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   "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
               Go away!

                         BUMSTEAD O.S.
               Open up, Thompson.  It's me...

     Thompson puts his eye to the door again.

                         THOMPSON
               Bumstead?

     THROUGH THE SPY-HOLE LENS the inspector turns, looks at us, his
     face DISTORTED, fish-like.  Thompson undoes four locks, opens
     the door a crack, but leaves it chained.

                         THOMPSON
               Can't let you in...  sorry.

                         BUMSTEAD
               I'm on the serial killer case, need
               to talk.

                         THOMPSON
               Not that.  Anything else.

     Thompson wipes at the sweat on his forehead.

                         BUMSTEAD
               You don't look so well...  C'mon, let
               me in Thompson.

     Thompson stares at Bumstead, then silently unchains the door
     and lets him through.

                         THOMPSON
               I can't talk about that.  As long as
               you understand, that's all.

     The room is very dark.  Bumstead is assailed by a wave of
     putrid smells.  It's a mess  -  rotten food, overturned
     furniture, dirty clothes.

                         THOMPSON
               Pull up some garbage  -  make
               yourself at home.

     Thompson smiles weakly.  They sit down, face each other in the
     gloom.  A RAT scuttles past Thompson.  With lightning reflexes
     he throws a shoe at it.  The rat runs under a table.  He looks
     back at Bumstead, smiles, slightly insane.

                         THOMPSON
               They've taken my mind, my memories...

                         BUMSTEAD
               What?  Who has?

                         THOMPSON
               Is that your idea of a joke?  I don't
               remember...
                    (looks around)
               Take my advice, Bumstead.  Get off
               this case.  Now.

                         BUMSTEAD
               What is going on?

                         THOMPSON (looks more frightened)
               Wish I could tell you, Bumstead.
               Strange business.  I...
               AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

     He screams horribly.  Stands, clutching his head.  Startled,
     Bumstead falls backwards off his chair.  Thompson, still
     clutching his head, runs and starts POUNDING HIS FACE against
     the wall.

                         THOMPSON
               Get away!  Leave me alone!

     Thompson's head is CHANGING  -  bloating.  It rapidly elongates
     into a pink fleshy tube.

     Thompson's head continues to grow -  his features are lost
     beneath folds of skin.  His screaming is stifled.  Thompson
     falls to the floor.  His head HUGE NOW  -  larger than his
     body.  Small tendrils sprout from the main appendage.

     Bumstead takes cover behind a sofa.

     Then, as violently as the head began to transform, it stops.

     Bumstead peaks over the sofa at the huge throbbing purple
     growth sprouting from Thompson's collar.  At the top of the
     growth an orifice opens.

     An EXPLOSION of green bile spouts into the room  -  covers
     everything in sight...

     Then the head starts to shrink.  Thompson's features appear
     again. It returns to normal size.  Thompson groans, sprawled on
     the floor, clutching his head.

     Bumstead looks on in horror.

                         THOMPSON
               It's  -  it's disgusting, I know...

     Thompson's face is heavily bruised, covered in sweat.  His nose
     starts to bleed  -  he wipes it on his sleeve.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Jesus!  We have to get you to a
               doctor...

                         THOMPSON
               No...  No doctor...

     Bumstead stands unsteadily.

                         BUMSTEAD
               But...  How long has this been
               happening?

                         THOMPSON
               A few days...  a few weeks  -  dunno,
               I can't remember.
                    (stands slowly)
               Worse thing is, I never know if it
               will change back again...  Now,
               please leave me alone.


     INT.  APARTMENT  -  NIGHT

     WHITE, ELIZABETH and SACHIKO sit around a small table, eating
     quietly.

     Without warning, Elizabeth starts to cry again.  White tries to
     ignore her. Sachiko looks sadly at the wife, puts a hand on her
     shoulder, gives her a handkerchief.  The woman quietens down.

     They resume eating but in no time Elizabeth again bursts into
     tears.  White looks at her now.

                         ELIZABETH  (through sobs)
               Sorry...

     Sachiko leans across and puts her arm around Elizabeth, helps
     her to her feet.  Elizabeth hangs onto the woman as she is led
     from the room.  White can hear the sobbing still, as the women
     move through to the bedroom.


     INT.  BEDROOM

     They sit on the edge of the bed  -  Sachiko holds Elizabeth's
     hand, smiles at her.

                         ELIZABETH (calmer now)
               I'm sorry...  This is embarrassing  -
               my husband doesn't know who I am...

     With this, she starts to cry again.

     Sachiko leans forward and tenderly kisses Elizabeth's lips.


     INT.  DARK CHAMBER  -  NIGHT

     TIGHT ON TWO MYSTERY MEN speaking in whispers.  The Men
     continue talking as THE CAMERA RISES, through several levels of
     concrete and machinery TO REVEAL:


     EXT.  ROOF-TOP  -  NIGHT

     OTHER MYSTERY MEN are rigging a wire to some kind of antenna
     device.

     BACK DOWN IN THE DARK CHAMBER

     The group of MYSTERY MEN have gathered once again.  One
     addresses them all.

                         MYSTERY MAN
               The line of junction between two
               edges!

                         MEN  (unison)
               YES!

                         MYSTERY MAN
               We have located him.  Now is the
               time, yes.

     A switch is thrown.  Electricity sparks to life.  A hum is in
     the air.

                         MYSTERY MAN
               Let the tuning commence!

     The congregation of MEN place ELECTRODES to their foreheads in
     a trance-like manner.  They chant, quietly at first, steadily
     building in volume.  The MEN stand and MOVE RHYTHMICALLY to
     some inner beat.

     The CAMERA MOVES ACROSS to a diagram pinned on a board.  A
     representation of a man's legs.  Trousers rolled up above the
     knees, showing a number of bite-like wounds on the flesh.
     Labels point out various parts of the legs in medical fashion
     -  the legends are an unknown language.

     ON THE ROOF

     The antenna glows with a ghostly green light.  O.S. SCREAMS
     RISE UP FROM THE STREET.


     INT.  APARTMENT/KITCHEN  -  LATER

     White downs a cup of black coffee, staring blankly out the
     window.  O.S. distant screams.

     He glances across to a wall, notices A FLY there  -  something
     about it looks WRONG.

     FLY'S P.O.V.

     A distorted electronic image of White's FACE looming up.

     At exactly that moment the FLY TAKES OFF, flies erratically
     down the hall, around a turn and disappears.  White follows.

     HALL-WAY

     White moves quietly towards the bedroom door.

     HIS P.O.V.

     It is ajar, dark inside.  Movement.  The women are naked on the
     bed.  The JAPANESE WOMAN has her eyes shut, head back in
     ecstasy. The WIFE is bent over her, kissing her stomach.

     ANGLE ON WHITE  -  watching through the crack in the door.  The
     women are oblivious.

     He moves away slowly, feeling strange.  His feet stop making
     contact with the floor.  He grabs a table to steady himself.
     The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and
     smash. He's FLOATING.

     White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the
     light-fixture in the ceiling.  It breaks off in a cloud of
     plaster.  Sparks briefly illuminate.  He falls heavily ONTO THE
     CEILING  -  now the floor.  The apartment is upside down.

     He stares up at furniture and objects.

     THE BATHROOM

     White steps into the room, eerily illuminated by a glowing
     heater stuck to the floor.  Water is running  -  filling the
     tub and overflowing, making a suspended puddle above White's
     head.

     White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the
     floor.  It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off.
     Pulls himself towards the tub.

     Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water.
     He's incredibly weak  -  floats limply in the bath.  Submerges
     his face.  A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart
     somewhere in the building.

     He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling.

     HIS P.O.V.

     A blurry DARK FIGURE moves into his vision.  It stares down at
     him.

     White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the
     thin veil of water.  The FIGURE reaches out.  A GLOVED HAND
     grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully.  White
     gulps for air, swallows water.  His eyes widen.  He tries to
     stop the hand strangling him but can't.

     Suddenly the hand pulls away.  The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back
     and ERUPTS into bloody explosion.  The body splits apart,
     throwing internal organs through the room.

     White awakens in the bathtub.  He looks about the room.  Empty.
     Silent.  He gets out of the water, starts to dress.


     EXT.  BUILDING

     BUMSTEAD'S car pulls up.  He gets out, stained here and there
     with bile.


     INT.  APARTMENT

     A HIGH ANGLE on the slain bodies of the JAPANESE WOMAN and
     WHITE'S WIFE.  TWO COPS wander about the dark room, doing
     stuff.  Bumstead walks up to the cop in charge.

                         COP
               All the same entry wounds.  It's
               definitely him.
                    (indicates Sachiko's
                    corpse)
               She lives...  lived here.  A
               prostitute.

                         BUMSTEAD
               The other one?

                         COP
               His wife.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Jesus.  Small world.
                    (looks around)
               Where's the photographer?

                         COP
               No one available.

     A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at
     the bile on Bumstead's suit.

                         YOUNG COP
               They won't come out.

                         COP
               We'll interrogate them anyway.

     The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION.  A small area
     neatly arranged  -  a double bed, various possessions.  Someone
     obviously lives here.  The room is empty however.

                         COP
               This is the family of the victim  -
               apparently they were in the apartment
               when he committed...

                         BUMSTEAD  (looks around empty room)
               What are you talking about?

                         COP
               Oh, yes...

     He walks to THE BED, bends over and lifts the bed-spread.  In
     the shadows underneath, Bumstead can make out SEVERAL FACES.  A
     man, an old woman, three or four children.

                         COP
               They don't speak English...

                         BUMSTEAD
               How will we interrogate them?

                         COP
               Well, sir...  I don't know exactly.

     Under the bed, Bumstead can see a LITTLE GIRL.  He walks over
     to her.  She puts a hand over her mouth, edges away.

                         BUMSTEAD
               It's alright.  I won't hurt you.

     Without coming out from under the bed she hands the inspector a
     crumpled paper.  He looks at it then glances over his shoulder.

     HIS P.O.V.

     The wooden room divider.  The CAMERA MOVES IN steadily, into a
     crack running along the length of the divider  -  we can see
     the room on the other side, with the cops moving about.

     Bumstead looks back at the page he holds in his hands.

     HIS P.O.V.

     A child-like DRAWING.  Two men, stick figures, dressed in
     black, with impossibly big knifes, slash at two screaming
     women.

     Unmistakable  -  MYSTERY MEN.


     INT.  DARK CHAMBER  -  NIGHT

     DOCTOR SCHREBER walks stiffly into the room and sits at the
     head of a boardroom table.  He's cold, pulls his coat up about
     his neck.  The long table is lined on both sides with immobile
     MYSTERY MEN.

     A DARK FIGURE walks into the room, steps up to the other end of
     the table.  This is the enigmatic MISTER BLACK  -  only ever
     seen hidden in shadow.

                         MISTER BLACK  (addressing Men)
               Gentlemen.
                    (peers at Schreber)
               Doctor.

     He sits, dark and mysterious.

                         MISTER BLACK
               I have called this meeting for a
               purpose, yes?
                    (turns to Schreber)
               It is clear to you we are  -
               unhappy, yes?

                         SCHREBER
               Yes, of course.  I...

                         MISTER BLACK
               The tuning failed  -  when our agents
               arrived he was gone.  He knows things
               -  predicts things.  Explain to us,
               Doctor.  Why is the situation this
               way?  Yes?

     Schreber seems distinctly uncomfortable.

                         SCHREBER
               I'm not certain I fully understand
               myself...

                         MISTER BLACK
               No excuses, dearest Doctor!  Answers.
               Yes?

                         MYSTERY MEN  (chant in unison)
               Answers!  Answers!

                         MISTER BLACK
               You said this would be containable!
               Nothing works this time.  Why is this
               so?

                         MYSTERY MEN
               Why!  Why!

                         SCHREBER
               I  -  ah  -  I...  it's a little cold
               in here don't you think?

                         MISTER BLACK
               We must find him.  This is your
               responsibility.

                         SCHREBER (thinking fast)
               Yes, of course...


     INT.  INSPECTOR'S OFFICE

     Bumstead once again scratches his head in front of a map.  The
     little girl's drawing is pinned to his board.  His attention
     wanders.  He notices a FLY CRAWLING across the wall in front of
     his face.  He leans closer, studying it.

     The intercom crackles to life.  The insect flies off.

                         MISS CRENSHAW  (through intercom)
               A call, sir.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Who is it?

                         MISS CRENSHAW
               Won't say.  Says he must talk to you.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Put it through...

     A light flashes.  Bumstead picks up.

                         BUMSTEAD
               This is Bumstead.  Who is this?

     He listens intently.


     INT.  BUMSTEAD'S OFFICE

     BUMSTEAD enters.  He looks nervous.  His SECRETARY sits at her
     desk in an adjoining office, filing her nails.

                         BUMSTEAD
               I need everything on the Jonathan
               White case.

                         MISS CRENSHAW
               Yes, sir.  Everything?

                         BUMSTEAD
               All the important stuff.  Wrap it up
               for me.

     The inspector turns to face her, a little manic. She is staring
     at him.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Please  -  I'm in a hurry.

                         MISS CRENSHAW (evenly)
               Certainly.


     EXT.  POLICE STATION

     BUMSTEAD steps from the doorway and walks across to his car
     briskly.


     INT.  BATH-HOUSE

     Bumstead moves down a long corridor full of people in towels
     and swimming outfits, waiting silently.  They sit lined by a
     wall, staring into space.

     Bumstead walks into a larger tiled room, full of steam.  He
     walks beside a heated pool  -  naked people swim about weakly
     or sit on the edge washing themselves.  He steps up to A FULLY
     DRESSED MAN, sitting silently on a bench.  It is WHITE.

     A feint smile brushes across White's lips as he looks up at the
     inspector.  He looks away, like he's forgotten something.
     Stands, walks over to the pool, cups his hand, bends down,
     scoops some water.

     Bumstead sees White has picked up the LITTLE SILVER FISH.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Why give yourself up?

                         WHITE
               I  -  ah - couldn't think of
               anything else to do.  I thought maybe
               you know something...
                    (beat)
               I'm scared.

                         BUMSTEAD
               That was a pretty good escape act at
               the station.  How did you do that?

                         WHITE
               I woke up in a subway.  I don't know
               how I got there.

                         BUMSTEAD  (not convinced)
               Uh-huh.
                    (pauses)
               What are you scared of?

                         WHITE
               People...  after me.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Who?

                         WHITE
               I don't know who they are.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Why are they after you?

                         WHITE
               Don't know that either.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Don't know much, do you?


     INT.  LABORATORY  -  NIGHT

     Metal scraping.

     PIANO ACCORDION MUSIC wafts on a breeze, someone breathing.

     HIGH ANGLE  -  Down through an OPENING metal hatch.  A dim
     laboratory IS REVEALED  -  a maze of scientific instruments.
     Elongated shadows move about.

     MYSTERY MEN are hunched over something.  Behind them a
     diagrammatic chart of the evolution of the human brain.

     MAN 1 bends across to a CONTROL PANEL, works a switch.  A small
     speaker in a metal box crackles to life.  SOUND OF DISTANT
     SURF.  A WOMAN'S VOICE:

                         VOICE
               What is your name...  What is your
               name...

     Wires lead from the metal box to a HUMAN BRAIN within a
     metallic container.  Electricity arches across electrodes.

     More sounds from the speaker:  WATER BUBBLING.  HIGH HEELS WALK
     DOWN STAIRS.  BED-SPRINGS.  LOVERS MOAN PASSIONATELY.

     MAN 2 steps forward and pulls a bloodied sheet from their
     handiwork.

     A PUPPET-LIKE CREATURE is revealed.  Small  -  two and half
     feet tall.  The top of its head an open hatch containing the
     BRAIN.  Wires lead to this.

     TIGHT ON PUPPET'S EYES  -  They glance about the room. Its body
     is a series of geometric shapes and polished surfaces.

     MAN 1 shines a torch into the puppet's eyes.

     INSIDE ITS HEAD

     Gears turn, illuminated by the beam of the light.  The gears
     part slowly to reveal a small writhing INSECT screwed to a
     metal plate.

     MAN 2 shows the puppet PHOTOGRAPHS:  WHITE as he looks
     currently, shots of him as a teenager, a young boy, a baby.
     Photos of what we realise are his parents, standing on a
     seaside pier sirtiling and waving.  Where he went to school.  A
     red push-bike he owned as a boy.  His first sweetheart.  Then a
     photo of a young woman smiling  -  his WIFE.

     MAN 3 holds up a small sea shell to the mechanical ear of the
     puppet creature  -  MORE SOUNDS OF SURF...

     A FIGURE clutching a wooden cane looks on from the shadows.
     His pale hand fondles the ornate handle of his cane  -  a
     carved silver insect.  It's MISTER BLACK.  Man 3 steps up to
     him.

                         MISTER BLACK
               You have duplicated the personality,
               yes.

                         MAN 3
               It is ready.  The Doctor was most
               helpful.

     Mister Black turns towards the OTHER MEN.

                         MISTER BLACK
               I hear a clock in my head, and I like
               it!

                         MEN  (respond in unison)
               We hear clocks in our heads, and we
               like it!

                         MISTER BLACK
               A world in our likeness!

                         MEN
               A world in our likeness!

     The Men close the hatch in the top of the puppet's head.
     SQUEAK...  CLUNK!  The puppet tests out its MANY WEAPONS, a
     series of nasty-looking blades snap out of its small body, then
     retract.


     INT.  INSPECTOR'S APARTMENT

     Bumstead leads White through the front door, into a SITTING
     ROOM.  Everything is extremely neat and organized, plastic
     coverings on all the furniture.  White steps towards a sofa.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Please.  Not that way.  If you could
               just follow the covering  -  the
               carpet gets stained and it's
               impossible to clean.

     White stops. Bumstead indicates a CLEAR PLASTIC MAT running
     through the room.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Everything the department knows about
               John White is in this.  Here.
                    (hands file)
               Excuse me for a moment.

     White flips through it.  Details of White's history.

     IN THE BEDROOM

     Bumstead removes an empty suitcase from a closet.  Begins to
     place neatly folded clothes within it.

                         BUMSTEAD (calling to White)
               Age thirty one.  Brown hair.  Green
               eyes.  Five feet, ten and a half
               inches tall.  Until recently worked
               for a firm manufacturing scientific
               equipment.  Wife's name  -  Elizabeth.
               Father and mother  -  Harold and
               Edith.  Both dead.  A history of
               mental instability...  etcetera,
               etcetera.

     Bumstead walks back into the sitting room, packed bag in hand.
     He looks at White leafing through the file.

                         BUMSTEAD
               That stuff helpful?

                         WHITE  (disappointed)
               I suppose...
                    (looks up)
               Why are you helping me?

                         BUMSTEAD
               You're case has been driving me
               crazy.  You see, I pride myself on
               being thorough.  There's too many
               loose ends with your case.
                    (a beat)
               Thought it was best you were hidden
               until we understand more about the
               facts.  What do you know about these
               men in black?

     White looks up, pauses as if he didn't understand Bumstead,
     then:

                         WHITE
               If you shoot them here...
                    (points at his
                    forehead)
               you can kill them.  They're not
               people  -  like us  -  got insects in
               their heads...  Got any disinfectant?

     The inspector is caught off-guard by the question.

                         WHITE  (continues)
               It's my legs.  Been bitten.  Giving
               me trouble.

     Bumstead walks silently to the bathroom, opens a medicine
     cabinet.

                         BUMSTEAD  (to himself)
               Insects?

     He returns clutching a small bottle and some cotton wool.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Here.
                    (hands things to
                    White)
               Careful with your trousers.  That
               stuff stains.

     The inspector gives white back his revolver and his wallet.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Here.

     Bumstead paces thoughtfully, careful to stay on the plastic
     protective covering.  He turns, glares at White, who dabs his
     legs with the cotton wool.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Any idea what part the Doctor plays
               in this business?

     White shakes head.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Let's try and find out, shall we.
                    (points at White's
                    shoe)
               Lace is untied.

     White looks down.  Bumstead doesn't lie.


     INT.  DRUG STORE  -  NIGHT

     The BARBER is shaving under the armpit of a client.  GRANDPA
     snores in a corner, his feet buried under a pile of hair
     clippings..

     The BELL hanging above the door rings.  The door swings open.

                         BARBER
               He with you shortly, sir...

     Several heads turn, THEN LOOK DOWN to see the PUPPET.  The
     puppet wheels forward and stops.

                         BARBER (not really looking)
               Hello, sonny.  Cute outfit.  Mother
               get it for you?

     The puppet crosses the room threateningly.  TWO OTHER CLIENTS
     look up startled from their newspapers and girly magazines.

     ON THE PUPPET  -  it wheels up to the barber's leg and GRABS HIS
     TROUSER with a mechanical claw.  The puppet holds out a PHOTO
     OF White.

                         PUPPET (incoherent obscenities)
               EEEEEEEEK...  AHHHHHHH!...
               SHHHHIIIITTTT!...  FUUUUCKER!!

                         BARBER (looks down, scared now)
               Huh?

     He's grabbed and THROWN into a nearby chair.  The puppet leaps
     onto the bench in front of him  -  he's frightened, so are the
     customers.

     Puppet wheels up and down on the bench in front of the
     customers  -  stopping to glance at individuals in a threatening
     manner, holding out the photo of white.

     It leans forward, spinning its blades  -  HAIR FLIES.  Screams
     o.s.

     The PUPPET retracts its weapons  -  COVERED in blood.  It
     wheels forward, through the door and into the street.

     THE CAMERA PANS to reveal a scene of complete carnage.  Blood
     covers the walls.  FOUR BODIES slumped about the room.  Each has
     an outlandish hairstyle.


     INT.  BUMSTEAD'S CAR

     White looks at the inspector  -  street lights pass over his
     features.  Bumstead stares at the road.

                         BUMSTEAD
               I didn't tell you the entire reason I
               helped you.  It started with two
               little girls.  Twins.  Used to play
               with them when I was young.  Couldn't
               remember for the life of me what they
               looked like, then I understood why...

     He looks at the dashboard, brushes away a small piece of lint.

                         BUMSTEAD
               They didn't have faces.

                         WHITE
               What?

                         BUMSTEAD
               That's right.  Just seamless flesh
               across the front of their heads.  No
               mistake.  I just hadn't remembered it
               that way.  Up until then they had
               been normal little girls in my
               memory.
                    (looks back at White)
               That's not all.  Once I started
               examining them, all sorts of things
               about my life, had...
               inconsistencies.  It was like a game.
               I would think about a person or a
               place, or an event.  Then I would
               turn the lights off.  Sit down in a
               comfortable chair...  And study each
               detail of this subject.

     He glances at White, then back to the road.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Everything was liquid beneath a thin
               surface that had always seemed solid
               to me...

     Bumstead and White are quiet momentarily, then:

                         BUMSTEAD
               Is there anything you haven't told me
               about this business?  Even the most
               insignificant thing?

                         WHITE (thinking)
               No.  Nothing I can think of.
               Except...

                         BUMSTEAD
               Go on.

                         WHITE
               Well.  The only thing I've been
               certain of, all this time, is that I
               need to get to the ocean.  The point
               is no one seems to know how to get
               there.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Why, that's ridiculous.  You just...

     He trails off.  Shakes his head slowly.

                         BUMSTEAD
               We'll get to the bottom of this.  I
               mean it.


     INT.  SCHREBER'S SURGERY

     The doctor is sitting at his desk, when the door bursts open
     suddenly.  White and Bumstead move into the room and grab the
     doctor before he can protest.

                         BUMSTEAD
               I met a friend of yours the other
               night, doctor.  Tall fellow.  No
               hair.  Rather pale skin...

                         SCHREBER
               I don't know what you're talking
               about.

                         BUMSTEAD
               That's surprising.  He was leaving
               your office at the time...

                         SCHREBER
               You are mistaken.

                         WHITE
               What are you hiding?

                         SCHREBER
               Nothing.  I don't know anything!

     BUMSTEAD removes his revolver, sticks it in the doctor's face.

                         SCHREBER
               Please, they'll kill me...

                         BUMSTEAD
               I think it's time you introduced us
               to your little friends.


     EXT.  ALLEY  -  NIGHT

     SCHREBER, BUMSTEAD AND WHITE sit in Bumstead's car in an
     alleyway.

     Schreber points to a SOLITARY METAL DOOR in a wall.

                         SCHREBER
               In there.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Just like that?

     The threesome step from the car, keep close to a wall.

     Schreber alone steps up to the door, leans down to a mat at the
     foot of the door, lifts it and takes a KEY from underneath.  He
     unlocks the door, opens it, puts the key back, goes inside.  He
     waves the other men forward.

     White and Bumstead step up to the door  -  Bumstead looks at the
     mat  -  it says:  WELCOME on it.

     A CORRIDOR

     Through the door  -  AN ELEVATOR.  There is only a down button.
     Schreber presses it, several seconds later the doors open.

     They step inside.  The doors close, the lift descends.

                         BUMSTEAD
               What is this place?

                         SCHREBER
               You wouldn't believe me if I told
               you, Inspector.  Have patience  -
               you'll see for yourself.

     When the doors open again the three men look out on a DARK
     PASSAGEWAY.


     EXT.  LIBRARY  -  NIGHT

     The PUPPET wheels up to the sweeping set of stairs at the base
     of the building.  It stops, WHEELS BUMP into the steps
     repeatedly.  It looks down and shrieks with a string of
     mechanical obscenities.


     INT.  MYSTERY MEN'S UNDERWORLD

     WHITE and BUMSTEAD follow SCHREBER down a corridor to what
     appears to be an ancient crypt.  They enter a door  -  it has
     something written on it in a strange language.

     INSIDE IS A ROOM

     They stumble around in the darkness, Schreber finds a light
     switch, suddenly White STOPS dead in his tracks  -  Bumstead
     turns to him.

                         WHITE
               Look.

     White points to a wall featuring a line of brass hooks.  On
     these hooks hang MYSTERY MEN coats -  that's not all.  Each hook
     carries A FACE.

     Bumstead and White step closer, look at the faces.  They seem to
     be elaborate, very life-like MASKS.

                         SCHREBER
               Put them on.

     White and the inspector look at each other, incredulous.

     OUTSIDE  -  THE CORRIDOR

     The door opens.  White, Bumstead and Schreber step out, wearing
     poorly fitting masks and coats  -  DISGUISED AS MYSTERY MEN.

     FURTHER ALONG THE CORRIDOR

     The three men come across a small area with a raised platform,
     between arches.  A number of OPEN CARTS roll past on tracks  -
     the scene resembles some bizarre amusement-park ride.  The carts
     are numbered on the side  -  all of them empty.

                         SCHREBER
               Get in.  Hurry.

     White, Bumstead and Schreber hop aboard.  The cart takes them
     into a DARK TUNNEL, deeper into the secret underworld of the
     MYSTERY MEN.  They MOVE THROUGH a subterranean landscape of
     unexplained contraptions and bones.

                         WHITE
                    (to Bumstead)
               Where do you think this goes?

                         BUMSTEAD
               It sure isn't the fun-fair.

     The cart finally comes to a stop in a cave.  Bumstead, White and
     Schreber leap out and hide in a dark doorway, as a LONG LINE OF
     MYSTERY MEN walk past them.

                         SCHREBER
               Follow me, and do exactly as I do.

     They join the end of the line, falling into step.


     INT.  DARK CHAMBER

     The MEN, with WHITE, BUMSTEAD and SCHREBER in tow, enter and
     sit in a number of rows of wooden chairs.  White and the
     inspector do the same.

     MORE MYSTERY MEN appear in circular portals high up on the
     concrete walls.  ONE MAN faces the others at the front of the
     room.

                         MYSTERY MAN 1
               Eleven past eleven  -  the Night of the
               Eye.

     The seated Men start to CHANT.

                         MEN
               NIGHT OF THE EYE!  NIGHT OF THE EYE!

     A MAN in the front row stands.

                         MAN 2
               The Eye is too small for the head of
               the pin!

                         MAN 1
               Yes!

     ANOTHER MAN stands.  Next to the first, who sits again.

                         MAN 3
               What is it that floats on the water?
               The Eye!

                         MAN 1
               Indeed!

     So it goes around the room, each Man takes his turn announcing
     part of the strange ritual.  It will be White, Bumstead and
     Schreber's turn shortly.  White is worried, looks at the
     others.

                         WHITE (whisper)
               What do we do?

                         SCHREBER (hisses back)
               Fake it!

                         BUMSTEAD
               What?

     SCHREBER is next  -  he stands abruptly.

                         SCHREBER
               The eye.  Master of time and space!

     Then it's Bumstead's turn.

                         BUMSTEAD
               The Eye  -  um  -  delicious with
               horseradish on rye!

     MAN 1 at the front seems confused for a moment  -  SEVERAL of
     the others turn towards Bumstead.

                         MAN 1 (uncertain)
               Good.

     The inspector sits back down  -  whispers to White without
     looking at him.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Nothing to it...

     White stands.  Hesitates.  Then:

                         WHITE
               Eye...  eye, captain!

     White sits down, shaking his head, embarrassed.

                         MAN 1
               Um  -  yes...

     THE MAN NEXT TO WHITE rises up  -  keeps rising, FLOATS IN THE
     AIR above the Men's heads.

                         MAN 4
               My spine will bend for the Eye!

     He turns sideways, still floating.


     EXT.  ALLEY

     BACK ABOVE GROUND, Bumstead, White and Schreber run from the
     door at the end of the alley-way, tossing their masks away.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Was that for real down there?

                         SCHREBER
               I'm afraid so.

     The inspector stops walking suddenly, grabs White, holds him
     back.

                         BUMSTEAD
               What the hell is that?

     At the end of the alley the PUPPET advances menacingly.
     Schreber takes his chance and runs down an alley and
     disappears.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Quick.  My car.

     Fortunately BUMSTEAD'S CAR stands nearby.  The two men leap in,
     start it up.  Bumstead guns towards the puppet standing in the
     glare of the headlights.

     The puppet's head opens, a TINY PROPELLER pops out, spins,
     lifting the puppet into the air.  The car passes beneath it at
     speed.  Screeches off into a street, races along between tall
     buildings.

     INSIDE THE CAR

                         WHITE
               What now?

                         BUMSTEAD
               This ocean business...  I know where
               I can find a map.  I need to go back
               to the station.  Where will you be?

     White thinks for a moment, pulls the paper his wife gave him
     from his pocket.

                         WHITE
               I'll go see an uncle of mine.
                    (reading)
               Five  -  one  -  eight  -  three  -  double
               six  -  three...

     Bumstead scribbles on the pad mounted to the dash, battles with
     the wheel, driving at breakneck speed.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Good.
                    (looks in rear
                    mirror)
               Uh-oh...

     White turns and looks behind them.

     HIS P.O.V.  -  HEADLIGHTS gaining on them.

     ON THE PUPPET  -  sitting AT THE WHEEL of a stolen car, driving
     like crazy.

     BACK IN BUMSTEAD'S CAR

     White takes out his gun  -  AIMS at the rapidly approaching
     car.

                         WHITE  (remembers)
               It's empty.

                         BUMSTEAD
               Take mine.

     Bumstead pulls a gun out of his coat.  They swap.

     The puppet PULLS ALONGSIDE, a mechanical arm extends towards
     Bumstead's front tire.  A SPINNING BLADE extends from the end
     of the mechanical arm.

                         PUPPET
               ARRRRRRRRGGGHHHH!...  HA-HA-HA-HA-
               HA!!

     TIGHT ON THE BLADE heading for the spinning wheel.  White
     fires.  Shells hit the PUPPET'S car, shattering windows.

     THE BLADE cuts into the tire  -  it pops loudly, goes flat,
     metal SPARKS off the road.

     White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash.  Bumstead
     fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other
     vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans
     flying.

     The PUPPET'S car falls behind  -  then swerves off into a side-
     street and disappears.

                         BUMSTEAD  (looks behind him)
               Where did it go?

                         WHITE  (looks back also)
               Don't know.

     Both look FORWARD AGAIN  -  to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in
     front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY.  Bumstead's car is going too
     fast.  Slams the brakes.

     TIGHT ON PUPPET  -  Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car
     approaches like a bullet.

     INSIDE INSPECTOR'S CAR

                         BUMSTEAD
               Jump!

     Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad.  The two men LEAP.

     The car continues onwards.

     CRASH!  KA-BOOM!

     In the glow of the flaming wrecks, the two men pick themselves
     up from different sides of the street.  Look at each other,
     turn and head in OPPOSITE directions.

     CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal  -  a MECHANICAL CLAW starts
     to pull itself from the wreckage.


     EXT.  STREET  -  NIGHT

     White steps up to a SMALL DOOR in the side of a building.  A
     sign above the door depicts an underwater scene, crammed with
     fish, sea-weed, bubbles floating to the surface.  Dominating
     everything is a GREEN MAN with scales  -  a KING NEPTUNE-type.

     INSIDE

     White stops in front of a ticket booth, beside a faded blue
     curtain.  In the booth a TICKET SELLER is snoring with his mouth
     hanging open, his head sagging. White knocks on the window.  The
     man wakes with a start.

                         TICKET SELLER
               Yeah.  That's what I said!
                    (looks at White  -
                    rubs head)
               What..?

                         WHITE
               I'm looking for this address.

     The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily.

                         TICKET SELLER
               Upstairs.  Through there.

     He thumbs the blue curtain.  Curls up, shuts his eyes again.

     BEYOND THE CURTAIN

     A dark room full of BUBBLING NOISES AND WATER DRIPPING  -  an
     aquarium.

     Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look
     into illuminated tanks of sea creatures.

     White moves past a shadowy doorway.  He can barely make out
     STAIRS.


     INT.  HALL-WAY

     White moves cautiously in the darkness.  On a door a tiny
     NAMEPLATE says:  K. WHITE.  The door is unlocked.  He opens it
     and goes in.

     INSIDE

     An entrance hall of an apartment.  A large number of MOUNTED
     FISH of all sizes line the hall.

     PHOTOS on the wall  -  family portraits.  White examines these,
     concentrates on one in particular  -  a young boy on a red push-
     bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in
     a bathing suit:  WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE!  it says.

     A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S.  White hides behind a sofa.
     Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly.  White
     cannot see what it is.

                         VOICE O.S.
               John?

     White turns to see an OLD MAN in his pyjamas sitting in a
     WHEELCHAIR.  The man pushes a lever on the side of the chair.  A
     whir of electric motors.  The chair carries him out of the
     shadows.  White steps from behind the sofa.

                         MAN
               Are you alright?  What are you doing
               here?  Is this one of your jokes,
               John?  It's been so long, I thought
               you'd forgotten your uncle Karl?

                         WHITE
               Uncle...  Karl.


     INT.  AIR-CONDITION DUCT

     A P.O.V.  -  MOVING THROUGH a dark, claustrophobic pipe.
     TWISTING around tight corners, DARTING down straight lengths of
     ducting.  Dim light spills from wire grills spaced along the
     walls.

     WE TRAVEL up to one grill, at the end of a long stretch of
     tunnel  -  stop, nowhere left to go. We can see through the gaps
     in the wire, looking down into...

     THE ROOM

     White and uncle Karl are having a SLIDE-SHOW.  Shots of a recent
     vacation  -  the uncle doing a series of mundane things.

                         KARL (chuckling)
               Not often I get a chance to show
               these.

     He changes the slide:  an image of him standing against a brick
     wall.

                         KARL
               And this is me again about  -  um  -  I
               would guess about twelve feet further
               to the right of the last shot.  Now
               just behind the wall is the hotel I
               stayed at  -  sweet little place...

     The PHONE RINGS.  Uncle Karl wheels over, picks up the receiver.

                         KARL (talks down the line)
               Hello...  Yes, he's here...
                    (holds out the phone
                    to White)
               It's for you.

     White concerned  -  takes the phone.

                         WHITE
               Yes?
                    (he listens)
               Oh, it's you...  Yes...  My uncle
               apparently...  Just looking at some
               memories...  You have?  That's good.

                                              CUT TO:

     INT.  POLICE STATION  -  NIGHT

     Bumstead talks to White on the phone.  He stands in a dark
     room, surrounded by charts and maps.

                         BUMSTEAD
               At first I thought there was no way
               to get to the ocean...  The buildings
               are a barrier, no windows, no doors
               -  everything just, well, ends  -  only
               thing would be drill a hole.  But
               then, I saw it, one door, just one...
               Inside a tenement building...

     Bumstead is interrupted by a NOISE O.S.  He looks to a frosted
     partition  -  dark figures walk past on the other side.  He
     quickly sorts through SEVERAL MAPS, making as little noise as
     he can.

                         BUMSTEAD (whisper)
               We can meet later  -  but first I
               have to do something.  Look I got to
               go...

                                              CUT BACK TO:

     White holds THE PHONE, listens to Bumstead on the other end.

                         WHITE
               Where can we meet?...  Alright.
               Good...

     As White hangs up he notices A DOOR behind a big old crockery
     cupboard.  The cupboard has been pushed up against the wall,
     hiding the door.

     BACK IN THE POLICE STATION

     BUMSTEAD quickly folds the map and shoves it into his pocket.
     As he turns and runs from the room we NOTICE A DARK FIGURE
     standing behind a shelf in the room.

     IN UNCLE KARL'S APARTMENT

     UNCLE KARL continues to change slides  -  the noise echoing
     about the room.  White moves over and sits down next to him.

                         KARL
               Look!  This is a good one!

                         WHITE
               What is that door?

                         KARL
               Which one?

                         WHITE
               There.  Behind the cabinet.  Where
               does it go?

     The uncle watches the slides.

                         KARL
               Such a joker!  Like your father.

                         WHITE
               No.  Have a look.

     He leads the old man over to the cabinet.

                         WHITE
               You see it?

                         KARL
               Yes.

                         WHITE
               Where does it lead?

                         KARL
               It must be a closet or something.

     White pushes at the cabinet.  The old man helps.  They only
     manage to push several inches  -  it is very heavy.  White
     decides to just climb over it.  He squeezes through, opens the
     door and climbs a set of dark stairs.  Uncle Karl watches.

                         KARL
               Don't trip over.  It's dark up there.


     INT.  ATTIC  -  NIGHT

     TIGHT ON a light switch  -  it is flipped.

     AN ATTIC  -  full of books, boxes, discarded possessions.
     White picks up a book and opens it  -  the pages have been
     eaten out by a swarm of ROACHES.  He drops it in disgust as the
     insects scurry over his hands.

     In a small wooden box are several toys he examines with great
     interest.  At the bottom of the box he finds a SMALL DOG-EARED
     DRAWING BOOK.  On the cover is a colourful scrawl in child's
     writing  -  a title:  ANSWERS  -  BY JONATHAN WHITE, AGE NINE.

     White sits down and flips through the book in the dim light.
     Page after page is filled with neat handwriting and drawings.
     As he reads segments from the book he seems more and more
     disturbed.  He flips through faster and faster.

     HIS P.O.V.

     Pages flip past, stopping occasionally.  Glimpses of DIAGRAMS.
     The MYSTERY MEN and THEIR WORLD.  Cross-sections of the MYSTERY
     MEN, the cavity in their head with the INSECTS INSIDE clearly
     illustrated.  EVERYTHING.

     PUSH IN CLOSE on White.  He looks up, STUNNED.


     INT.  UNCLE KARL'S APARTMENT

     White emerges from the attic, clutching the small book to his
     chest, lost in thought.  He steps quietly into a hall-way  -
     notices the old man putting THE PHONE back on its cradle.

                         KARL
               John, I didn't see you there.

     A NOISE O.S. White and Uncle Karl turn.  A VENTILATION GRILL
     falls off a wall, revealing a hole.  EYES shine from the
     darkness.

     THE PUPPET leaps from the hole.  Its blades unfolding,
     spinning wildly before it hits the carpet.  It faces the two
     men.

                         KARL
               What is that?

                         WHITE (to Karl)
               Get back!

                         KARL
               Filthy beast!  Shoo!  Go on!  Shoo!

     He wheels forward, attempting to scare the puppet off.

                         WHITE
               No!

     The puppet goes for Uncle Karl.  A whirr of metal, BLOOD
     SPLASHES ACROSS WHITE and the walls.  Uncle Karl SCREAMS
     horribly.

     White grabs a chair  -  holds it above him.  The puppet turns
     from the dead man in the wheelchair.  White lets it have it.
     The chair CRASHES DOWN, splintering into pieces.

     The puppet is dazed, but immediately recovers.  White has a
     fire-poker now.  As the puppet advances, he swings, connecting
     with the creature, hurtling it across the room, into a wall.
     White runs out the door.

     IN THE CORRIDOR

     He leaps into a waiting elevator.  Pushes the top floor button.

     THE ELEVATOR SHAFT  -  The elevator moves upwards.

     INSIDE THE ELEVATOR

     White looks through the circular window in the door.

     HIS P.O.V.  -  Floor after floor SLIDES PAST  -  deserted.  He
     looks at the floor indicator.  TIGHT ON NUMBERS lighting up:
     86, 87, 88...

     Then the elevator stops, the doors open, looking down a dark
     corridor.  The PUPPET is at the end.  It turns to face him,
     SUDDENLY RACES FORWARD, a horrible high-pitched shriek from its
     mechanical voice box.

     White STABS the buttons of the elevator frantically, the doors
     won't close.  The puppet is upon him.  He JUMPS, straight up.
     It goes under him, CRASHING INTO the back of the elevator.
     White hits the down button one last time, and leaps out of the
     compartment AS THE DOORS CLOSE.

     A MECHANICAL extendible arm shoots out and grabs White around
     the ankle. DRAGS him across floor.  THE PUPPET shrieks wildly
     again, as...

     ITS ARM  -  is JAMMED in the closing doors now.  Lift descends.
     The puppet squeals.  The arm SNAPS OFF.

     White stands, pulls dislocated arm off his ankle.  He can hear
     the elevator descending.  Suddenly it STOPS  -  starts
     returning to his floor.  White turns and runs again.

     The lift doors BURST OPEN  -  the ENRAGED CREATURE emerges and
     races after him.

     He tears around a corner  -  finds himself in a dead-end.
     Nowhere to go.  He can hear the puppet approaching along the
     corridor.  Suddenly he notice A GRILL on a wall ABOVE HIS HEAD.
     He pulls it off, climbs into an incredibly tight pipe.  Crawls
     frantically.

     He sees a LIGHT ahead.  An opening.  He kicks the grill off.  A
     sudden gust of wind.

     HIS P.O.V.

     The pipe leads to the outside of the building  -  nowhere to go
     except a hundred stories STRAIGHT DOWN.  He screams, almost
     falls.  Turns to start crawling back.

     Suddenly the end of the pipe fills with WHIRRING METAL BLADES.
     The puppet has followed him in and is advancing.

     No choice  -  he looks out the hole.  SEES A PIPE on the
     outside of the building, running vertically near the opening.
     It looks impossible but it's his only chance.

     He climbs out, balancing himself on the lip of the opening,
     REACHES for the pipe.  The puppet is almost upon him.  He
     swings across, gets a HAND on the pipe.  He slips, DANGLES  -
     holding on  -  one hand on the pipe, one on the edge of the hole.
     The pipe is greasy, slippery, can't grip it.

     SUDDENLY he hears a MECHANICAL CLICKING  -  TURNS to see the
     puppet standing on the edge of the hole, inches from his hand.
     A soft noise reverberates in its voice box  -  a mechanical
     giggle?  A circular blade on one of its arms starts up, moves
     down onto White's HAND.

     TIGHT ON HIS EYES  -  sweat beads and runs down his forehead.

     TIGHT ON THE BLADE  -  as it cuts into flesh.  BLOOD spatters
     White's face as he grimaces with intense pain.  He can't hold
     on.

     HE FALLS, plummets through space.  Screaming.


     INT.  HOSPITAL  -  NIGHT

     A GROUP OF SURGEONS stand about BUMSTEAD'S MOTHER on her life-
     support machinery.  The surgeons have face-masks on and are in
     deep shadow.  The woman stares blankly, still in a coma.

     IN THE RECEPTION AREA

     BUMSTEAD looks up from his wristwatch.

                         BUMSTEAD
               I can't wait any longer...

     He is standing in front of the MALE NURSE in the glassed-in
     counter.

                         NURSE
               I'm sorry.  I told you, she is being
               examined...

     He turns and storms off down the corridor.  The NURSE stands,
     shouting after him.

                         NURSE
               Mister Bumstead!

     INSIDE MOTHER'S ROOM

     One of the "doctors" leans down and grabs a handful of WIRES
     leading out of a box beside the woman.

                         SURGEON
               We will teach the pig to meddle in
               our affairs.  Yes.

     He pulls the wires out in a burst of electrical sparks  -  ALL
     THE MACHINES DIE.  The woman comes to life momentarily, starts
     to claw at the glass shield in front of her face, like she is
     suffocating.  The life drains from her weak body and she is
     STILL.

     ANGLE ON THE DOOR  -  it bursts open.  Bumstead is standing
     there.  The masked surgeons are startled, they turn rapidly to
     face him.

                         BUMSTEAD (steps forward)
               What is happening?

                         SURGEON
               Ah, Inspector Bumstead!  We are glad
               you are here  -  I'm afraid we have
               done all we can.  Yes.  Your Mother
               has passed.  Yes.

     Bumstead turns towards his mother.

                         BUMSTEAD
               But she was getting better...

                         SURGEON
               We are sorry.  The cancer  -  it was
               fatal.

     Bumstead turns to the men, confusion in his eyes.

                         BUMSTEAD
               She doesn't have cancer.

     The men glance at each other for a moment, then back at the
     inspector.

                         SURGEON
               We knew that.  Yes.
                    (the other men nod)
               Anyway  -  she is dead.

     Bumstead leaps forward, RIPS OFF one of the surgeon's masks.

     ANGLE ON THE MAN  -  He turns to look at Bumstead, pale skin,
     staring eyes, a MYSTERY MAN.  TWO OTHER MEN grab him from
     behind.

                         BUMSTEAD (struggles)
               I'll kill you all!

     One of the Mystery Men steps up to the struggling inspector,
     places the palm of his hand across Bumstead's eyes.

                         MYSTERY MAN
               You will obey us, yes.  In your mind
               there is a dark space...

     TIGHT ANGLE

     Bumstead's hand reaches out, fumbles at a tray of surgical
     implements, grabs a SCALPEL.

     WIDER

     He cuts into the hand of one of the Men holding him, SPINS AND
     DRIVES the scalpel into the forehead of the Mystery Man
     attempting to hypnotise him.

     The other Men leap towards him.


     EXT.  CANAL  -  NIGHT

     TIGHT ON WHITE'S FACE

     His eyes are shut tight.  He opens them, slowly LOOKS AROUND,
     curious why he isn't dead.

     WIDER ANGLE

     White floats in MID-AIR, hovering ten feet or so above a dark
     body of water.  He looks amazed.  Shuts his eyes, rubs them,
     opens them again.  Still floating.

     He clenches his fists and TENSES his body.  Slowly he starts to
     MOVE FORWARD, hovering at an even height over the water.

     WIDER STILL

     SEVERAL ANGLES feature the figure of White levitating across
     the harbour, past half-sunken buildings and rusted ships.

     TIGHT ON WHITE  -  He comes to a stop.  Smiles in amazement.
     Then he suddenly plummets into the water, like a trap-door has
     opened beneath him.

     ANGLE ON BUBBLES floating to the surface.  White's FACE rises
     slowly out of the water.

     WIDER  -  CITY SKYLINE

     A SMALL OBJECT floats towards the ground at the end of a tiny
     white parachute.

     BACK ON WHITE

     He swims across to a small boat, climbs aboard, pushes himself
     silently through the still canals of the city.


     EXT.  HARBOUR

     Oil tankers move silently through inky water.

     White paddles the boat to the bottom of A PIER, climbs a rotten
     ladder.  He runs off into the shadows.

     BACK IN THE WATER

     The PUPPET cuts through the waves, pushed along by a rear
     propeller.  It reaches the pier, climbs to the top.  The prop
     retracts, and the creature wheels forward slowly, onto a
     concrete surface.  It looks around  -  it knows White is there
     somewhere.

     PUPPET'S P.O.V.

     A trail of WET FOOTPRINTS on the ground.  It follows them, is
     led to a crane cabin.

     INSIDE THE CRANE'S CABIN  -  is White, a lunatic grin on his
     face, at the controls.

     A NOISE O.S. startles the puppet.  It looks up.

     PUPPET'S P.O.V.

     Follows the crane up into the air.  The crane is swinging around
     against the dark sky.  A HUGE METAL CONTAINER dangles, stops
     above the puppet.

     ON WHITE

                         WHITE
               Nice knowing you.

     TIGHT ON WHITE'S HAND  -  It pulls a lever.

     THE CONTAINER  -  Shakes and starts to fall.

     THE PUPPET  -  Screams up at the plummeting container.

     WIDER

     The container crashes into the ground, crushing the creature.

     Silence.  Dust floats in the air.


     EXT.  STREET

     BUMSTEAD's running.  He looks a mess, clutching a bleeding gash
     in his side, cuts on his face, clothes torn  -  but he made it
     out alive...

                                              CUT TO:

     EXT. ROOF-TOP

     BUMSTEAD sits on the ground, leans against a wall, breathing
     heavily  -  he's losing a lot of blood.

     He waits.

     A NOISE O.S. startles him  -  A FIGURE in the shadows across the
     roof.

                         BUMSTEAD
               White?

     It's too big to be White.  The man steps from the shadows.

                         STROMBOLI (walking forward)
               Hello, Bumstead.

     He's holding a gun, levelled at the inspector.  Bumstead lies
     bleeding, against the wall.  He points his own gun at the
     advancing man and pulls the trigger.

     CLICK!  CLICK!  CLICK!

                         BUMSTEAD
               Dammit.

     Stromboli is upon him, grabs the empty gun, throws it away,
     picks up the inspector, leans him against the wall.  Without
     Stromboli holding him up, Bumstead would not be able to stand.

                         STROMBOLI
               Why do you always have to find things
               out the hard way!  Couldn't you just
               do your job, you idiot?  I told you,
               didn't I?  These people are not
               playing games, Bumstead.  They can do
               anything they want, don't you
               understand?

                         BUMSTEAD (a hiss)
               You're one of them.  You bastard...

                         STROMBOLI (laughing)
               In a way, we all are, inspector!
               You.  Me.  Everybody!

     Stromboli carries Bumstead towards the EDGE of the roof.  He
     keeps laughing.

                         STROMBOLI
               Time for that early retirement,
               Bumstead.  Didn't bring the gold watch
               I'm afraid.

                         BUMSTEAD (weakly)
               No...  Please...

     INSPECTOR'S P.O.V.

     THE EDGE looms up  -  a long drop to the street.


     EXT.  STREET

     White paces nervously through empty streets.  He stops, to get
     his bearings, then turns and runs into:

     A SILHOUETTED FIGURE in a bizarre metal contraption on wheels.
     A skeletal hand reaches out to White, grabs his arm.  An inhuman
     moan.

     Terrorised, White pulls back.

                         FIGURE
               Ahhh...  it hurts!...

     The mechanized figure trundles forward, pins him to a wall.  A
     streetlight reveals...

     DOCTOR SCHREBER covered in blood, encased in a metal framework
     covered in silver blades.

                         WHITE
               What happened to you?

                         SCHREBER
               I'm...  being...  punished.

     The blades are connected to the wheels  -  they turn when he
     moves forward, metal cuts into his flesh, slowly SKINNING HIM
     ALIVE.  A torture machine.  Between screams of intense pain, the
     doctor speaks.

                         SCHREBER
               I had to  -  ahhhh  -  find you...  I..
               I...

     The doctor shuts his eyes, a trickle of blood runs down his
     face.
                         WHITE
               What is it?

                         SCHREBER
               We are...  living in their dreams...

     Schreber turns and rolls off into the night, screaming  -  BLADES
     SPIN furiously, peeling back flesh.  He glances at White one
     last time.

                         SCHREBER
               Insect...  dreams...


     EXT.  STREET

     WHITE is running.  As he approaches the building he hears a
     scream  -  looks up to see a figure PLUNGE OFF the roof.

     He runs over.  Looks down at the twisted body.  THE INSPECTOR
     moans  -  barely alive.  White kneels by his side.

     BUMSTEAD'S hand moves across to an expanding POOL of red beside
     him, traces an 'H' on the ground in the blood.

                         WHITE (reading)
               Aitch?

     The inspector seems to be dying, then revives momentarily, puts
     A MAP in white's hand, looks up at him:

                         BUMSTEAD
               Gesundheit!

     His eyes roll up and he GOES LIMP.  White stares at the body,
     then:

                         WHITE
               I didn't sneeze.


     INT.  MORGUE  -  NIGHT

     The MORTICIAN turns off the lights in the main hall and steps
     into his office, sits down, pours himself a hot drink; turns on
     the radio, opens his conic-book.

     A NOISE O.S. disturbs him and he gets up, walks out of his
     office, looks into the darkness.

     HIS P.O.V. PANS around the empty morgue.  Nothing.  Decides to go
     back to his office.  He turns and is startled by three MYSTERY
     MEN obstructing his path.

                         MAN 1
               We are looking for the White victims.

                         MORTICIAN
               And who the hell are you?

     The mortician catches a glimpse of the shiny dagger Man 1 is
     clutching by his side.  He becomes very scared.

                         MORTICIAN
               Over there.  Numbers eight to twelve.

     THREE MEN look over to where the mortician has pointed in
     unison.  Man 1 looks back.

                         MAN 1
               Thank you.

     A FLASH OF STEEL.  The mortician's throat SPOUTS blood.  He grabs
     reflexively at the gash and falls back onto the floor, DEAD
     before he hits the tiles.

     The Mystery Men step to an adjoining chamber.  Man 2 puts down a
     Box he is carrying, opens the lid.  A green glow oozes out.  The
     other Men manipulate levers on a control panel on a nearby
     wall.  Stainless steel doors open.  Body-length trays slide into
     the dim light.  SHAPES covered in white sheets.

     Man 2 with the box removes a GLASS SYRINGE, filled with a
     glowing green liquid.  He steps TO THE BODIES and injects each
     with the syringe, through the sheets.  When he has finished he
     steps back, places the syringe back in the box.  The MEN leave
     silently.

     All is silent and still.

     Then the shape beneath a sheet starts to SIT UP.  Then another,
     and another.


     INT.  CORRIDOR  -  NIGHT

     WHITE is running again, clutching BUMSTEAD'S MAP.

     CAMERA PULLS BACK AND UP

     REVEALS the entire corridor.  KEEPS PULLING BACK  -  until the
     view is impossibly wide  -  like a cross-section of the building
     he's in, a doll's house with the roof taken off.  The TINY
     FIGURE runs, amidst a dark network of surrounding rooms and
     passages.

     CONTINUE PULL BACK

     White is no more than a SPECK  -  the hall-way stretches
     ENDLESSLY in both directions, behind and in front of the moving
     figure, through an infinite labyrinth.

     WIDER STILL

     We no longer make out the figure.  The x-rayed environment
     resembles some intricate aerial map of the vast city  -  the
     corridor an ever increasing SPIRAL.


     INT.  ORNATE APARTMENT BUILDING  -  NIGHT

     White reaches the top of a spiral flight of stairs.

     HIS P.O.V.

     APARTMENT 'H'  -  a rusted metal letter on the door.  White steps
     forward.  He knocks once and the door creaks open, unlocked.

     INSIDE

     The rooms are empty, derelict, strewn with rubbish.  Mould grows
     on the damp walls.  A door stands at the end of a long empty
     room.  He can hear the muffled sounds of SURF, SEAGULLS.  White
     starts to walk forward, smiling.  As he approaches the door he
     begins to feel colder.

     He opens the door and looks out.  A blast of SUNLIGHT  -  blue
     ocean and sky.

                         VOICE O.S.
               John White...

     White does not turn about, he takes a step forward, then
     another  - and RUNS INTO THE SKY  - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up
     at a small SPEAKER built into the wall  -  the SOURCE of the sea-
     side SOUND EFFECTS.

     He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him.  Hopes
     dashed, he turns.  ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN  -  a gun pointed at
     White's stomach.

                         MYSTERY MAN
               There is nothing, Mister White.
               Beyond the city.  Never has been.
               Unfortunate.  Yes?

     White is led into a pitch black room.

     INSIDE

     TIGHT ON WHITE'S FACE  -  In the darkness  -  he looks across to
     the Mystery Man standing beside him.

                         WHITE
               How did you know where to find me?

                         MYSTERY MAN
               We knew you would turn up here
               eventually...  Been waiting for you,
               yes.  Hoped you wouldn't make a
               nuisance of yourself on the way...

     The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward.  As soon
     as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and
     shuts the door, cutting off any existing light.

     A NOISE O.S.  -  some kind of machine being turned on  -  lights
     start to come up all over the room.

     It's a normal, average-sized, living room.  All the furniture
     has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums  -  an
     arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law.  In fact,
     White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box.

     The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a
     door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the
     kitchen) and a series of figures step through.  MYSTERY MEN.

     All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without
     uttering a word, but don't sit.  One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain
     beneath an arched entrance  -  beyond it, within a very small
     room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder.  The
     people stare at White silently  -  a bizarre gallery of
     spectators.

     An eerie silence falls on the room.

     The kitchen door opens again.  White is shocked to see the
     VICTIMS WALK INTO the room and adopt positions in what is
     obviously the area for the jury.

     The DISEMBOWELED CORPSE OF A WOMAN steps out of the shadows,
     pushing a pram.  Her throat is cut, she is shrouded in a white
     sheet.

     Within the pram is the BABY clutching its own head, with spine
     attached, under its arm.

     Then the mutilated FREDRICK hops out, followed by the three
     brown blood-stained paper parcels containing what is left of
     the YOUNG BOY.

     Finally, his WIFE and the JAPANESE WOMAN, still in passionate
     embrace, take their positions.

     Another door opens  -  a closet. Within stands the figure we have
     only seen as a shadow  -  the elderly MYSTERY MAN with the cane.
     MISTER BLACK slowly reaches above him and pulls at a chain
     hanging from the ceiling  -  the light snaps on inside the
     closet.  Somewhere, a long way off in the same building, a
     toilet is heard flushing.

     He is much older than the rest, carries himself with authority
     as he hobbles across the room to a raised podium, supporting
     his withered body on his cane.  Looks like he will play JUDGE.

     Everyone in the room now sits.  Mister Black looks at White.

     ANGLE ON WHITE  -  He starts to tremble, not so much from fear,
     but cold.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Welcome.

     White just looks at him, still clutching the small notebook
     called:  ANSWERS.

                         MISTER BLACK
               John White, you are to be tried for
               murder, yes.  You wish to confess to
               these crimes now?

     White is silent.  He leans over and scratches his legs through
     the fabric of his trousers.  They itch like crazy.

     Mister Black turns to the assembled people.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Very well.  The testimony of the
               prosecutors.  Yes.

     TWO MYSTERY MEN stand and step across to a wooden easel.  MAN 1
     stands beside it, reveals a series of visuals, charts, etc.
     drawn on stiff cardboard.  MAN 2 uses a pointer while he
     describes the evidence to support their case.

                         MYSTERY MAN 2
               We will show that John White is
               abnormal, a menace to society, a
               dangerous sick individual, and that
               the court should have no mercy in
               finding him guilty and punishable to
               the extreme for his crimes.

     MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the
     easel.  It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S
     apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood.

                         MYSTERY MAN 1
               Exhibit A shows the accused leaving
               the scene of his most recent crime,
               yes.  A photo taken by a remote camera
               planted by one of our agents.

     White watches in stunned silence.

     A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is
     made.  Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly.

                         MYSTERY MAN 2
               Exhibit B...

     MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2.

                         MYSTERY MAN 2
               Actual tape recording of accused
               committing aforementioned crime, yes.

     He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly.  A hush fills the
     room.

                         VOICE 1 (sounds like JAPANESE WOMAN)
               No...  Please...

     A scream.

                         VOICE 2 (sounds like White)
               Shut up!

     Another scream.  A ripping sound.

                         VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE)
               John!  Don't...

     Another scream.

     White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this
     any longer.

                         WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible)
               Stop it!  This is a lie...

     Mister Black turns to White.  The Men testifying stop the tape
     and look at him also.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Something to say?  Ready to confess?

     The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the
     victims and the spectators in the adjoining room.

                         WHITE (back to a whisper)
               I didn't kill anyone.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Speak up.  Yes.

                         WHITE (finds his voice)
               It's lies.  Everything.

     He grips the barrier before him.

     A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY  -  it rocks violently
     from side to side.

     The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair.  She has difficulty
     standing, her limbs stiff.  She looks at White, opens her mouth
     to say something, but no sound comes out.  Instead a tiny RED
     CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground.
     She sits down.

     White is stunned.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Bring the witnesses.

     AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man.
     Shown to seats behind a podium.  The woman looks sadly at White.

                         MISTER BLACK
               You are the accused's parents?

                         FATHER
               That's right.

                         MOTHER
               Yes.

                         WHITE
               Wait a minute...

                         MISTER SLACK
               You had your turn!  Let them speak.

                         WHITE (angry)
               My parents are supposed to be dead!
               You can't keep changing the damn
               rules like this!  Why go through this
               ridiculous set-up!  Why don't you
               just kill me and be done with it!

                         MISTER BLACK (smiles at parents)
               Please, continue...

                         WHITE
               This is insane!

     He looks over to the victims.

                         WHITE
               It was them, not me.
                    (points at the
                    Mystery Men)
               They killed you.

     Looks back at the Mystery Men.

                         WHITE
               You have invented all this.  History
               is a lie, not just mine, everyone's  -
               a fiction.  You are the authors.

     His knuckles go white as he squeezes tighter on the barrier.

                         MISTER BLACK
               A fanciful idea, Mister White.

                         WHITE
               Everyone has a job  -  a function.  Each
               one teaches you more about your
               invention.  I'm what is called a
               murderer.

     The whole court listens in silence to White's testimony.

                         WHITE
               You've given everybody memories, but
               I missed out.  The Doctor saw to that
               -  played your own game.  And now...

     WHITE looks at the MYSTERY MEN, then back at MISTER BLACK.

                         WHITE
               You're trying to get rid of me.

     There is silence.  Whispers.  Faces staring.

                         WHITE
               Why do I threaten you?  You're scared
               aren't you?

     MISTER BLACK and the gathered MYSTERY MEN look speechless at
     White.  Suddenly everyone bursts into spontaneous LAUGHTER, led
     by Mister Black.

     A terrible cackle fills the room  -  all the MYSTERY MEN laugh
     hysterically, so do the mutilated victims.  The spectators in
     the adjoining room remain silent.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Ah  -  a plot.  Now we have a plot!
                    (chuckling)
               Very inventive...

     The older couple behind the podium look disturbed.

                         MOTHER
               Please, John, you're embarrassing
               us...

                         WHITE
               Shut up!

                         MISTER BLACK (chuckling still)
               You have proof?  Evidence?  Yes?

                         WHITE (holds up notebook)
               It's all here!

     Mister Black seems startled by the book, then pretends it's
     nothing.

                         MISTER BLACK
               A book of delusions.  Anything else?

                         WHITE
               But I...

                         MISTER BLACK
               I see.
                    (turns to the
                    victims)
               The verdict, yes...

                         WHITE
               Wait, this isn't fair...

     The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN stands again.  This time she opens her
     mouth, there is a bubbling noise, water runs out, then:

                         DISEMBOWELED WOMAN (whisper)
               Guil  -  ty...

     White is agitated, fear in his face.  Mister Black stamps SOME
     PAPERS before him repeatedly.

     ON THE PAPERS  -  official-looking documents.  The stamp says:
     GUILTY.

     CLOSE on White's eyes.

                         MISTER BLACK
               Before I pronounce sentence...

     Suddenly the papers on the bench in front of Mister Black BURST
     INTO FLAMES.  Mister Black recoils, almost falling off his
     chair, taken by surprise.  The Mystery Men all look at White, a
     murmur of concern.

     Mister Black looks up at White  -  angered.

                         MISTER BLACK
               How dare you use your tricks on me!

     White, genuinely surprised, looks around.  Several Mystery Men
     BACK AWAY from him, scared.

                         WHITE
               I didn't realise...

                         MISTER BLACK
               Shut up, freak!  Monster!  You are
               insignificant.

     He glares across the room, angrily.  An WOODEN CHAIR in a corner
     starts to vibrate.

     CLOSE on Mister Black's eyes.

     The chair rises into the air  -  HURLS across the room at White.

     Mister Black laughs as it crashes into the wall.  White ducks
     just in time.

     The gathered Mystery Men erupt into enthusiastic applause.

     White regains his composure and tries some mind tricks of his
     own.  He lifts a small table into the air, and makes it spin  -
     a knife and fork dance back and forth on the surface, as several
     plates (from a stack in the kitchen) hurl, firstly at the
     spinning table, then go flying across the room, smashing near
     Mister Black, making him dance back and forth comically.

     This display is accompanied by a rousing rendition of a WALTZ
     playing on a floating gramophone White has also activated with
     his mind.

     SEVERAL Mystery Men are TERRIFIED.  White is amazed at his own
     performance.

                         MISTER BLACK
               You'll regret that.

     Mister Black is furious, spluttering, spit flying from his
     mouth.

                         MISTER BLACK (shouts)
               SHUT IT DOWN!

     A Mystery Man by the window, picks up a phone and dials
     furiously.  Everyone in the room remains silent  -  waiting.

                         MAN ON PHONE
               Yes, we have a problem here.  Shut it
               down immediately.

     White doesn't understand what is going on.  O.S. the SOUND of
     machinery WINDING DOWN.

     ANGLE ON a clock hanging on the wall.  ON the SECOND HAND.  It
     suddenly STOPS.

     All eyes are on Mister Black.

                         MISTER BLACK
               This has all gone too far.  Yes, much
               too far.

     Mister Black starts to SHAKE.  His eyes shut, clenches his
     teeth, grips the insect on his cane, plants his feet firmly to
     the floor.

     Around the room WALLS CRACK, plaster rains down from the
     ceiling...

                                              CUT TO:

     EXT.  CITY  -  NIGHT

     All over the city things START TO FALL APART  -  a devastating
     impact on the landscape.

     MONTAGE

     A street CRACKS OPEN.  Beneath the pavement are pulsating
     intestine-like organs.  These burst open with pus...

     A building vanishes...

     A car on a street corner flies into the air...

     A telephone box STARTS TO SPIN, faster and taster, digging
     itself into the concrete.  Monstrous INSECT LEGS sprout from the
     hole left behind...

     Geysers of STEAMING BILE spurt into the night sky...

     BLACK EXCREMENT forces up out of a sewer, runs down stone
     steps...

     THE CITY is coming apart...

                                              CUT BACK TO:

     INT.  APARTMENT H'

     The room looks like an earthquake hit it  -  broken furniture and
     gaping holes torn in the walls.

     Several MYSTERY MEN huddle behind an upturned table, watching
     WHITE and MISTER BLACK.  They face each other, both still
     standing  - mental energies focused against each other in battle.

     The fighting is taken its toll on both men.

     A DAGGER hangs suspended in mid-air, slowly rotating to face
     White with its shining silver blade.

     Mister Black is clenching his rotting teeth, tightening bony
     fists by his side.  Pushing every ounce of mental power at the
     knife.

     White, bleeding from a gash in his cheek, is straining his mind
     against the knife.

     The blade STARTS TO MOVE, ever so slowly at first, towards
     White.  His body is shaking with his mental effort.  A bead of
     sweat runs down his brow, dripping into his eye, blurring his
     vision.

     He is losing.


     INT.  KITCHEN  -  NIGHT

     We see an OUT OF FOCUS IMAGE.  A group of dark figures.  WHITE
     regains consciousness, strapped to a kitchen table.  From his
     perspective, in the immediate foreground, a figure speaks as he
     removes a syringe from White's FOREHEAD.

                         FIGURE
               Good as new.  Yes.  Everything is
               easier now.

     His vision CLEARS, he can see.  It's MISTER BLACK.  Behind him a
     SMALL CROWD who turn out to be MYSTERY MEN.

     Mister Black suddenly pulls at his own face, removes the mask.

     Underneath is a mess of PULSATING ORGANS AND INSECT PARTS.
     This is what Mystery Men really look like.  He laughs, starts to
     MOVE rhythmically  -  a strange dance-step.  The others join in,
     as they too pull off masks.

     Each Man reaches up to his left ear in unison.  They pull
     squirming INSECTS out, hold them up to the light.  The insects
     scream triumphantly.

     White screams too.  And he can't stop.

     Everything goes BLACK.  Then the sound of a key rattling in a
     lock.  A door slowly creaks open...


     INT.  SEASIDE HOTEL ROOM  -  DAY

     A P.O.V. enters a small room.

     Dappled SUNLIGHT through a tattered lace curtain. A clock ticks
     on a wall.  A cough O.S. from the corridor.  A FAT MAN, talks as
     he enters:

                         FAT MAN
               It's small but clean...
                    (it isn't)
               ...and the view's nice.
                    (points to window)
               Isn't it?

     JOHN WHITE enters.  He is haggard, eyes rimmed with red.  He
     still holds the small black NOTEBOOK, tight to his chest.  He
     stands in the centre of the room, looks up.  Strangely, though
     the room is very small, it extends upwards several stories  -
     windows sit at various heights.

     White walks to the lace curtain, opens it with shaking hands.

     OUTSIDE

     A narrow street and at the end, the ocean.  The sound of distant
     surf, he can taste the salt spray.

                         WHITE (without turning)
               I'll take it.

     The man behind him blows his nose loudly and turns to go,
     shutting the door.  White puts the notebook down on a table near
     the open window.

     LATER

     White has fallen asleep on the bed.

     He wakes, troubled.  Stands and walks over to the sink next to
     the bed.  He moves like he is underwater.  The sea-breeze tugs at
     the curtain, draws him to the window.

     HIS P.O.V.

     Down the street to the small patch of sand between buildings.
     TWO FIGURES  approach each other.

     He pulls out his wallet and removes the torn photo of the
     woman, places it against the pillow on the bed.  He sits on the
     edge of the bed and lifts his trousers, looks at his legs
     nothing out of the ordinary.

     White is disturbed by a TINY MOVEMENT in his coat pocket.  He
     reaches in and pulls out a small, EMACIATED FISH.

     Disgusted, he drops the fish to the floor, looks at the
     creature.  White raise his foot.  His heel comes down with a
     sickening SQUISH.

     THE CAMERA MOVES IN STEADILY towards the notebook near the
     window.  As the SHOT TIGHTENS we can read the title on the
     cover:  ANSWERS  -  BY JONATHAN WHITE, AGE NINE.

     Now a sudden GUST OF WIND blows open the book.  The pages
     flicker past.  Glimpses of happy things.  A child's drawings of
     smiling people.  The sun shining down on a blue ocean full of
     sailing boats.  Fields of colourful flowers.  Cute animals.


     INT.  LONG CORRIDOR  -  DAY

     SOUND OF SURF, distant, muffled.

     CAMERA MOVES slowly towards a door.  The final door  -  no
     others beyond this.  ECHOIC FOOTSTEPS.

     TIGHT ON WHITE  -  His haggard face moves through darkness.  He
     looks down at his walking feet.

     HIS P.O.V.  -  White sees water, waves breaking, through the
     cracks in the floorboards of the hallway.

     ANOTHER ANGLE

     The cracks around the closed door are illuminated, white-hot,
     by the SUN outside.

     ON HIS HAND  -  As he reaches towards the handle.

     ON HIS FACE  -  As the door opens.  A sharp line of light cuts
     across his features, as his eyes blink and water.  The wind
     pulls at his messy hair.  SURF NOISE is louder now.

     REVERSE ANGLE  -  WIDER  -  OUTSIDE looking through the door,
     along a long wooden pier jutting out into a blue seascape.  At
     the end of the pier stands the tiny figure of A WOMAN WITH RED
     HAIR.  She looks out at the ocean, her back turned.

     ANGLE LOOKS BACK at White standing in the open doorway, squints
     into the sun.  Suddenly he looks relieved, almost happy for the
     first time.  He steps OUT OF FRAME briskly  -  a weight gone
     from his shoulders.  Everything is clear finally, he knows
     exactly what to do.

     A voice recites names over a P.A. system.

     REVERSE ANGLE

     A TRACKING SHOT follows White, moves down the pier toward the
     woman.  As White steps up to her, she turns and smiles.

                         WOMAN  (indicates the sea)
               Beautiful.

     White nods slowly.  He looks out of place in his crumpled suit.
     He stares out at the ocean.  Seagulls fly over.  Sun reflects
     off waves.

                         WHITE
               Yes...

                         WOMAN
               What's your name?

     He looks at her.  Smiles.  Then, slowly, brings his hands to her
     throat.

                         WHITE
               John...  White.


     FADE TO BLACK

     CREDITS
         







   

Dark City



Writers :   Alex Proyas
Genres :   Mystery  Sci-Fi  Thriller


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