, then
puts it into a METAL CYLINDER he finds beneath the table also.
He glances out a window, notices A FIGURE standing beneath a
street-lamp below, looking up at him. Startled, Fredrick darts
back into shadow, goes to a wall covered in about a dozen
vertical PIPES running up into the ceiling.
TIGHT ON ONE OF THE PIPES - he opens a small hatch and puts
the metal cylinder in it. The cylinder is snatched from his
hand, sucked into the pipe with a rush of air.
WIDER
Fredrick steps back, a sigh of relief. A shadow falls across
his back. He turns. He screams.
INT./EXT. VARIOUS
TIGHT - rushing along lengths of rusted pipe, at blinding
speed. The cylinder races around corners. It clanks and
grinds. HURTLES up the side of a building. THEN PLUMMETS
underground. Rushes through darkness.
EXT. BRIDGE - NIGHT
THE CAMERA MOVES along a bridge-like structure. An enclosed
corridor supported by rotting wooden pylons. Under the bridge,
pipes spew sewage into stagnant water.
ANGLE ON WHITE WALKING - seen through a series of illuminated,
dirty, windows. He occasionally glances into the bowl he holds
before him.
INSIDE
TIGHT ON the fish swimming weakly in the soup.
ANGLE ON WHITE - He stops, looks up at O.S. SOUND of
clattering metal. A pipe runs the length of the corridor -
the invisible clanging cylinder races away, into darkness.
Then the silence is shattered by a piercing series of SCREAMS
somewhere in the building. White hurriedly moves towards the
source.
ANOTHER CORRIDOR
White rounds a corner, stops, notices a small rectangular HOLE
in a wall. ANOTHER SCREAM, weaker now - He runs to the hole
in the wall and looks through.
HIS P.O.V.
A small, very ordered ROOM. A fake fireplace bathes the room
in a warm glow.
White cranes his neck forward, stretches his head through the
hole. He can see into an adjoining room to his right - two
dark figures stand over a man on the floor lying in a pool of
dark crimson. The man looks up - itís Fredrick - just as
both dark figures stab him repeatedly with bloody daggers. He
doesnít scream this time, just gags on blood running from his
mouth.
Suddenly a sliding door SLAMS onto the back of Whiteís neck,
traps his head in the hole. He struggles, tries to free
himself. Drops the bowl of soup. It shatters on the hard
floor, makes a mess.
INSIDE THE BATHROOM - The killers look up at the smashing
noise.
BACK IN THE CORRIDOR - White pulls with all his strength.
The door gives and he stumbles backwards. He is about to run
away but glances at the floor.
The fish is flapping about - still alive.
EXT. STREET
White darts from a doorway, trips and falls. He sprawls at the
base of sweeping stone steps. He looks at a building towering
above him. Chiselled in the facade, above the entrance:
LIBRARY.
INT. POLICE STATION
A series of ply-wood SILHOUETTES race through frame. Stop
suddenly, mechanically. LOUD GUNSHOTS. Chunks of ply-wood
blast away violently.
BUMSTEAD is practising his marksmanship.
A HAND - on his shoulder. He whips around, startled.
ON MISS CRENSHAW - a young, stiff-looking woman.
BUMSTEAD
Dammit!
MISS CRENSHAW
Sorry, sir.
BUMSTEAD
Donít ever sneak up on me like that!
Who are you?
MISS CRENSHAW
Patricia Crenshaw.
She puts out her hand.
MISS CRENSHAW
Iím your new assistant.
BUMSTEAD
I didnít requisition a secretary.
MISS CRENSHAW
The Chief-Inspector thought you might
need a hand.
BUMSTEAD (uncertain)
Oh.
He takes her hand tentatively. They shake.
MISS CRENSHAW
Iíve taken the liberty and had
Inspector Thompsonís office searched,
as I believe you instructed. All
clear now, sir. They found several
more traps and things were filed
under pretty strange categories...
Poor man.
BUMSTEAD
Good.
MISS CRENSHAW
You wonít regret this, sir.
BUMSTEAD
Fine.
Bumstead moves off.
INT. LIBRARY
White steps into a vast, empty room, stops beneath a big sign
saying, SILENCE in formal letters. The place seems abandoned,
then he notices a hint of movement. Cigarette smoke snakes
into the air, a light, across the expanse of polished floor.
He walks up to an elderly female LIBRARIAN sitting behind a
desk, smoking, reading. White looks somewhat distraught still.
WHITE
Keep newspapers here, birth
certificates, records of deaths, that
kind of thing?
The librarian looks up from her book.
LIBRARIAN
Which would you like first?
WHITE
Okay. Newspapers.
She takes her glasses off. Her eyes are TINY, like pin-heads.
She studies White.
LIBRARIAN
Are you alright?
He looks around - restrained panic.
WHITE (looks at the woman)
Sure. Iím fine.
LIBRARIAN (nods)
Mmm-hmm. Stairs at the end of the
hall. Third floor. Turn left.
Section C-7. Row 35, near the
toilets.
She replaces her glasses, watches White rush away.
LIBRARIAN
Donít mention it...
She blows her nose into a handkerchief. The snort ECHOES
LOUDLY.
INT. LIBRARY CORRIDOR
White rushes down a dark hall lined with bronze statues. He
finds section C then walks between towering rows stacked with
old volumes. Comes to number 7.
He follows an arrow past row after row - finally finds Row 34
but then it skips straight to letters again, A, B, C, etc.
No Row 35.
He stops and looks around - sure enough a door displays a
small sign: TOILETS.
White is sweating profusely. He now sits on a chair, takes off
his shoes, rubs his feet. He pulls a book from a shelf behind
him, looks about, opens the book and tears several pages out,
folds them, stuffs them into his shoes to plug up the holes.
He gets up, tries to backtrack, comes across an elaborate
diagram of the library interior. An arrow points to a section
near a wing labelled: MAPS. Near the arrow it says: YOU ARE
HERE.
He keeps walking.
He finds the door to the maps wing but the door is locked, a
sign is nailed to it: WE ARE REMODELLING. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY
INCONVENIENCE.
White, annoyed now, tries to force his way in. Puts his
shoulder to the door, pushes several times. It CRUMBLES under
his weight - rotten.
He finds himself in a DUSTY ROOM.
HIS P.O.V.
A narrow room, filled with rows of bookshelves with stacks of
old newspapers.
TIGHT ON WHITE - he steps forward, pulls a folded newspaper
off the shelf. The instant he picks it up, it crumbles to dust
in his hands. He picks up another, and another, each in turn
breaking apart and dissolving to nothingness.
INT. DARK CHAMBER - NIGHT
TWO SILHOUETTED FIGURES face each other across a polished black
table. They speak in a foreign language. A phone rings.
Figure 1 picks up the receiver and listens attentively.
Figure 2 is involved with various metal shapes he is trying to
lock together. A complex puzzle. He gets impatient with the
puzzle, dashes it to the floor.
Figure 1, on the phone, hangs up and writes something. Hands
the note to Figure 2, who in turn drops it into A CHUTE.
CONTROL ROOM
The note falls from a slot in the wall before Figure 3 (in
shadow yet again). He reads from the note over a silver
microphone, still in the unfamiliar tongue.
TIGHT ON A SPEAKER - his distorted voice. A final mysterious
person - Figure 4 - listens to the announcement. He takes
a stick and moves a small cut-out figure of a man across a
board, away from a large grouping of similar cut-outs. The
board resembles a planning table in a war-room.
A HIGH ANGLE as the CAMERA PULL BACKS on the grouping of cut
out figures. More and more of them. Ten. Twenty. A hundred.
A sinister army.
INT. INTERSECTING STREET - NIGHT
White is in a phone booth. He removes the note from his
pocket, dials. No answer again. He dials the OPERATOR. A
muffled voice over the line.
WHITE
Iím trying to reach nine zero eight
triple two. I canít get through...
(beat)
What?!...
(angry)
Shit!
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a coin, puts it into the
slot. Heís sweating again. He wipes his brow with a trembling
hand.
WHITE
It is?... Which area is that number
listed in?... Is that near the
ocean?... The ocean... Never mind.
Have a Jonathan White listed?...
WHITE. Seventeen? All Johns? I
see... Never mind.
He hangs up, then removes the business card he found in his
wallet. He is about to dial but decides otherwise. He steps
into the street.
A HIGH ANGLE
White walks between tall buildings, towards a narrow street
that branches off into two separate routes. He stops. He
canít decide which branch to take - he steps to the left,
then steps back, takes a few steps to the right, reconsiders
again...
INT. POLICE STATION/BUMSTEADíS OFFICE - NIGHT
TRACK ALONG - piles of towering files bursting at the seams
with paperwork - TO FIND Bumstead hunched over notes,
photographs and files. His eyes are rimmed with red. He
doesnít seem to be getting anywhere.
CRENSHAW O.S.
Coffee?
He looks up. The secretary stands in the doorway with another
big pile of paperwork.
BUMSTEAD
What? I donít drink coffee. A cup
of tea would be good. Milk and no
sugar.
Crenshaw puts the paperwork down on Bumsteadís already
overcrowded desk.
CRENSHAW
Making progress?
He looks at her like she just slapped him.
BUMSTEAD
These are the investigations of a
madman. He has fabricated an entire
bizarre paranoid delusion with no
internal logic whatever.
(without looking up)
This is a mess. A horrible mess.
(looks at her now)
Itís the second time now.
Miss Crenshaw looks concerned.
BUMSTEAD
Look at this!
He holds up a sheet of white paper - a report. The woman
steps over and looks at it.
BUMSTEAD
You typed this report?
MISS CRENSHAW
Yes, sir. Anything wrong?
BUMSTEAD
Wrong? Look at this!
The woman bends down, adjusts her glasses, examines it.
MISS CRENSHAW
It seems fine.
BUMSTEAD
Fine? Look here!
His finger points at the bottom of the page - a tiny,
INSIGNIFICANT ink smudge.
BUMSTEAD
How can I submit this?
MISS CRENSHAW
Iím sorry...
BUMSTEAD
Do you wash your hands before you
type things?
MISS CRENSHAW
Why, yes.
BUMSTEAD
Well be more careful, please.
An embarrassed beat, then:
RI-I-I-ING!
Bumstead reaches for the phone but Crenshaw is on it first.
CRENSHAW
Inspector Bumsteadís office...
Yes... Yes...
She cups the receiver with her hand, looks at Bumstead.
MISS CRENSHAW
Yes, sir. The Chief-Inspector said
he would see you now.
INT. POLICE STATION HALL-WAY
TRACKING SHOT towards a door: CHIEF-INSPECTOR on the frosted
glass. A hand reaches INTO FRAME, knocks twice.
STROMBOLI O.S.
Enter!
INSIDE
Bumstead steps into the office - finds STROMBOLI wandering
about the room, distracted, searching for something...
STROMBOLI
What is it?
He pulls the waste-basket up and empties the contents onto his
desk, sorts through it.
BUMSTEAD
A formality. I need to speak with
Thompson. Officially I need your
written permission.
Stromboli is looking through his desk drawers now.
STROMBOLI
Why do you want to speak to him?
BUMSTEAD
A hunch. He might be able to...
STROMBOLI (from under desk)
Bumstead, donít be so paranoid.
Leave him alone - heís a sad case.
BUMSTEAD
Itís extremely important to my
investigation...
STROMBOLI
Iíll be the judge of that. Anything
else?
BUMSTEAD
Actually, I was wondering, sir, if
you could let me have a few uniforms,
to follow up for me...
STROMBOLI O.S. (pokes head above desk)
Absolutely not. Up to my ears in
cases right now - canít spare
anyone.
Stromboli becomes distracted again - stands up, looks behind
pictures hanging off the walls. A big sign suspended above his
desk says, SO MUCH TO DO AND SO LITTLE TIME - his motto.
BUMSTEAD
Lost something?
STROMBOLI
What makes you think that! If you
would learn to concentrate on facts,
not get so side-tracked - you might
get things done faster, Bumstead...
The door clicks shut. Stromboli looks up - the inspector has
gone.
EXT. PLAZA - NIGHT
White walks under stone archways.
Across an empty plaza is a sign above a door: DRUGS OPEN 24
HOURS and in smaller print, recently added beneath: SHAVE &
HAIRCUT $5.00.
INT. DRUG STORE - NIGHT
White walks between bare, dusty shelves. Only one shelf
carries products - BOX AFTER BOX OF "LUMP-O". He moves up to
a small counter. A man with thick glasses, dressed like a
BARBER, is seated there.
WHITE
I need something to keep me awake.
BARBER
Looks like you need a haircut to me.
WHITE
Thanks. Just some pills.
BARBER
Only two bucks. Shave as well...
WHITE (annoyed now)
Your sign says you sell drugs -
well, Iím here to buy some. Okay?
BARBER
Relax. Sure!
He waves dramatically to a shelf above his head, with several
bottles of all sorts of different coloured capsules.
BARBER
Tell you what - let me cut yer
hair, give ya watcha need half price.
Canít argue at that!
WHITE (evenly)
I donít want a haircut.
LATER
CAMERA TRACKS OFF a clock on a wall - REVEALS WHITE in a
barber chair. The BARBER gleefully works on WHITEís hair. A
thin OLD GUY in a moth-eaten suit steps from behind a curtain,
smiles, playing a violin. Heís passionate but bad.
BARBER (talks fast)
Cut hair when I was in the navy,
yíknow - havenít lost the touch.
Bet youíre happy ëbout that. Huh!
WHITE
Sell maps?
BARBER
What of?
WHITE
The city. I need to get to the
ocean.
BARBER
Nope. No maps. Ocean, huh? On
vacation?
White doesnít answer. The old guy with the violin moves back
and forth behind White, smiling as he plays.
BARBER
Grandpa thought customers might like
some mood music.
WHITE (unconvinced)
Nice...
BARBER
You still look familiar. Itís
driving me nuts! Sure I donít know
ya from somewhere?
WHITE (nervous now)
Not me.
Barber looks out the front window as his hands busily trim
hair.
BARBER
Mnunn. Cold lately.
(lathers up Whiteís
face)
That night, couple weeks ago. That
was real cold. Remember that?
WHITE
Not really...
BARBER
Yeah, Iím like that. Senility says
the wife. But she sure canít
complain. Heh. The erector set still
works good.
(points to head)
And this ainít no fucking rug!
Gíhead. Feel it! All mine!
Grandpa laughs and plays louder.
GRANDPA
Yes! Feeeeel it!
PUSH IN ON WHITE - he smiles weakly.
INT. DETAIL - NIGHT
A HAND scrawls cryptic diagrams into a notebook.
PULL OUT TO REVEAL
DOCTOR SCHREBER at his desk. Heís bearded, with thick lensed
glasses. He puts the phone down, sits quietly at his desk,
staring into space, lost in thought.
A LOUD RATTLING NOISE FILLS THE ROOM. Schreber looks up.
HIS P.O.V.
A rusted pipe runs across the ceiling and down one wall. He
steps across to the pipe on the wall, leans down, looks into an
open hatch at its base.
Without warning, out of the hatch pops the metal cylinder FROM
SEVERAL SCENES PREVIOUS and bounces off the doctor's head.
He curses, picks it up, opens it. He plucks out the note and
reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE:
DOCTOR, I DID AS YOU ASKED. BUT
THINK I MADE STUPID MISTAKE. HOPE
THINGS DONíT GET BACK TO YOU. SORRY.
- FREDRICK.
Schreber looks up - then PUNCHES HIS FIST into the desk
angrily.
INT. EMPTY BUILDING
A P.O.V. MOVES DOWN halls made of wood slatting - the floors,
walls and ceilings are bare boards. FOOTSTEPS O.S.
TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase.
REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls
out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of
"LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
White steps out into a street, turns a corner, drops the empty
packet of cereal. Now he sees TWO FIGURES APPROACH. He hides
behind a wall before he is seen. Suddenly a deafening RINGING
startles him. He looks across a plaza.
HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky.
White stares up into the night.
INT. CHURCH - NIGHT
White walks in, sits on A PEW, towards the back of the room,
glances over his shoulder. He tries to blend in with the SMALL
GATHERING OF PEOPLE sitting silently around him.
A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe,
followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a
statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting
softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in
their hoods. The priest begins his sermon.
PRIEST
Beware! The night is deadly. There
is a criminal among us.
White looks forward.
TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the
heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger
jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row.
PRIEST
It could be she! The innocent across
the street!
All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís
terrified.
The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN
several rows back.
PRIEST
Or the temptress next door!
The priest pauses dramatically then:
PRIEST
Or mister nervy stranger at the back!
Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn,
stare suspiciously at White.
ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is
obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues
the sermon. The people look away.
PRIEST
You are thinking it could be anyone?
And youíre right! Why, it could even
be Mother!
White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the
church open - two figures step in and move into the candle-
light.
MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around.
White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the
congregation. He motions to them to keep quiet. He runs into
the legs of the BEAUTIFUL WOMAN the priest pointed out. She is
startled momentarily but looks down at him, smiles.
PRIEST (continues sermon)
Evil stalks our streets. It seeks to
hide in our hearts. Have you not
evil within you now?
White sees a nearby CONFESSION BOX. Staying low, he runs,
almost knocks over a large illuminated candle-holder, darts
inside. The girl watches him.
A GAUNT-FACED WOMAN stands. Hysterical. She looks at the
priest.
GAUNT WOMAN
He took my little boy! Iíll rip out
his eyes!
INSIDE - White breaths relief.
HIS P.O.V. - carved on the dark stained wood in front of him
is a crucified insect. A voice surprises him. Another PRIEST,
OLDER.
OLDER PRIEST
You have sinned?
WHITE
NO. Ah...
White watches the two Mystery Men walk past, through the ornate
wooden grill in front of his face.
PRIEST
I am listening.
WHITE (lying)
Thereís a... woman. I don't know
but I think I, ahh...
PRIEST
You fornicated?
The Mystery Men look towards the box for a moment, towards
White, but keep walking.
WHITE
No. I, ah...
PRIEST
You seem restless.
The Mystery Men seem to have gone. White takes out the gun,
keeping it hidden from the priest. Opens the chamber.
TIGHT ON THE GUN - Only ONE BULLET left.
WHITE
Someoneís after me.
PRIEST
Then we must call the police.
WHITE
No. I mean... that isnít necessary.
The silhouette on the other side of the box leans forward.
PRIEST
I see. Then who is after you? What
sins have you committed?
WHITE
Just let me sit here for a moment?
Iíll go soon, and stop bothering you.
The priest suddenly stares incredulously at White. His eyes
widen in horror.
PRIEST
Youíre the murderer?
(starts to yell)
Yes! That must be it! Donít kill
me!
White lunges, grabs his collar with one hand, slaps the other
over his mouth. The old man stares at him, trembling
uncontrollably.
WHITE
Shut up! Listen. Walk out quietly.
(holds up gun)
Understand?
The priest nods stupidly. White pushes him out of the
confession box, grabs his coat from behind, puts the gun to his
back. Together they head for the doors. Still no sign of the
Mystery Men.
PRIEST
Donít kill me!
WHITE
Shut up!
PRIEST
Please...
White loses his temper, grabs the priest, shakes him violently.
WHITE (not so quietly)
Iím not going to kill you, okay!
Faces turn.
The priest kicks White in the leg, bites his hand. While White
is wincing in pain, the priest breaks away.
PRIEST (shouting/pointing)
CRIMINAL!
People start to scream and run. The GAUNT WOMAN points at
White.
GAUNT WOMAN (screams insanely)
Itís him! Rip out his eyes!
Frightened, White holds the gun out. Everyone panics,
scatters. People run for the exit. Religious statues topple
and smash. The gaunt woman is pushed screaming to the floor,
trampled by the crowd.
Amidst the chaos, the two MYSTERY MEN appear across the room,
see White, head towards him. He turns and runs.
A STAIRCASE
White climbs narrow stairs rapidly.
INT. BELL TOWER
White stops, nowhere left to go, just a long drop to the street
through a series of arched windows. A low, raftered room,
three huge black BELLS.
Suddenly a groan of gears in the ceiling and the bells start to
swing, build momentum.
CLANG! CLA-A-A-ANG! A cacophony of noise.
White puts his hands over his ears in pain, then turns to the
stairs.
HIS P.O.V.
Through the swinging bells - the MYSTERY MEN climb the last
few steps on the other end of the dark room. They advance
slowly, clutching daggers.
White raises his gun. Aims. Difficult to find his target -
the approaching MEN are obscured by the bells.
White steps sideways, never taking his eyes off the Men. They
follow him slowly, pivoting about the bells in the centre of
the tower, pursuers and pursued remaining a semi-circle apart.
WHITE (shouts)
What do you want? Tell me!
The Men stop. So does White. They separate, now approaching
him from OPPOSITE sides, moving around the bells.
White doesnít know who to point the gun at - he swings back
and forth, one to the other, faster and faster, as the Men
approach.
He lets them get uncomfortably close, then swings to his right,
thrusts the gun to one Manís forehead. FIRES. The Man steps
back, spouting liquid from the bullet hole, hits a low railing,
FALLS into the shaft at the centre of the tower.
The second Man SWINGS his dagger at White.
White falls backwards, dropping his gun clumsily. The Man
advances, smiling - kicks the gun across the wooden floor.
White, clutching at straws, lifts his foot, kicks down hard on
a loose floorboard. The board flies up, pivoting against
Whiteís heel, catches the Mystery Man with a CRACK under the
chin.
White runs at the off-balance Man, head-butts him in the
stomach. The Man recoils, canít stop, steps off backwards into
space, PLUMMETS INTO DARKNESS towards the street below.
White relieved, turns, dusts himself, picks up his gun. Looks
down at the floor. Broken glass and capsules everywhere - he
dropped the bottle of pills during the scuffle. Starts to pick
them up.
Behind him SOMETHING is rising.
The shadowy Mystery Man is LEVITATING HIMSELF back up to the
bell-tower. He lands behind White, approaches, lifting his
dagger, closer and closer.
White glances around.
The Man lunges, pushing White towards the shaft beneath the
swinging bells. White FALLS, dangles over dark space, the Man
stands above him.
MYSTERY MAN (shouts)
Do not make us hurt you...
The bells are swinging very close to the Man.
MYSTERY MAN
It will be inconvenient, yes...
Suddenly, to Whiteís amazement, the shiny black rim of a bell
clips the Manís head. SLAMS it against a low wooden beam in
the ceiling. A splash of black liquid. The Man slumps to the
ground, his head crushed beyond recognition.
White pulls himself up - stands over the Manís body, trying
to decide what to do. A MOVEMENT catches his eye.
TIGHT ON the collapsed Manís ear - something moves inside. A
BLACK INSECT, half-dead, crawls out of his crushed head.
White revolted, SQUASHES the insect under his shoe.
EXT./INT. VARIOUS - MONTAGE
RAPID MOVE ACROSS MYSTERY MEN screaming. Faces contort with
pain. INTERCUT WITH:
Electricity ARCING between electrodes.
A building against the sky. The windows EXPLODE. Glass blows
out, raining down on the street.
A concrete wall SPLITS OPEN. Slime oozes through the crack.
An old man, walks on a deserted street, looks up at the sky.
One of the lenses of his spectacles CRACKS without warning.
A chair falls over in a dark room.
A woman under a hair-dryer gossips on a phone. Suddenly the
phone emits a high-pitched shriek. Her ear spouts blood and
she screams.
A small transistor radio emits a high frequency and short
circuits with a spark.
EXT. BUILDING
TIGHT ON - a wristwatch spinning backwards rapidly -
completely haywire.
INSPECTOR BUMSTEAD stands on a street corner staring blankly at
his watch. Taps it several times, annoyed, then looks up at a
THREE STOREY BUILDING. He holds a piece of paper in his other
hand - on it a number rapidly scrawled: 23.
HIS P.O.V.
The dilapidated building - arched windows only on the topmost
floor. A faded number on the facade - also 23. The windows
light up continuously with rapid bursts of white light.
INSIDE
The inspector climbs a staircase, enters a dark room.
TWO FIGURES move about. Bumstead glances at a UNIFORMED MAN,
standing beside a fake fire, who acknowledges his arrival.
To the side, A POLICE PHOTOGRAPHER flashes something swinging
back and forth, hanging from the ceiling. It looks like...
Fredrick. Dead. His arms and legs missing. A pool of blood
beneath the mutilated torso.
Bumstead looks at the cop.
BUMSTEAD
How long have you been here?
COP
Maybe ten minutes...
(looks at his watch)
Thatís strange.
BUMSTEAD
Spinning backwards?
The cop is shaking his watch, tapping it with his finger. He
looks up. Bumstead indicates his own watch.
COP
Yours too?
Bumstead nods. He removes a notebook from his pocket, walks
about the room, glances at objects, makes notes.
Bumstead steps over to a small RECTANGULAR HOLE in the wall.
He examines it carefully, then bends down and puts his head
through. On the other side is a corridor snaking off into
darkness. Just beneath the hole, is a broken dish and a
puddle. Lying half in the puddle is the business card of
Doctor D.P. Schreber M.D.
Without removing his head from the hole he shouts to the nearby
cop.
BUMSTEAD
I want prints over here...
Suddenly the door has caught Bumsteadís head in it. He
struggles. The cop and the photographer run over to help.
EXT. BUILDING - NIGHT
MOVE IN ON a doorway. Above it a small illuminated red sign:
DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D.
REVERSE ANGLE ON WHITE
He stands on the street, under the sign, rummaging in his
wallet, obviously looking for the business card he doesnít have
anymore.
INT. WAITING ROOM
A white room, bare. Dirt stains the walls near the air-vents.
A NURSE is typing behind her desk.
A THUMPING fills the room. The nurse stands, removes her shoe
and hits a pipe running along the wall several times. The
noise stops.
The front door creaks open and White enters. She watches him
step into the room.
WHITE
I want to see the doctor. It's
important.
NURSE
What time was your appointment?
WHITE (angry)
Look! Tell him I'm here. Now.
He's leaning across her desk threateningly.
NURSE (scared/standing)
Yes, certainly... Who should I say?
WHITE
No idea. Just get him...
Suddenly a door opens and DOCTOR SCHREBER, clutching a file of
papers, steps out. He freezes, stares at White. The papers
fall from his hands to the floor.
INT. DARK CHAMBER - NIGHT
A group of DARK SILHOUETTES file into a concrete room.
The MYSTERY MEN have gathered. Like the Men who pursue White,
they wear coats, leather gloves, dark glasses, and have near
white skin.
One MAN points to diagrams on a chalk board and speaks in the
peculiar foreign tongue.
TIGHT ON THE DIAGRAM - a path through the city. A circle
marks the point where the red line ends - a cathedral. The
Man goes into broken English - a guttural accent.
MAN 1
It has failed.
ANOTHER MAN stands at the rear of the room.
MAN 2
This is becoming dangerous, yes!
YET ANOTHER MAN starts to tremble violently, seized with some
kind of convulsion. He froths at the mouth and throws his head
about. A TALLER MAN standing beside him opens a silver box,
removes a small WRITHING WORM. He places this on the tip of
the trembling Man's tongue, who swallows it and calms down.
MAN 3
Let's get this over with.
ANOTHER MAN rises suddenly, pushes forcefully to the front of
the group.
MAN 5
What about the dance-steps! This is
my responsibility, we must resolve
this issue, yes?
THE MEN turn to face him. He is out of line. He becomes
irritated, as if to say something further, then pulls himself
short, sits down.
MAN 5
Sorry.
MAN 3
The situation has changed.
(pacing the room)
This one is in possession of
knowledge...
MAN 1 (cuts in)
...to avoid influence, yes.
MAN 4
A freak!
MAN 1
Impossible!
RUMBLING NOISE O.S. attracts everyone's attention. They all
look to a round portal high on a wall. The noise is louder.
several figures on stilts run past outside the opening - then
the noise subsides. The MYSTERY MEN go back to more important
things.
MAN 3
It gets interesting, yes.
MAN 2
Stop this! It has gone too far!
Tell Mister Black!
Man 2 stares blankly into space, he makes a peculiar clicking
noise with his mouth, his eyes roll upwards.
INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE
THE CAMERA GLIDES down a corridor, towards a door - a sign
says, DOCTOR IS: IN.
INSIDE
White sits in a leather chair across from an ornate wooden
desk. THE DOCTOR paces up and down in front of glass jars
containing preserved specimens. He stops, looks at White.
SCHREBER
You remember nothing? Who you are?
What you've done?
WHITE
You know something about me?
SCHREBER
Ah, that would be cheating, wouldn't
it?
(smiles)
Is there nothing you remember? Not
even a detail? You must try.
WHITE
You think I haven't been trying!
(calms himself)
It's like there was never anything
there.
(pauses)
Just water.
SCHREBER
Water?
WHITE
Waves... A beach. A woman
whispering. That's all.
(looks up, yawns)
I need to stay awake. Do you have
any pills?
The doctor walks to a glass cabinet and removes a bottle, takes
out two green capsules. Hands them to White. Sits behind the
desk again.
SCHREBER
What does she say? The woman.
WHITE
Asks my name. Over and over. Just
like a broken record. Only thing is,
I can't answer. I've no idea what my
name is.
SCHREBER
Your name is John White.
WHITE
That's what people keep telling me.
Te doctor walks to a small sink in the corner, returns, hands
White a glass of water. White swallows the pills.
SCHREBER (indicates pills)
And what's this about? Why?
White stands up, starts to pace nervously.
SCHREBER
Bad dreams?
WHITE
Yes.
SCHREBER
Tell me about them...
WHITE (interrupts)
Yeah well, why don't I ask some
questions for a change.
SCHREBER
If you like.
WHITE
You're supposed to be my doctor,
right?
SCHREBER
That's right. I am your doctor.
White is very agitated now, his voice is getting edgy.
WHITE
Known me for long?
SCHREBER
Well...
WHITE (cuts in)
Am I a killer?
SCHREBER
I cannot say... You don't know the
answer to that?
WHITE
I told you, I can't remember a thing!
White reaches across abruptly, GRABS the doctor.
WHITE (angry now - shouting)
Look, you know something about me,
out with it! Let's end this
bullshit! I want answers!
The doctor is obviously scared.
SCHREBER
We won't get anywhere like this.
Please. Let's take things in easy
steps...
INT. BUMSTEAD'S APARTMENT/KITCHEN - NIGHT
TIGHT ON DRAWING PINS - Being pushed into a map. A seeming
random pattern across the terrain of the city. Each pin is
labelled: VICTIM 1, VICTIM 2,... etc.
WIDER ON BUMSTEAD
He's tired, like he hasn't slept. He's looking at the map
stuck to a wall. There's several neat piles of folders on the
kitchen table in front of him. The kitchen itself is
incredibly neat - everything completely organized.
Bumstead shakes his head slowly, turns away from the board.
Picks up a cup of hot tea, pours milk into it from a small jar.
TIGHT ON THE TEA CUP - Cream SWIRLS into a rapidly dissolving
spiral. Bumstead looks up. Puts down the cup hurriedly, turns
back to the map.
With a thick pen he traces a line between each point marking
the location of the victims. He steps back to examine his
handiwork.
A SPIRAL - moving outwards. Beyond the last victim it
becomes a dotted line, following the same trajectory but with a
big question mark beside it.
Bumstead glances over to a blackboard with a list of names and
addresses on it. He holds up the doctor's card and stares at
it. He turns it over, notices an address on the back.
INT. DOCTOR SCHREBER'S OFFICE - NIGHT
SCHREBER is showing WHITE a series of CHARTS. The doctor seems
nervous about White's potential for further violence.
SCHREBER
Put simply... a penetration of the
left parieto-occipital area of the
cranium... complicated by
inflammation that resulted in
adhesions of the brain to the
meninges. Without going into
detail... the formation of scar
tissue altered the configuration of
the lateral ventricles, producing
incipient atrophy of the medulla...
WHITE (cuts in)
Look. It was a simple question. Can
someone kill and not remember it?
SCHREBER (smiles)
I'm sorry. I get carried away
sometimes. Possible? I'm... ah,
afraid so.
WHITE
Did she drown? The woman you told me
about?
SCHREBER
Not exactly. She was found in a
canal, disembowelled. Throat cut.
Blood drained. The body wrapped in a
bed-sheet.
White shakes his head, looking blankly at the doctor.
WHITE
Horrible...
SCHREBER
You remember nothing, eh?
(shakes his head)
Let me show you something.
Schreber turns, points to DOUBLE-DOORS. He walks towards
these. White follows.
SCHREBER
Formation of memories is the most
important of brain functions.
THE DOORS ARE OPENED
They step into a room of living animal experiments.
SCHREBER
We are little more than a sum of
memories. From them we reference who
we are, where we're going. Without a
past we are nothing. This is why you
are so interesting.
WHITE
I'm nothing then.
SCHREBER
Anything but, my friend.
The two men look down on a monkey with the top of its head
missing, squirming in a mechanical device that restricts its
movements.
SCHREBER
It feels no pain.
White turns and starts to pace away. Schreber reluctantly
follows.
WHITE
Can I get my life back?
SCHREBER
Maybe.
Schreber points dramatically at a wooden structure containing
two rats.
SCHREBER
We know of two kinds of memory.
Firstly, declarative memory.
The rats perform various activities involving mazes and
geometric symbols. Schreber turns to look at White, eyebrow
raised.
SCHREBER
And then there is procedural memory.
TIGHT ON HIS SLENDER FINGER - pointing to a machine also run
by rats. The object is to make it through a guillotine device.
One rat is successful, the other is chopped neatly in two.
SCHREBER
Follow?
White nods.
SCHREBER
Research on simple animals can be...
useful. To show us where memory
storing systems are located, for
example. I am building an experiment
with hamsters next.
(looks at nearby cage
of hamsters)
Cute little things.
Schreber puts a hand on White's shoulder.
SCHREBER
Listen to me talk! You must be
hungry.
White nods again, extremely troubled.
INT. HALL-WAY (DOCTOR'S RESIDENCE)
Schreber's office is an annex of his living quarters - a
maze-like series of rooms and halls. White is led down a dark
hall by Schreber, clutching a candle.
SCHREBER
Whole damn wing lost power. Wiring's
old. Keep meaning to get it fixed.
Here we are.
They've stopped outside a flaking door.
INT. KITCHEN
A small eat-in kitchen. Dirty and run-down. White, sits at a
bench, as Schreber removes items from the refrigerator. The
doctor holds up a large FROZEN fish.
SCHREBER
Ah. Beautiful! Head and all! Just
how I like 'em!
ANGLE ON FRYING PAN ON STOVE - The fish lands in it and starts
to sizzle furiously.
ANGLE ON WHITE
WHITE
I'm sorry. About before.
SCHREBER
I don't blame you for getting angry.
You are in a frustrating situation.
You must be patient though. Trust me
completely. I'm here to help.
A set of swinging doors on the other side of the room open
slightly and THE NURSE looks in.
NURSE (to Schreber)
I have to talk to you.
SCHREBER
It can't wait?
She shakes her head, with a serious expression, then darts out
again.
SCHREBER (to White)
Excuse me. Ah, make yourself at
home.
He leaves.
Alone, White looks around the bleak room. He takes off his
coat and sits down again. He removes the FISH. The eye opens.
The creature looks up at him. It breaths painfully.
WHITE
Still kicking, huh?
He puts it back in his pocket.
The OTHER fish is spattering oil everywhere. Smoke starts to
fill the room. White, steps over and looks at the frying pan.
The fish is turning black. He turns the heat down.
He notices a SMALL HOLE in the wall. At eye height. He steps
across, looks through.
TIGHT ON WHITE'S eye through the hole.
HIS P.O.V.
A dark room. Shadows on the wall. Something wet, some kind of
ANIMAL, moving in the darkness. He can hear breathing and
whispering voices.
White's eyes start to blur, he rubs them.
SCHREBER O.S.
How are things in here?
White spins, like he's caught doing something wrong. The
Doctor walks across to the stove, prods the frying fish with a
fork.
SCHREBER
Ah, nearly done. So tell me about
your dreams. I'm very interested.
White is having a hard time focusing.
WHITE
Just the typical fabrications of a
distorted mind. You know, chased by
mysterious men in black, that kind of
thing...
WHITE'S P.O.V. - ANGLE ON Schreber with his back turned, at
the stove. THE IMAGE is blurring.
SCHREBER
Ah, our friends in black... they are
not just a figment of your
imagination you know, in fact none of
what you are experiencing is anything
but real.
Smoke rises thickly around the doctor.
SCHREBER
I know everything about you. You
have no choice but to trust me.
Flames are shooting up around Schreber from the frying pan.
His arms catch fire, and he suddenly spins around clutching
flaming daggers in both hands, his whole body engulfed in fire,
his face charred, black flesh hanging off his skull.
SCHREBER
Scarey, isn't it?
White startles awake.
Schreber stands at the stove looking at White. Everything is
normal.
SCHREBER
Are you feeling alright?
White stands awkwardly, pulls his coat on.
SCHREBER
What are you doing?
WHITE
I have to go...
SCHREBER
You can't go yet. We've got so much
to talk about...
Suddenly White feels feint - leans against the wall to steady
himself.
SCHREBER
You're tired. You need to lie down.
ON WHITE - swaying.
WHITE
Those pills...
HIS P.O.V.
The scene is distorted - like looking through water. Things
start SPINNING.
SCHREBER (echoic)
Yes. A little something to help you
relax. Harmless...
A tile floor RISES rapidly TOWARDS CAMERA.
CUT TO:
GREY LIMBO
Objects float underwater. They rise upwards amidst bubbles,
break the surface. A storm at sea - dismembered BODY PARTS
float all the way to the horizon.
TWO FOETUSES in separate jars are talking to each other through
the glass.
FOETUS 1
This is madness. If we're caught...
FOETUS 2
Shut-up. Help me with these
straps...
INT. EXAMINATION ROOM
WHITE wakes strapped to an exantination table. SCHREBER and the
NURSE loom above him. The nurse hands Schreber a long, chrome
SYRINGE. The doctor moves towards White.
SCHREBER (holds syringe up)
Now you must relax, Anton.
A DOOR-BELL RINGS O.S. The nurse makes for the door.
SCHREBER
Leave it!
He's tapping the side of the syringe, squirting out air
bubbles. THE DOOR-BELL RINGS again - very insistent.
Schreber looks at the nurse, annoyed.
SCHREBER
Damn! Whoever it is - get rid of
them!
She heads to the door - turns back.
NURSE
Keys.
Schreber puts the syringe down, fumbles in his pocket, pulls
out a huge collection of KEYS on a ring, walks to the nurse,
hands them to her.
White manages to wriggle a hand free from the leather strap
holding him. The nurse leaves, the doctor shuts the door,
locks it. He steps over to White.
SCHREBER
I'm sorry I had to put you through
this, Anton.
(lowers syringe to
White's forehead)
There will be some pain, but things
will be easier this way.
White lashes out, PUNCHES the doctor in the face. His glasses
go flying, and he falls to the floor, blinded, scrambling for
the spectacles.
A convenient scalpel cuts White from his remaining bonds. He
undoes the last strap around his ankles as the doctor replaces
his glasses and leaps at him trying to drive the syringe INTO
WHITE'S FOREHEAD.
The struggle continues - each man tries to turn the syringe
on the other. White pushes the doctor, who falls backwards.
Schreber leaps onto him, both fall against a tray of medical
instruments.
A loud THUMPING on the examination room door. White is grabbed
from behind, pinned down with the syringe INCHES from his face.
A CRASH O.S. Splintering wood. The door bursts open.
A ROTUND SILHOUETTE - is revealed, clutching a police
special, flashing a badge. A squeaky, over-excited, voice:
BUMSTEAD
Hold it!
Schreber and White FREEZE in mid-struggle, look at the
inspector. Behind him, the nurse appears in the hallway.
BUMSTEAD
Police. Nobody move.
SCHREBER
He tried to kill me!
BUMSTEAD
Shut up! Everybody stay calm...
Bumstead steps into the light, shoves his gun in White's face,
handcuffs him. Bumstead searches White, finds the revolver,
takes this. Also takes his wallet. He glances at the doctor,
who hides the syringe behind his back.
BUMSTEAD (to Doctor)
You Schreber?
Schreber nods blankly.
Bumstead runs his hand over White's side pocket - feels
something.
BUMSTEAD
What's that?
White says nothing. The inspector opens the pocket and looks
in.
BUMSTEAD (disgusted)
A fish, huh?
EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT
An old-fashioned BLACK SEDAN drives over a rusty suspension
bridge. Stone gargoyles look down at the lone vehicle. It's
been raining. Streets are empty.
INSIDE THE CAR
WHITE and the INSPECTOR drive silently. Bumstead has appointed
his un-marked police vehicle with all the comforts of home.
Hot thermos. Note pad holder, complete with light. Coat
hanger. Gun rack. A system for everything.
BUMSTEAD
Dammit!
(glances at his
watch)
I'm curious? How many so far?
He shakes his watch, puts it to his ear.
WHITE (confused)
What? I...
BUMSTEAD (counts on fingers)
Let's see, there's the little guy
with no arms or legs. And the young
boy?
WHITE (disturbed)
Young boy?
CLOSE ON WHITE - frightened now.
BUMSTEAD
The six year old. Sure, you
remember.
Bumstead pulls something from under the dashboard. A SANDWICH,
carefully wrapped and prepared. After glancing at his watch
again, he bites into it.
BUMSTEAD (chewing)
Y'know, the kid you left in the meat
packing plant, cut into pieces.
Packed into brown paper parcels,
wrapped in twine, that kind of thing.
No answer.
BUMSTEAD
You sure have demonstrated a great
deal of... imagination. The baby
was the best though. Several cops
lost their lunch over that one. Head
twisted off, spine pulled out,
yeech...
WHITE (cuts in)
Stop it. You're making me sick...
BUMSTEAD
We count seven so far. Anyone we
missed?
RADIO CRACKLE O.S. - A tinny voice cuts in.
VOICE
Inspector Bumstead... Inspector...
Bumstead picks up a microphone, speaks into it.
BUMSTEAD
What is it, Crenshaw?
CRENSHAW
Just reminding you... your eight pee
em...
BUMSTEAD
Dammit.
(looks at watch)
Very efficient, as usual, Crenshaw.
Remind me to give you my watch. It
needs fixing.
CRENSHAW
Yes sir.
Bumstead replaces the microphone under the dashboard, takes a
SHARP CORNER as he finishes off the sandwich.
WHITE
Where are we going?
BUMSTEAD
Shut-up.
Burastead pulls out a small brush, cleans the fallen crumbs from
his trousers, keeping a hand on the wheel.
White is silent - his wounds continue to bother him. He
leans down to scratch through his trousers.
WHITE (quietly)
Shit!
BUMSTEAD
Gesundheit!
WHITE (looks up)
I didn't sneeze.
EXT. HOSPITAL ENTRANCE - NIGHT
The INSPECTOR's car pulls up and stops.
INSIDE THE CAR
WHITE
What are we doing here?
Bumstead grabs a bunch of flowers off the back seat.
BUMSTEAD
Get out.
INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT
BUMSTEAD pushes the handcuffed WHITE through a swinging metal
door. They enter a sterile air-conditioned room. An
effeminate MALE NURSE sits behind a glassed-in counter.
Directly opposite is a small WAITING ROOM through a glass
panelled door. Bumstead pushes White into this room.
BUMSTEAD
Wait here.
The inspector shuts the door behind him. White looks about the
blank room, takes a seat. He can see Bumstead, through the
glass panel in the door, walk up to the male nurse opposite.
OUT IN THE CORRIDOR
The inspector talks to the male nurse through a tiny opening in
the window.
BUMSTEAD
Bumstead. I'm here to see my mother.
BACK TO WHITE
He cannot hear anything of what Bumstead is saying. He sees
him take out his wallet and show his badge. The male nurse is
concerned, looks over towards White, then opens a drawer, hands
Bumstead a KEY. The inspector steps back to the waiting room
door and LOCKS IT from the outside. He looks at White for a
moment, then walks away, along the corridor.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM
Bumstead enters darkness - pneumatic MACHINE NOISE fills the
gloom. He walks quietly to his mother, encased in a metallic
contraption, something like an iron lung.
BUMSTEAD (whisper)
Brought you these.
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares
expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal
chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss
and breathe.
INT. POLICE STATION
A FINGER presses down on the sticky surface of a page. It
pulls away revealing an inky finger-print.
WIDER
White is standing in a bare room, in front of a finger-printing
machine. He's alone. A blast of electrical FEED-BACK. White
looks up at a speaker mounted to the wall.
MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker)
Move - forward.
White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a
wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the
wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him,
one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash
goes off, the click of a shutter.
MECHANICAL VOICE
Left - profile.
A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it
abruptly - the camera fires.
MECHANICAL VOICE
Right - profile.
The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again.
MECHANICAL VOICE
Move - forward.
Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a
door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over,
opens the door and steps into darkness.
LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups -
markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying
heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be
identified by an unseen person.
A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door.
VOICE
Move - forward.
White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel
painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the
wheel turns, faster and faster.
VOICE
Watch - the - wheel.
The wheel stops after several seconds.
VOICE
Move - forward.
The next room is full of scientific equipment.
VOICE
Stand - behind - the - screen.
White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to
it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow.
We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would
be, is the tiny skeleton of the fish.
VOICE
Move - forward.
The next room is empty.
VOICE
Face - the - wall.
White turns. As soon as he has done this hears a door open
behind him. FOOTSTEPS approach. Blows rain down on him, fists,
boots, clubs. He slides to the floor. The lights go out.
INT. INTERROGATION ROOM
LIGHTS come on again. White is dazed - in a chair, a bright
light in his face blinds him.
VOICE
What's your name?
WHITE (squints into light)
I don't remember.
VOICE
Oh, no?
White shakes his head slowly and looks at the floor. The light
is angled away, pointed down towards A TABLE. White can see
now.
HIS P.O.V.
A featureless room. STROMBOLI stands over him, behind him is
BUMSTEAD and two shadowy guards. Bumstead picks up an
envelope, removes a SERIES OF PHOTOS, hands these to Stromboli.
STROMBOLI
John...
He throws the first shot down on the table in front of White.
A black and white police photo of a murder victim.
STROMBOLI
...Murderer.
Another photo goes down. Another victim. Another and another.
Each more grisly than the last.
STROMBOLI
You'll sign a confession?
White nods. He's looks utterly lost.
Bumstead steps across to a small speaker box on the wall near
the only door, presses a button.
BUMSTEAD (into speaker)
Okay.
TWO GUARDS immediately step through the door, GRAB White by his
arms. They carry him off.
INT. PRISON CELL
White is woken by a UNIFORMED GUARD shining a light in his
eyes.
GUARD
Visitor.
INT. VISITING ROOM
White is led into an empty pale green room with a glass barrier
down the middle. The guard tells him to sit and wait.
The door on the other side of the barrier opens with a squeak -
DOCTOR SCHREBER steps in, looking frightened.
WHITE (to guard)
Keep him away: He's insane.
The guard just smiles, looks at the doctor knowingly.
SCHREBER
Please, stay calm.
WHITE (to guard)
This man wants to kill me.
The guard remains indifferent.
SCHREBER (to guard)
Just one of his many delusions -
it's nothing.
(a whisper to White)
Shut up! Listen, damn you! This is
a fortunate coincidence - we won't
get another chance like this. Listen
to me.
WHITE (turns to Doctor)
What do you want?
SCHREBER
You're innocent...
(still a whisper)
You didn't kill anyone.
WHITE (sarcastic)
What am I doing in here then?
SCHREBER
Listen to what I have to say. Decide
for yourself.
AN ADJOINING ROOM
The dark silhouettes of BUMSTEAD and ANOTHER COP watch from
behind a two-way mirror.
BUMSTEAD
What's he doing here?
COP
Says he is the man's doctor...
(taps side of his
head)
You know...
BUMSTEAD
I know it's his doctor...
(into intercom)
I need the file on..
(reads clip-board)
Daniel Paul Schreber M.D.
MISS CRENSHAW'S VOICE O.S.
Schreber. Yes. Isn't that his
doctor?
BUMSTEAD (evenly)
Yes.
(beat)
And it's SCHREBER - with an 'h'.
MISS CRENSHAW
Yes. An "h".
The inspector looks up from the speaker.
HIS P.O.V. - THROUGH THE MIRROR, White seems to have calmed
down.
BACK IN THE VISITING ROOM
SCHREBER
The men in black - they're the
killers.
White stands abruptly, pushes himself against the glass.
WHITE
You're a liar!
SCHREBER
No, it's the truth.
WHITE
So you're telling me the truth this
time? Is that it!
The doctor removes a SMALL SYRINGE from his black bag, places
it on the table in front of the glass, blocks it from the
guard's view.
SCHREBER
If you would only take this, inject
it in your brain, everything would be
much clearer.
WHITE
Not that again...
SCHREBER
Everyone get's one - very much like
this...
(points to syringe)
But this one's special. It will help
you understand, everything...
WHITE (cuts in)
I'm not injecting anything into my
brain.
SCHREBER
Anton - I mean, John, there
has been an experiment, a dangerous
experiment. I arranged it. It was a
lie from the beginning. It almost
worked, but things did not go as they
should have. You have been left -
blank.
Schreber waves frantically at the air surrounding him.
SCHREBER
You can change this, all this.
(points at syringe
again)
But you must take it.
White stares blankly at him for a moment, then:
WHITE
You've been working too hard.
SCHREBER
Please! Don't be foolish! Time is
short. Let me show you something.
Look at this syringe.
WHITE
Why?
SCHREBER
Don't ask stupid questions. Look at
it.
White reluctantly does this.
SCHREBER
Concentrate. Imagine the syringe
rising. Picture it floating above the
table.
TIGHT ON WHITE
SCHREBER
Do it!
WHITE'S P.O.V.
The syringe starts to vibrate, actually RISES INTO THE AIR -
floats stationary between White and Schreber.
WHITE
It's a trick.
SCHREBER
No it isn't. You are doing it! Now
raise it over the glass and...
Suddenly the syringe spins towards the doctor, IMPALES itself
in his shoulder. He yelps, grabs it.
WHITE
Oh, sorry...
The doctor pulls out the syringe, is about to say more when a
BUZZER SOUNDS.
MECHANICAL VOICE
Your - time - is - up.
Schreber looks to where the voice came from - a speaker above
their heads.
SCHREBER (looks at White)
I gave you your chance, now it's too
late. They'll learn you are here
soon. It's all over.
INT. POLICE STATION CORRIDOR
DOCTOR SCHREBER paces towards the exit. BUMSTEAD steps in
front of him. The doctor is startled.
BUMSTEAD
Doctor! What brings you here?
SCHREBER
Just visiting my patient.
BUMSTEAD
Really? And how is his state of
mind?
SCHREBER
He's seriously disturbed...
The doctor is nervous, glancing about.
BUMSTEAD
You seem a little edgy. Everything
okay?
SCHREBER
Yes, of course. Everything's fine...
He tries to push past. Bumstead grabs his arm.
BUMSTEAD
To tell you the truth, I'm glad we've
run into each other like this. Maybe
you can help me tidy some loose ends.
SCHREBER
Loose ends?
SCHREBER looks like a trapped animal, when:
VOICE O.S.
Bumstead!
Bumasead turns to look down the corridor. He sees STROMBOLI
peaking out of his office door.
STROMBOLI
I need to speak to you. Immediately.
The door shuts again. Bumstead turns back. The doctor is GONE
- the corridor empty.
INT. HOLDING CELL
White is staring through a glass door at A COP. A KETTLE
WHISTLES O.S. The cop gets up and moves off.
White looks up.
HIS P.O.V.
A small WINDOW, high up on the wall. Impossible to get to,
even if his hands weren't cuffed. Nothing he can do - he
looks at a clock on a wall.
PUSH IN on the clock - TICKING GETS LOUDER.
INT. POLICE STATION
BUMSTEAD enters STROMBOLI'S office. A nervous CHIEF-INSPECTOR
is flanked by TWO STRANGE-LOOKING MEN in ill-fitting brown
suits.
STROMBOLI
Bumstead, these... er, gentlemen are
here to collect White.
Bumstead suspiciously eyes the two men, beside STROMBOLI'S
desk.
BUMSTEAD (to men)
Who are you?
STROMBOLI (even more nervous)
Please, Bumstead. Co-operate -
it's easier.
BUMSTEAD
This is highly irregular. I have a
right to know.
MAN 1
We are from a mental asylum.
He notices that this man's moustache is LOP-SIDED. The other
man wears spectacles WITH NO LENSES in the frames, clutches an
un-lit pipe in his teeth.
STROMBOLI
Yes. That's right. He's ill - he
needs expert help.
BUMSTEAD
I see...
MAN 1
Yes, Inspector. Has he been
displaying any strange... behaviour?
BUMSTEAD
He's been a little angel...
STROMBOLI
If you could show them to the holding
cell now.
SLOW MOVE IN on Bumstead's face.
IN THE CORRIDOR
Bumstead and the MYSTERY MEN walk towards the holding cell.
Bumstead glances up through the glass in the door before he
enters. IT'S EMPTY.
He fumbles furiously for the key in his pocket - BURSTS into
the room. White is gone. But where? Bumstead throws a look
back TO THE FRONT DESK.
MAN 1
Where is he?
The cop is just returning, holding a cup of coffee. He looks
at the inspector, sees the room is empty. A nervous twitch
knocks the cup from the cop's hands.
TIGHT ON THE CUP - smashing on the floor.
INT. SUBWAY STATION - NIGHT
Underground. CONSTANT NOISE O.S. of trains arriving and
departing but none are seen.
CAMERA MOVES PAST broken tiles on a wall to REVEAL: WHITE -
sitting amidst rubbish on the ground, looking around, confused,
groggy from sleep. He looks down at his hands, unsuccessfully
tries to free them from the cuffs.
MOVE IN TIGHT ON WHITE
He starts to cry. He puts his head in his hands, his body
spasms with each sob.
SEVERAL ANGLES of the empty corridors of the subway. White's
crying is heard - echoic.
BACK ON WHITE - A small feminine HAND touches his head.
Startled, he throws himself back, like he's about to be
attacked.
THE BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN from the church looks down at him.
INT. POLICE STATION
BUMSTEAD and the COP are getting grilled by STROMBOLI.
BUMSTEAD
Yes, sir. I'm sorry... But I don't
understand how it was possible. The
only window was twenty feet up a
vertical wall, he was cuffed...
STROMBOLI
(shouts at cringing
COP)
How could you have been so stupid?
COP
I'm sorry, sir.
STROMBOLI
Alright, get out.
Bumstead gets up and leaves.
STROMBOLI
You stay.
The cop hustles out, shuts the door.
STROMBOLI
Bumstead, you're starting to annoy
me. This case is very important to
me. Just a little warning: I've got
my eye on you inspector, remember
that.
BUMSTEAD
Yes, sir.
He leaves.
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING
White, awkwardly trying to hide his cuffed hands in his coat,
follows the JAPANESE WOMAN up a flight of dark stairs. she
keeps looking back at him, smiling but SAYS NOTHING.
INT. APARTMENT
White and the woman step into a run-down apartment. She points
to a couch. White looks uncomfortable. She smiles again, then
turns on the radio. MUSIC.
She steps into an adjoining bedroom, leaving White alone. He
gets up and starts to tune the radio. A babble of fragments of
voices and music, then: A NEWS REPORT...
NEWS READER O.S.
...earlier this evening it was
reported a man fitting his
description had been apprehended.
White listens nervously.
NEWS READER O.S.
...and now for a message from LUMP-O
food products...
Across the room he can see the woman's bedroom door ajar. He
crosses to the doorway and looks in. The woman stands naked
against a deep red wall, her back turned. She has an elaborate
TATTOO on her back - looks like an INSECT. She puts on a
dressing gown and TURNS SUDDENLY.
White steps back before she notices him, he goes back to the
couch.
She steps from the doorway holding a BAR OF SOAP in her hand.
She sits down beside White and takes his hands, gently
lathering soap around the handcuffs, continuing to smile at
him. White looks down.
His hands seem to have SHRUNK - they poke out of his sleeves
like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off.
White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING
STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been
removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help
smiling.
HIS P.O.V.
Her eyes. Her lips. Her neck. She leans forward, goes OUT OF
FOCUS.
ANOTHER ANGLE
She touches her tongue to his lips. Kisses his face. She
pushes him back on the couch and pulls her dressing gown open.
White does not respond - seems uncertain. She sits upright,
astride his body, unbuckles his belt, opens his shirt, caresses
his chest. She stops, her face in shadow.
Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them.
She starts to breath deeply.
OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move
rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone
behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other
side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is
picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING.
OUTSIDE
The building the lovers are in SLOWLY RISES into the air, past
taller buildings and floats out over the city. Its shadow
moves past empty plazas and across faces of grey towers.
INSIDE
White sleeps, as buildings move past outside the window. He
opens his eyes, FORCES himself awake. Looks across the dark
room.
The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a
large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the
streets drifting past.
JAPANESE WOMAN
He's up here! He raped me! Hurry!
Before he kills again!
OUTSIDE
MYSTERY MEN stand on roof-tops, watching the building drift
past.
BACK IN THE ROOM
White runs to the window, GRABS the woman. As they struggle,
the building is landing softly in another part of the city.
LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance...
WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO
SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window
(minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A
distant SIREN O.S.
He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the
dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a
table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal
shadows on the wall.
White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She
points to herself.
WOMAN (a whisper)
Sachiko.
He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond
with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his
hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow.
WHITE
That's me. I'm a shadow.
She smiles at the shadows.
WHITE
Do I look like a murderer to you?
She just keeps smiling, not understanding. Kisses him. He
notices an old phone on a corner table, removes the note again
and rings the same number. This time, after several rings the
call is answered.
WOMAN'S VOICE O.S.
Yes?... Who is this?... Who's
there?...
White remains silent. Sachiko stands and leaves the room.
WOMAN'S VOICE O.S.
John? Is that you?
WHITE
Who is this? What do you know about
me?
In the darkness of a doorway Sachiko hesitates momentarily.
She slides a hand into White's coat, removes the wallet. She
takes out some cash, puts the wallet back, then she MOVES OFF.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
BUMSTEAD pulls up in his car. Across the street is DOCTOR
SCHREBER'S surgery.
He is about to get out of the car, when the SURGERY DOOR OPENS
and A FIGURE steps into the street. Bumstead watches the
shadowy man for a moment. Then gets out and FOLLOWS, assuming
it is Schreber.
ALLEYWAY
Bumstead follows inconspicuously. Without warning, the figure
stops and TURNS. Bumstead backs into a doorway to hide. He
gets a glimpse of the gaunt features of a MYSTERY MAN in the
dim light of the alley.
When Bumstead steps into the alley again there is no sign of
the Man - like he disappeared into thin air. A SHADOW
crosses the wall beside Bumstead. He spins, looking around
behind him. Then he looks up into the air.
HIS P.O.V.
The shadow of a LEVITATING FIGURE crosses the face of a
building.
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING PASSAGEWAY - NIGHT
SOUND OF A WOMAN SOBBING O.S. A wet dog sits in a corner
gnawing a bone. A crackly voice recites a list of names from a
small speaker-box mounted to a wall. A TREMBLING FINGER
presses a door buzzer.
SACHIKO, opens the door and looks out.
ANGLE ON - A STRANGE WOMAN in the dark corridor adjusting her
hair nervously. She pushes past the Japanese woman, into the
room.
INSIDE
WOMAN
John.
WHITE stands inside the room, looking at the woman,
expressionless. The woman suddenly leaps forward, grabs him,
kisses him passionately.
White tries to push her away, but she takes his hand, pulls it
inside her dress, makes him touch her breasts. He pushes
harder, she trips on a chair, falls to the floor. She starts
to cry.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING FACADE
The CAMERA MOVES past flaking bricks - to a window. Behind
the glass WHITE and SACHIKO sit across from the WOMAN who
attacked White. She is talking, though nothing can be heard,
drying her eyes with a handkerchief.
INSIDE
The strange woman looks at White intently between sobs.
WOMAN
Please believe me. It's me, John.
Your WIFE. I wouldn't lie to you.
You told me I could come and see you
- now you want to just send me away
again...
White looks AT THE FLOOR.
HIS P.O.V. - a crack in the floorboards - movement
underneath.
WHITE
I thought it would make more sense.
I'm getting the pieces, but when I
put it together it feels like...
Like you're telling me about somebody
else's life...
WIFE
It's the truth... I need you. I
know you're innocent.
WHITE
How do you know I'm innocent?
WIFE
Of course you are. You couldn't do
those terrible things. Come home with
me - maybe things will make sense
then...
WHITE
I can't do that. It's dangerous.
What about my parents? Do you know
where I can find them?
WIFE
They're dead, John.
He stands and walks to the window - looks out at the city.
WIFE
You have an uncle. You were very
close.
She fumbles in her handbag, pulls out a notebook, scribbles
something on a piece of paper, hands it to White.
WIFE
This is where he lives. I'm sure he
would like to see you.
WHITE (taking paper)
Thanks.
WIFE (looks at him for a beat)
Don't you want me? My body?
Remember how my skin feels? Touch
it. I...
She notices Sachiko - becomes self-conscious. Sachiko
silently stands and leaves the room. The wife puts her face in
her hands, overcome with tears.
WHITE
What's your name?
WIFE (looks up - still sobbing)
Elizabeth.
White removes the torn fragment of the photograph he has in his
wallet, holds the black and white eye up to her face - it
matches.
WHITE (thoughtful)
Yes...
In the darkness of a doorway Sachiko watches the couple. She
MOVES OFF.
ELIZABETH
I want to help...
WHITE
Alright. Here...
He pulls the postcard from his wallet, holds it up so the woman
can see it.
WHITE
Know this place?
She looks at the card.
ELIZABETH (stops crying)
Of course. Your home town - where
you grew up...
White stands abruptly, startling the woman. He glares down at
her intensely.
WHITE
How do I get there? Tell me.
WIFE
That's easy. You...
She trails off into silence. Her hand, about to point in a
certain direction, freezes in mid-air.
ELIZABETH
...strange, I forgot.
White sits back down quietly.
WHITE
Yes. Very strange.
INT. BATHROOM
Sachiko locks the door behind her and steps to the middle of
the room, lifts a small round rug off the tiled floor.
Underneath is a TRAP-DOOR. Opening it, she climbs down a
hole.
UNDER THE FLOOR
In the semi-darkness she moves to a WOODEN BOX. She cranks a
small metal handle on the box which makes the lid open. Music
plays softly.
She looks into the yawning black mouth of the box. A WORM-LIKE
apparition threads its way out of the hole, wraps about her
thigh. She breaths deeply, shuts her eyes.
INT. TENEMENT BUILDING CORRIDOR
LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT - feet walk along a tattered rug,
approach a door. Bumstead's shoes, shiny as always.
INT. TENEMENT ROOM
A KNOCK ON THE DOOR startles a huddled man in a blanket,
sitting before a small t.v. set. This is THOMPSON - the
detective with mental problems. He's unshaven, haunted.
Clutching a shotgun, he steps to the door, peeks through a spy-
hole.
HIS P.O.V.
Bumstead, back turned, glancing at his watch.
Thompson backs away, points his gun at the figure through the
door.
THOMPSON
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