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   "Seven", unproduced draft, by Andrew Kevin Walker



   
 




                                SEVEN

                                 by

                         Andrew Kevin Walker












                                              January 27,1992











                                      The world is a fine place,
                                      and worth fighting for.

                                            - Ernest Hemingway
                                              For Whom the Bell Tolls
                                              1940







     EXT.  COUNTRY CHURCH -- DAY

     The white cross on the church steeple stands against blue sky.
     The church bell rings, resonating.

     Mass has let out.  Small church, small congregation.  The dirt
     road in front is lined with pick-up trucks and parishioners on
     foot heading to outlying farms and homes.  An old two-story
     house sits across the road.  Lone.

     INT.  OLD HOUSE -- DAY

     Sunlight comes through the soot on the windows, more brown than
     bright.  SOMERSET, 45, in a suit and tie, stands in this empty
     second-story room.  He looks around, at the ceiling, at the worn
     wooden floor, at the peeling wallpaper on the walls.

     Somerset walks to one wall where the current wallpaper is peeled
     away to reveal flowery wallpaper underneath.  He runs his finger
     across one of the pale red roses that decorates the older paper.
     He pushes the grime away, brings the rose out more clearly.

     He pulls at the edge of the paper, carefully ripping off a
     roughly squared section with the rose at its center.

     He studies it in his hand.

     EXT.  OLD HOUSE -- DAY

     Birds sing.  Somerset stands, pondering the forested landscape.

                                 MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
                   Is something wrong?

     Somerset does not respond. The MAN, in an ill-fitting real
     estate jacket, is seated on the hood of a dirty Ford
     Thunderbird.  He holds a check and a booklet of receipts.

                                 MAN (CONT)
                   Is something the matter?

                                 SOMERSET
                   No... no.  There's nothing wrong.

     Somerset still seems distant.

                                 MAN
                           (writes receipt)
                   Not that it's any of my business... but,
                   are you figuring on moving out here
                   eventually?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Soon.

                                 MAN
                   I just never seen a man mortgaging an
                   empty house before.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Everything here still seems... seems so
                   strange to me.  All this.

                                 MAN
                   I don't know.  I'd say this place is
                   about as normal as places get.

     The man walks over to hand over a receipt.  Somerset accepts the
     receipt, folds it.  Somerset smiles.

                                 SOMERSET
                   That is exactly what I mean.  Strange.

     Somerset looks back at the house.  The man does not understand.


     INT.  AMTRACK TRAIN -- DAY -- (CREDIT SEQUENCE BEGINS)

     Somerset is in a window seat, smoking a cigarette, looking out
     the speeding train.  He is near the back of the car, away from
     the few other passengers.

     Outside, farms, small homes and lawns pass.  The entire panorama
     is dappled by the rays of the soon setting sun.

     The light flickers across Somerset's placid face.

     INT.  AMTRACK TRAIN -- LATER DAY

     The train is nearly full.  Somerset has his suitcase on the
     aisle seat beside him.  He has a hardcover book unopened on his
     lap.  He still stares out the window, but his disposition has
     soured.  The train is passing an ugly, swampy field.

     A car's burnt-out skeleton sits rusting in the bracken.  A little
     further on, two dogs are fighting, circling, attacking, their
     coats matted with blood.

     Somerset turns his head to watch the dogs.

     Away in the field, another dog sprints to join the fight.

     INT.  AMTRACK TRAIN -- EARLY EVENING

     Passing urban streets below.  Slums.  Smashed cars.  People
     stand on the corners, under the bleak glow of street lamps.

     Somerset's suitcase is by the window.  Somerset is now in the
     aisle seat, reading his book.


     INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT -- LATER NIGHT -- (END CREDITS)

     Curtains closed.  The SOUNDS of the CITY are here as they will
     be everywhere in this story.  A CAR ALARM SHRIEKS.  Somerset's
     life is packed in many moving boxes, except for clothing in a
     closet and hundreds of books on shelves.

     Somerset, dressed only in his underwear, lays back on the bed.
     He reaches to the nightstand, to a wooden, pyramidical
     metronome.

     He frees the metronome's weighted swingarm so it moves back and
     forth.  Swings to the left... TICK, swings to the right... TICK.
     Tick, tick, tick, measured and steady.

     Somerset situates on the bed, closes his eyes.  The metronome's
     ticking competes with the sound of the car alarm.  Somerset's
     face tightens as he concentrates on the metronome.

     His eyes close tighter.

     Tick, tick, tick... the swingarm moves evenly.  Somerset's
     breathing deepens.  The car ALARM seems QUIETER.

     Tick, tick, tick.  Somerset continues his concentration.

     The METRONOME is the ONLY SOUND.  Somerset's face relaxes
     slightly as he begins to fall asleep.  Tick, tick, tick...


     EXT.  CHINESE BODEGA/CITY STREETS -- NIGHT

     DAVID MILLS, 31, exits with a bagged 40oz bottle of beer.  He is
     a lean, attractive man, constantly coiled, eyes always
     smoldering.  FOLLOW as he walks quickly past iron-gated
     storefronts.  He crosses the street under elevated subway
     tracks.  A train roars overhead.

     Mills watches it as he walks on.

     Blue sparks spit off the third rail and illuminate Mills,
     throwing his shadow long down the deserted street.

     EXT.  URBAN STREET OF ROW HOMES -- NIGHT

     This rotting neighborhood lives in the shadow of a single fat
     skyscraper.  Mills walks, looks at the broken refrigerators and
     pieces of junk in the gutter.

     Ahead in the street, TWO YOUNG THUGS struggle with a crowbar to
     break into the trunk of a parked car.

     Mills draws near.  One thug looks up, doesn't think Mills will
     be a problem, continues prying.  Mills stops, calm.

                                 MILLS
                   Is that your car, man?

                                 FIRST THUG
                   What the fuck do you care?

     Mills pauses, switches his beer bottle to his other hand.

                                 MILLS
                   Does that car belong to you?

     The thugs look at each other, gauging.  They face Mills.

                                 FIRST THUG
                   Yeah, it's my car, alright?  Fuck off.

                                 MILLS
                   You're telling me that's your car?

     The second thug starts the long way round the car.

                                 SECOND THUG
                   Well, for some strange reason, I don't
                   believe you.

     Mills gives a "isn't that silly" laugh, shifts his gaze --

     Sees the first thug slide the crowbar so it's held as a weapon.

                                 FIRST THUG
                           (steps forward)
                   You can fucking suck my...

     Mills swiftly finishes that sentence by smashing his bottle
     against the first thug's head.  The thug falls, swings blindly.

     The second thug moves from the side, brings out a knife.

     Mills averts, swings, pounds the side of his fist into the
     second thug's face -- CRACK.  Broken nose.

     The second thug stumbles back, drops the knife, his nose
     squirting blood.

     Mills turns, enraged, breathing hard.

     The first thug is screaming, trying to stand.  Mills takes one
     step, punts the first thug's head.  The crowbar clatters away.

     Mills is in the process of kicking a man when he's down, when
     the second thug grabs him from behind, pulls him backwards.

     Mills clutches at the thug's arm, trying to avoid a choke-hold.
     They both struggle spastically.  The thug's winning.

     Gurgling, gasping for air, Mills shifts his weight, drops to one
     knee and spins the thug, slamming him against the car.

     Mills breaks loose, grabs a handful of the second thug's hair
     and holds the man's head against the car's side window.  Mills'
     free hand pounds the thug's face: once, twice -- third time's
     the charm as the window shatters.  The thug goes out cold.

     Mills backs off, still incensed.  He rubs his throat, looking at
     the two prone men.  Slowly, he regains some composure.

     He takes a keychain from his pocket.  He unlocks the door of the
     car, loads one of the thugs into the back seat.  He walks to
     collect the other thug off the street.


     INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- MORNING

     Somerset picks items off a moving box:  keys, wallet, homicide
     badge.  Finally, he opens the hardcover book from the train.

     From the pages, he takes the pale, wallpaper rose.


     INT.  TENEMENT APARTMENT -- DAY

     A wall is stained by a starburst of blood.  Somerset stands,
     melancholy, looking at a body on the floor under a sheet near a
     sawed-off shotgun.  The apartment is gloomy.  DETECTIVE TAYLOR,
     52, looks through a notepad.

                                  TAYLOR
                   Neighbors heard them screaming at each
                   other.  It was nothing new or unusual.
                   But, then they heard the gun go off.
                   Boom, boom... both barrels.

                                  SOMERSET
                   Did his wife confess?  Did she actually
                   speak the words?

                                  TAYLOR
                   When the patrolman got here she was
                   trying to put his head back together.
                   She was crying too hard to say anything.
                           (shuts notebook)
                   Crime of passion.

                                  SOMERSET
                   Yes.  Look at all the passion splattered
                   up on the wall here.

     Taylor shifts his weight, impatient, annoyed.

                                  TAYLOR
                   This is a done deal.  All but the
                   paperwork.

     Somerset looks at a coloring-book open on the coffee table.
     There are crayons beside it.  Somerset picks the book up.

     He flips through: crudely colored pictures.

                                  SOMERSET
                   Did their son see it happen?

                                  TAYLOR
                   What kind of question is that?  Huh?
                           (pointing)
                   He's dead.  His wife killed him.  There
                   it is.  That's all.  Anything else has
                   nothing to do with nothing.

     Somerset replaces the book, digs up a cigarette from his pocket.

                                  TAYLOR (CONT)
                   You and your fucking questions,
                   Somerset.  I'm glad I'm getting rid of
                   you today.  You know that, you fuck?

     David Mills enters, dressed in a suit.  He looks a bit lost.

                                  MILLS
                   Uh... Lieutenant Somerset?

     Somerset lights his cigarette, looks to Mills.

                                  MILLS (CONT)
                   I'm David Mills... your new partner.


     EXT.  TENEMENT/CITY STREET -- DAY

     A body-bag is carried through the crowd around the tenement
     doors.  Somerset follows.  Mills follows Somerset.  They walk
     towards the end of the filthy block.

                                  MILLS
                   I'm a little thrown.  I just finished
                   orientation at central, and they dumped
                   me off down here.

                                  SOMERSET
                   I heard you brought in two small-timers
                   last night.

                                  MILLS
                   Yeah.  Two real idiots.

                                  SOMERSET
                   Since we are just starting out, I
                   thought we could go to a bar.  Sit and
                   talk for awhile.  That way we can...

                                  MILLS
                   Excuse me, but I'd rather start sniffing
                   for a case, if it's all the same to you.
                   Seeing how we only have a week for this
                   whole transition thing.
                           (waits)
                   I want to get into the shit a.s.a.p.,
                   know what I mean?

     Somerset walks, no reply.  Mills searches to get a read on him.

                                  SOMERSET
                   I meant to ask you something... when we
                   spoke on the phone.  I can't help
                   wondering...
                           (pause)
                   Why are you here?

                                  MILLS
                           (wary)
                   I... I don't follow.

                                  SOMERSET
                   All this effort you've gone through, to
                   be transferred from Philadelphia to
                   here.  It's the first question that pops
                   into my head.

     Mills formulates his response.

                                  MILLS
                   I'm here for the same reasons as you, I
                   guess.  Or... at least the same reasons
                   you used to have for being here...
                           (cutting)
                   ...before you decided to give up.

     Somerset stops and faces Mills.

                                  SOMERSET
                   You think you know me?  You just met me
                   two minutes ago.

                                  MILLS
                   Maybe I don't understand the question.

                                  SOMERSET
                   It's very simple.  You've come from the
                   "City of Brotherly Love" to the "City of
                   Brotherly Hate," detective.  I've never
                   seen it done that way.

                                  MILLS
                   I don't know.  Maybe I thought I could
                   do more good here than there.
                           (pause)
                   You know, it'd be great by me if we
                   didn't start right out kicking each
                   other in the balls.  But, you're calling
                   the shots, lieutenant, so however you
                   want it to go.

                                  SOMERSET
                   Let me tell you how I want this to go.
                   I want you to look, and I want you to
                   listen.

                                  MILLS
                   I wasn't standing around Philly guarding
                   the fucking Liberty Bell.

                                  SOMERSET
                   But, you've never worked homicide in
                   this city.

                                  MILLS
                   I realize that.

                                  SOMERSET
                   Well, please do me the favor of
                   remembering it.

     Mills just stares back at Somerset.  Somerset walks.  Mills
     rolls his eyes, looks to heaven like, "what'd I do to deserve
     this?"  He follows Somerset.


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     MONDAY

     INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING

     Somerset lies asleep on the bed.  It is still dark outside.
     Relatively quiet.  The PHONE beside the inactive metronome RINGS
     HARSHLY.  Somerset awakens suddenly, rankled.


     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING

     It is barely becoming light outside.  Mills can't sleep.

     Alone in a double bed.  He sits up, frustrated.  Sits on the
     edge of the bed and looks around.  The room is a shambles,
     filled with moving boxes.

     The light coming through the window glows upon a football trophy
     on one box.  Large and noble, a golden player stands in frozen
     motion at the trophy's pinnacle.

     Mills looks at the trophy and a fond smile forms on his face.
     The CLINKING of DISHES and SILVERWARE is HEARD from another
     room.  Mills looks at the closed bedroom door, troubled.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- EARLY MORNING

     Across a living room full of boxes, TRACY MILLS, 30, a beautiful
     woman, stands in her bathrobe.  She's upset about something,
     takes dishes out of boxes, puts them on the kitchenette counter.

     She pulls a mug from a clump of newspaper and pours some tea
     from a pot on the stove.  Blowing on the steaming tea, she leans
     back on the counter, looks over at the closed bedroom door.

     The tea is too hot to sip, and as Tracy is placing the mug on
     the counter behind her the PHONE RINGS.  Startled, she releases
     the mug too close to the edge.  It falls --

     Crashes to the floor, shatters.


     INT.  APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, HALLWAY -- MORNING

     A dark hall.  Somerset and Mills stand with OFFICER DAVIS, 28, a
     beefy, uniformed cop.  Light from a camera's flash spills in
     from the nearby kitchen.  Davis hands Somerset two flashlights.

                                 SOMERSET
                   At what time did you confirm the death?

                                 DAVIS
                   Like I said, we didn't touch anything,
                   but we were on scene at like o-five-
                   hundred, so he's had his face in a plate
                   of spaghetti for about half an hour.

                                 MILLS
                   Wait, wait, wait.  You didn't check him?
                   You didn't check vital signs?

                                 DAVIS
                   Believe me, he's gone.  Unless he's
                   breathing spaghetti sauce now.

                                 MILLS
                   No.  The point is, when you're first man
                   in, you check vital signs.

                                 DAVIS
                   This guy's sitting in a pile of his own
                   shit and piss.  If he ain't dead he
                   would have stood up by now.

                                 MILLS
                           (getting angry)
                   Listen, Godzilla...

     Somerset steps in, heads Mills off.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Thank you, Officer Davis.  We'll see you
                   again after we've had a look.

                                 DAVIS
                   Yes, sir.

     Davis leaves, eyeing Mills.  Mills watches him.  Somerset hands
     Mills a flashlight, takes out surgical gloves.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I wonder what exactly was the point of
                   the conversation you were about to get
                   into?

                                 MILLS
                   And, I wonder how many times Officer
                   Davis there has found a supposedly dead
                   man who didn't really die until Davis
                   was back in the patrol car calling the
                   morgue and eating a powdered donut.

     Somerset snaps one glove over his hand and checks the fit.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Drop it.  We have more important
                   concerns just now, don't we?

                                 MILLS
                   Fine... for now.

     INT.  APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, KITCHEN -- NIGHT

     The POLICE PHOTOGRAPHER packs up, hoists his camera and
     equipment bag.  Somerset and Mills enter.  Mills puts on his own
     pair of rubber gloves.  The grubby kitchen is small; barely room
     for four people to move around in.  The photographer exits:

                                 PHOTOGRAPHER
                   Bon appetit.

     The only light is a murky green illumination from the ceiling.

     The light bathes an OBESE MAN who is slumped forward in a
     kitchen chair, face-down-dead in a plate of spaghetti.

     The sizable kitchen table's green tablecloth is covered with
     soiled paper plates.  The plates hold bits of half-eaten
     sandwiches, potatoes, donuts and other junk-food remnants.

     Mills and Somerset turn on their flashlights.  Mills points his
     at the green bulb above.  Aluminum foil has been wrapped around
     the bulb to focus the light on the corpse.

     Somerset sweeps the room with his flashlight.  He goes to the
     body and kneels beside it.  There's a rope tied around the
     man's wide gut.  Mills comes to stand beside Somerset.

                                 MILLS
                   I guess that makes it homicide.

     Somerset crouches lower, uses a pen to lift one of the dead
     man's pants cuffs.  Rope is tied around the purplish ankle.

     Mills examines the knots behind the chair's back.  Shines his
     flashlight on the man's belly.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Still, he could have tied himself in.
                   To make it look like murder.

     Somerset isn't listening, focused on the corpse.  He studies the
     man's head and neck without touching.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   I don't see any blood or bruises yet.
                   No wounds.  You see anything?

                                 SOMERSET
                           (irritated)
                   Not yet.

     Somerset stands, points his flashlight: the obese man's stiff
     hands are clutching utensils.  A knife in the left hand, a fork
     sticking straight up in the right with a hunk of meat hanging
     skewered.  Cockroaches swarm.

     Mills turns to the sink and stove.  Each burner of the stove has
     a used pot or pan on it.  There's food slopped everywhere.

                                 MILLS
                   I saw a guy once... committed suicide,
                   but he wanted to make sure his family
                   could collect insurance money, right?

     Somerset walks to the room's only window.  The window has been
     painted over with black paint.  he touches the window with his
     pinkie finger.  The paint is still wet.

     Mills goes to a trash can by the refrigerator.  The trash can is
     full to the brim with empty food containers.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   So, this guy took this big knife... and
                   he held it behind him, put the tip of it
                   in his back, and he ran backwards into
                   the wall.  Cause, he thought it was
                   going to look like someone stabbed him
                   in the back.

     Mills opens the refrigerator.  It's nearly empty.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Except, he poked a big fucking hole in
                   the dry wall when he did it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   If you could... spare me the anecdotes
                   for now.  Leave the refrigerator open
                   for the light.

                                 MILLS
                           (sarcastic)
                   Oh, forgive me.  I thought we had this
                   male-bonding thing going.  My mistake.

     Somerset looks at the floor, deep in thought.  His flashlight
     beam follows a trail of dripped sauces, soups and bits of food
     running from the stove to the table.

                                 SOMERSET
                   What do you smell?  Other than him, and
                   all the food.

                                 MILLS
                           (sniffs)
                   I don't know... there's something.

     Somerset goes close to the table, then leans to peer under.

                                 SOMERSET
                   A bucket.

     Somerset points the flashlight and Mills crouches, pulls up the
     tablecloth on his side of the table.  Two large dead rats lay on
     the floor beside a metal bucket.

     Mills grimaces, slides under the table, careful to avoid the
     rats.  He looks in the bucket.  He leans back, baffled.

                                 MILLS
                   It's vomit.

     He looks at Somerset under the table.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   It's a bucket of vomit.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Is there any blood in it?

                                 MILLS
                   Can't tell by looking.

     Somerset stands, perplexed, stares at the dead man.  There is a
     knock at the door.  The detectives look to DOCTOR THOMAS
     O'NEILL, 52, the medical examiner.  O'Neill is a frumpy man,
     seems a bit gone, looking at the green bulb.

                                 O'NEILL
                   Mood lighting.  Very sixties.

     He drops his bag on the floor, sorts through the contents.

                                 MILLS
                           (to Somerset)
                   You think he was poisoned?

     Mills goes to the trash can, pokes the garbage with a pencil.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   And, those rats there somehow ate the
                   poison off the floor?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Guessing this early is useless.

                                 O'NEILL
                   You girls have got the forensics guys
                   out there chompin' at the bit.  Don't
                   know if we'll all fit in here though.

     Mills continues searching the garbage.

                                 MILLS
                   There's room.  Light's the problem.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Well, three is certainly a crowd in
                   here.  And, with four, someone's bound
                   to be stepping on evidence.
                           (pause)
                   Detective Mills, go help the officers
                   question the neighbors.

                                 MILLS
                           (not pleased)
                   Thanks, but no thanks.  I'll stay on
                   this.

     Somerset watches O'Neill at the corpse.  O'Neill points a thin
     flashlight with his mouth, his hands free for the examination.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (not looking up)
                   Send one forensic in on your way out.

     Mills is pissed.  He lifts his flashlight to shine it on the
     side of Somerset's face.

     A moment passes.  Somerset looks at Mills, light shining
     directly in Somerset's eyes.  A longer moment.  Mills switches
     the light off.  He leaves.

     O'Neill unceremoniously places both hands on the dead man's
     head, lifts the swollen visage from the spaghetti.

                                 O'NEILL
                   He is dead.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, BASEMENT GYM -- DAY

     THWACK, THWACK... THWACK.  Mills punches the heavy bag with
     hard, quick punches.  Sweat drips off his face.  He's in work-
     out clothing, a bundle of nerves wearing boxing gloves.

     The walls are covered in mirrors.  Other cops watch Mills as
     they pass, checking out the new kid.  Mills keeps punching,
     skillfully.

     He stops when he sees Somerset reflected in one of the mirrors.
     Somerset walks over, carrying a pizza box with paper piled on
     top.  He sits on a near bench, takes out a cigarette.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Pizza and paperwork, Detective Mills.

                                 MILLS
                   We need to chat.

     INT.  BASEMENT GYM, BOXING RING -- DAY

     Mills opens a door and enters with Somerset behind.  They are
     alone.  Chairs face an old, limp-roped boxing ring.  Practice
     pads hang from pegs on a wall.  Mills clasps a pair in his
     gloves, offers them to Somerset.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No.

                                 MILLS
                   You just hold them up.  I do all the
                   work.

     Somerset takes the pads reluctantly, puts them on.  He still has
     the un-lit cigarette hanging from his mouth.  Mills climbs into
     the ring.  He holds the ropes open for Somerset, waits.

     Somerset doesn't want to do this, but he climbs up.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   You've seen my files... seen the things
                   I've done?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Yes.  Impressive work.

     Mills motions to Somerset and Somerset holds up the practice
     pads.  Mills starts working them, lightly, warming up.
     THWACK... THWACK...

                                 MILLS
                   So, what's your problem?  I've done my
                   time on door-to-doors, and walking a
                   beat.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I know it.  That doesn't mean...

                                 MILLS
                   I did all that shit a long time ago.

     THWACK... THWACK... Somerset's very stiff, uncomfortable.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I made a decision, because I have to
                   worry about the integrity of the scene.

                                 MILLS
                   That's bullshit.

                                 SOMERSET
                   When I'm on scene, I'm not going to
                   worry whether you think you're getting
                   enough time on the playing field.  I'm
                   there to do the work.

     Mills punches a little more aggressively.  Somerset's backing,
     flinching, keeping the pads high.  THWACK... THWACK... THWACK...

                                 MILLS
                   The badge in my pocket says "detective,"
                   just like yours.  I've been Homicide for
                   four and a half years.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You've worked Homicide for four years,
                   or for five years...
                   Don't count the half-years, unless you
                   want to sound like a rookie.

     Mills unloads a mighty wallop and one practice pad recoils into
     Somerset's face, knocks Somerset on his ass.

                                 MILLS
                   Oops.  My hand slipped.

     Mills walks, climbs out of the ring.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   You fucked me over today, and you know
                   it.  You know it.

     Somerset looks at the broken cigarette in his mouth.  He
     contains his anger.  He seems to realize Mills has a point.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Just don't jerk me off.  That's all I
                   ask.  It's not much.  Don't jerk me off.
                           (pause)
                   Please, do me the favor of remembering
                   that.

     Mills exits.  Somerset spits out the broken cigarette.


     INT.  URBAN SCHOOL, OFFICE -- DAY

     Tracy looks out a window from behind steel bars.

     Below her, young children play in a playground.  They're playing
     hop-scotch, throwing balls, chasing each other.  The swing sets
     are broken.  The handball wall is graffitied.

                                 WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
                   I'm sorry, Mrs. Mills.  We don't have
                   anything right now.

     Tracy looks away from the window to the haggard WOMAN.  The
     school's office is ill-equipped, busy, disorganized.

                                 WOMAN (CONT)
                   We'll try to give you a call if we need
                   substitutes next month.

                                 TRACY
                   Thank you.

     Tracy looks back at the playground: on the other side of a
     chain-link fence, a butcher in a bloody apron walks down the
     ramp of a freezer truck.  he carries a big, whole, slaughtered
     pig on his shoulder.

     The pig's head flops as the butcher walks.  Some children stop
     their games and run to watch the man and the pig corpse pass.


     INT.  UNDERGROUND SUBWAY TRAIN -- DAY

     The train clatters through a tunnel, packed full, WHEELS
     SCREECHING.  The lights go on and off.  Passengers read
     tabloids, stare at their feet, study advertisements on the
     walls; anything to avoid making eye-contact with others.

     All races, creeds and colors; all ugly, forlorn human beings.
     Tracy stands fatigued, holding a handrail.

     A bag-lady, crusted with dirt, reeking, pushes her way through
     the crowd.  A man presses against Tracy in an attempt to let the
     bag-lady pass.  Tracy switches hands on the rail, turns sideways
     to make room.  She looks down.

     On one seat, a man, quite normal looking, sits holding a porno
     magazine, THREE-WAY FUCK, in one hand.  His other hand is in his
     pocket.  He's obviously masturbating himself in his pants.  No
     one else notices or seems to care.

     Tracy looks away, disgusted.  She closes her eyes.  The train's
     wheels SCREECH LOUDER as the train takes a curve.


     INT.  INDOOR FRUIT STAND -- NIGHT

     The front and one side of the shop are entirely open to the busy
     sidewalk and street.  A transparent plastic canopy frames the
     entrance.  A STRANGE MAN, 20, stands at the edge of the canopy.
     He wears a stained sweatsuit outfit and hums a song, oblivious.

     Tracy and Mills look together over the piles of fruits and
     vegetables piled on wooden stands which form tight aisles.

                                 MILLS
                   It was okay.  I mean... it was certainly
                   better than yesterday.  I think Somerset
                   and I came to a small understanding...

     Mills holds his thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch
     apart to illustrate.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   ...about this big.

                                 TRACY
                   He sounds interesting.

                                 MILLS
                   He is that, if nothing else.

     Mills throws some oranges in the basket hanging from Tracy's
     arm.  He goes to check out the carrots.  Tracy looks up from
     heads of lettuce to the strange man at the entrance.

     The strange man hums on, rocking back and forth slowly, his eyes
     glassy.  Customers come and go, paying him no mind.

     Mills notices Tracy's interest.  He keeps comparing carrots.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   We started a big homicide case today.
                   I'll spare you the grisly details.

     The strange man suddenly stops humming and looks into the store
     with a crooked grin.

                                 STRANGE MAN
                   Name that tune?  Anybody name that tune?
                   Name that tune...

     The man keeps repeating this, over and over, still ignored.

                                 TRACY
                   It's... it's like they emptied all the
                   insane asylums into the streets.

     She looks back to the heads of lettuce.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   That's what it's like.  Like they just
                   gave up, and let everyone out.

     Mills nods, his back to Tracy.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   There are a lot of frightening people in
                   this city.

                                 MILLS
                   There are a lot of frightening people in
                   the world.

     Tracy looks again to the strange man.

                                 STRANGE MAN
                   Name that tune?  Anybody name that tune?

                                 TRACY
                   It seems worse than Philadelphia,
                   because everything is pushed right up
                   against you.  In your face.

     Mills edges past Tracy towards the front of the store, tries to
     be pleasant.

                                 MILLS
                   Listen, honey.  I don't want to fight
                   tonight.  Okay?  Can we just go one
                   night without fighting about something?

     He looks over apples, thinks that's the end of that.

                                 TRACY
                   I'm not trying to start a fight.
                           (pause)
                   How am I trying to start a fight?

                                 MILLS
                   We're here now.  Okay.  Are we supposed
                   to pack it all in and go back?  How are
                   we going to do that?

                                 TRACY
                   Do I have to act like I love this place?
                   Is that what a "good wife" would do?

                                 MILLS
                           (doleful)
                   There's a lot of pressure on me... I...

                                 TRACY
                   And, there's a lot of pressure on me.
                   I'm here with you.

                                 MILLS
                   I know.  I know...

     Mills steps towards the open air entrance.  He's watching
     something.  The strange man is still heard offscreen.

     Tracy reaches to a high wooden shelf, trying to reach a bag of
     rice, her back to Mills.

                                 TRACY
                   I'm not going to close my eyes and block
                   everything out, David.  I'm not going to
                   act like you delivered us to some sort
                   of paradise.  I can't...

     She gets the rice and turns.  Mills is not there.  She sighs,
     angry, looks around.  She walks towards the entrance and sees
     him --

     TRACY'S P.O.V. -- THE STREET

     In front of the stand, Mills has run to the corner of the
     sidewalk to help a very old woman with a cane.  The elderly
     woman smiles up at Mills, takes his arm as he helps her off the
     curb and across the street.  He talks to her as they go.

     INT.  INDOOR FRUIT STAND -- NIGHT

     Tracy's anger fades.  She shakes her head, touched, amazed by
     the plain boy scoutishness of her husband.

     TRACY'S P.O.V. -- THE STREET

     Mills deposits the old woman on the other side.  She thanks him,
     patting him on the cheek.  Mills starts back towards the fruit
     stand, proud of himself.  A car screeches to a halt, just
     missing him.  The driver leans out the window, yelling at Mills.
     Mills kicks the side of the car.

                                 MILLS
                   Fuck you.
                           (as car leaves)
                   Fuck you, you son of a bitch!  I'm
                   walking here.

     INT.  INDOOR FRUIT STAND -- NIGHT

     Tracy rolls her eyes in amused disappointment.  She sighs again.

     Mills passes the babbling strange man, comes up to Tracy.

                                 MILLS
                   I'm sorry... I couldn't pass it up.  I
                   never had a chance to actually do that.
                   But, we can start the argument right
                   back up where we left off, right?

     Tracy looks at him, charmed, no longer willing to fight.

                                 MILLS
                           (playing dumb)
                   What?

     Tracy wraps an arm around Mills and kisses him.  He holds her.

                                 STRANGE MAN
                   That was the theme from tv's Mod Squad.
                   I'm surprised nobody got that one.

     The strange man starts humming a new tune.  An old man tries to
     get through the aisle where Mills and Tracy are kissing.

                                 OLD MAN
                           (infuriated)
                   Excuse me.  Excuse me!


     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

     A small transistor RADIO PLAYS on the bedside table.

     Mills and Tracy are in bed, making love under the sheets.  They
     move rhythmically, kissing, sweating hard.

     Mills holds Tracy's hair in his hands, pulls her head back as
     she gasps and he thrusts his entire body against hers.

     Mills' hair is soaked.  He is anything but mellow as a lover,
     quickening while Tracy twists underneath him.  Tracy holds tight
     to the back of his neck with one hand.

     Finally, Mills pushes himself up on his arms, holding his head
     down against Tracy's chest.  Holds for a long moment, till he is
     spent and lowers himself against her, into her arms.  He rests a
     long time.  She kisses his forehead, keeping her eyes closed.

     Finally, Mills rolls off her, gets behind her and wraps the both
     of them in the sheets.  He folds himself against her, and they
     stay that way.

                                 TRACY
                   Goodnight.

                                 MILLS
                   Goodnight.

     After a long moment, Mills shifts back, sits up.  Tracy looks
     over her shoulder at him as he takes a towel off a chair and
     stands.  Mills wraps the towel around his waist.

     He leans over to give Tracy a last kiss.  She watches him leave
     the room.  She is about to say something, but does not.  A light
     comes on in the other room, leaking through the door.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

     Mills sits down at his desk.  He starts looking through police
     paperwork.  The RADIO in the other room goes OFF in mid song.


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     TUESDAY

     INT.  AUTOPSY ROOM -- EARLY MORNING

     The room is cold, clean.  Stainless steel.  White tile.  Many
     pathologists work at slabs.  Mills and Somerset are with DOCTOR
     SANTIAGO, 35, who stands over the mostly dissected obese corpse.

                                 SANTIAGO
                   If you take a look here, buddies...
                   I can tell you, it was not a poison.
                   If you can see...
                   I have emptied all of everything out of
                   the stomach.  But, look at it, now that
                   I took away the liver.

     Santiago reaches into the belly of the cavernous corpse.  Mills
     moves closer beside Somerset, but not too close, trying to hide
     his disgust.  We hear squashy sounds as Santiago works, but we
     don't see in.

                                 SANTIAGO (CONT)
                   I move the lungs over.  First, see how
                   big this fat son-of-a-bitch stomach is.
                   Now... here is the strange thing, on the
                   stomach.  Stretches.
                           (pointing)
                   And, here is it distended.  Look at the
                   size of that, because of the foods.

                                 MILLS
                   I can see what you're pointing at...

                                 SANTIAGO
                   On the stomach.  The lines of
                   distention.

     Somerset's looking in, not believing what he sees.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Doctor, are you saying this man... ate
                   till he burst?

                                 SANTIAGO
                   Yes, well, he didn't actually burst.  He
                   was bleeding, inside of himself.
                   And, there's a hemotoma on the
                   outside... on the belly.

     Somerset walks around the slab, looking the body over.

                                 MILLS
                   He died by eating?

                                 SANTIAGO
                   Someone punched him, or kicked him.

     Somerset notices something on the partially shaved head.

     He leans close to look at five or six small bruises on the back
     of the dead man's head; circular bruises, some darker than
     others, all about the same diameter as a dime.

                                 SANTIAGO (CONT)
                   Oh, and there is this here... something
                   else you have to look at and see.

     Somerset stands straight, realizes something about the bruises.

                                 SANTIAGO (CONT)
                   Most of his stomach contents are in the
                   lab now... but, this.  I found these in
                   the fat man's stomach.

     Santiago looks amongst tools, buckets and jars of liquid.  He
     picks up a glass jar and shows it to Mills.  In the jar: many
     little bits of blue plastic.  Like scrapings.

                                 MILLS
                   Plastic?

     Mills gets Somerset's attention, hands him the jar.  Somerset
     looks at it a long time.

                                 SANTIAGO
                   Why these were in a fat man's stomach, I
                   don't know.


     INT.  APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, HALLWAY -- MORNING

     Outside the door to the murder scene, Mills and Somerset cut
     through the RESTRICTED AREA/CRIME SCENE seal.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Those bruises on the back of the
                   victim's head were caused by the muzzle
                   of a gun.

                                 MILLS
                   So, the killer had him at gunpoint, and
                   gave him a choice: eat, or get your head
                   blown off.

     INT.  APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, KITCHEN -- MORNING

     Somerset and Mills enter.  Somerset takes out the jar of plastic
     scrapings, turns on the now normal light.  They begin to search.

                                 SOMERSET
                   He was force-fed... till his body
                   started rejecting the food.  He
                   literally couldn't eat another bite.

                                 MILLS
                   So, the killer held a bucket under him.

                                 SOMERSET
                   His throat was swollen from the effort.
                   He was bleeding internally.
                   He must have blacked out... and, if
                   you're the killer, you're not going to
                   want to wait around for him to die.

     Somerset examines the counter tops and wall.  Mills gets down on
     his knees, examines the linoleum floor.

                                 MILLS
                   You kick him, pop him like a fucking
                   balloon.
                           (touches floor)
                   Somerset, look here.

     Somerset gets down, holds the jar against the linoleum.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Same color and texture.

     They both crawl on hands and knees, study every inch of floor.

                                 MILLS
                   If this is what that is... it doesn't
                   make sense.  It doesn't figure.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Always look for one thing to focus on.
                   There's always one singular thing, and
                   it might be as small as a speck of dust,
                   but find it and focus... till it's an
                   exhausted possibility.

                                 MILLS
                   How are pieces of the floor going to get
                   in the guy's stomach?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Exactly.  Why would so many pieces be
                   inside his stomach unless they were
                   placed there intentionally?

     Somerset notices deep scratches in the linoleum, fingers the
     grooves.  He takes a piece of plastic from the jar, holds it to
     the scratches, fiddles with it, fits it in.  He looks up to see,
     these scratches are in front of the refrigerator.  It looks like
     they were caused by the refrigerator having been pulled away
     from the wall and pushed back at some time.

     INT.  APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, KITCHEN -- LATER MORNING

     We are BEHIND THE REFRIGERATOR as it is rocked back and forth.
     It's pulled away from the wall.  Somerset and Mills strain, pull
     a few more feet, then release.  They lean to look --

     The refrigerator had hidden a space on the wall where the dust
     has been cleared.  In that space: a circle, smeared in grease,
     and a note taped in the center of the circle.

     Somerset's BEEPER starts BEEPING.  Mills leans to read:

                                 MILLS
                   "Dear Detectives.  Long is the way, and
                   hard, that out of hell leads up to the
                   light."
                           (looks at Somerset)
                   This is not good.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Milton.

                                 MILLS
                   What?

                                 SOMERSET
                   It's a quote from a book.  Milton's
                   Paradise Lost.

     Somerset takes out his beeper, looks at the LED window.  He
     looks up at Mills, like they've received very bad news.


     INT.  LUXURY APARTMENTS, HALLWAY -- MORNING

     A marble hallway.  A DETECTIVE, 50, nervously chewing his nails,
     quickly leads Mills and Somerset past cops and forensics.

                                 DETECTIVE
                   I said to myself, I'm not going to screw
                   around with this.  Nope.  Fuck that.
                   It's still pretty fresh meat.  I called
                   the medical examiner... he's coming.
                           (stops at door)
                   When I got to it, I knew.  As soon as I
                   laid eyes on it, I knew...

     The detective opens the door.  FOLLOW Somerset and Mills --

     INT.  LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- MORNING

     Gross, deep yellow light comes through the only window with its
     blinds up.  The light anoints a NUDE MAN displayed, dead.

                                 DETECTIVE (O.S.)
                   ...this is your guy who did this.

     The nude dead man's legs are folded under him as if he were
     kneeling, and he's bent forward, chin on the floor.  His eyes
     are open, his arms outstretched before him.  Mills and Somerset
     walk to either side of the man.

     The detective closes the door, bites his thumbnail.  The
     apartment is on a high floor, so it's quiet.

     Somerset sees the window has been covered with a sheet of yellow
     gel, stapled in place to produce the colored light.

     Mills examines the corpse.  There's a chair one foot behind the
     nude man.  It's an elegant leather chair, drenched in blood.
     There's a carving knife on the carpet in the middle of a huge
     stain of blood under the chair.  Mills looks at pieces of cut
     rope on the floor behind the chair.  The rope is knotted.

     Somerset crouches beside the body.  There's a big piece of flesh
     missing from the man's left side, as if the love-handle had been
     lopped off.  Hundreds of pennies lie scattered under and around
     the man.  The man's hands are palms up, fingers wrapped around
     more pennies.

     Mills walks over to examine a scale on the floor between the
     corpse and the doorway.  It's an old-fashioned counter-balance
     scale with two suspended dishes on a see-saw arm.  In the high
     dish: the hunk of flesh missing from the man's side.  In the low
     dish: a one pound counterweight.

                                 MILLS
                           (to Somerset)
                   A pound of flesh.

     Somerset stands and walks backwards to view the entire scene
     from near the door.

     He looks worried, vaguely frightened.  He turns his head, looks
     to a far wall.  Beside a big, abstract, constructivist painting,
     there's a note pinned up inside a triangular smear of blood.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, CAPTAIN'S OFFICE -- EARLY EVENING

     An office full of pictures, books and mugsheets, yet it is
     meticulously well kept.  The CAPTAIN, 50, sits at his tidy desk.
     He's dressed conservatively.  Mills and Somerset sit before him.
     Somerset reads from a photocopy of the note they just found.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (reading)
                   "One pound of flesh, no more no less. No
                   cartilage, no bone, but only flesh.
                   This task done, and he would go free."

     The captain is a calm man, but whenever not speaking, without
     fail, he clenches his jaw repeatedly, causing the muscles in his
     neck and jaw to pulse.

     Somerset stands, paces.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   This victim, Mr. Gold, was tied down
                   nude, holding a carving knife.  And he
                   was given a long time... to decide.
                   Where to make the first cut?  There's a
                   gun to your head... but, what part or
                   parts of your body are expendable?

     Mills sits back in his chair, arms crossed, seems anxious,
     doesn't know why they're here.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   Mr. Gold tried for the whole pound at
                   once, his love handle.  But, he went
                   into shock.  Bled to death.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   What is the point, Somerset?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Look at both killings together.  This
                   murderer is an artist.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   An artist?

                                 SOMERSET
                   He uses colors and symbols.  He
                   positions the bodies after death, so
                   he's working with composition.  It's
                   been premeditated so meticulously... and
                   this is just the beginning.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Wrong.  For all we know, we might never
                   hear from him again, and I don't want
                   that kind of talk floating around.

     Somerset shakes his head "no."

                                 SOMERSET
                   The rats and the pennies.  The circle
                   and the triangle on the wall.  There's
                   something about them... these murders
                   mean something.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   So?  What?

     Somerset has no answer.  The captain is irked, jaw clenching.

                                 CAPTAIN (CONT)
                           (to Mills)
                   You with him, or you just here to watch?

                                 MILLS
                   This is his stuff, captain.  I've been
                   out in the cold most of the day.

                                 CAPTAIN
                           (to Somerset)
                   Always working overtime up in that big
                   brain of yours, huh?  Always cooking.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I need you to know... I want us
                   reassigned.  We're declining this case.

                                 MILLS
                           (sits up, angry)
                   What?!

                                 CAPTAIN
                   What the hell are you talking about?

                                 SOMERSET
                   This cannot be my last duty here.  It's
                   going to go on and on.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   You've left unfinished business before.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Everything else was taken as close to a
                   conclusion as humanly possible.

                                 MILLS
                   Can I just say something?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Also... I don't think this should be
                   Mills' first case.

                                 MILLS
                   This is not my first case, fuckhead!

                                 CAPTAIN
                   I don't have anyone else to give this
                   to, Somerset.  And nobody's going to
                   swap with you.

                                 MILLS
                   Give it to me, then.  There's nothing
                   that says I have to fly with him.

     The captain considers this.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   If Somerset wants out, fuck him.

                                 SOMERSET
                   It would be too much for him, too soon.

                                 MILLS
                           (to captain)
                   Could we talk about this in private?

     The captain looks at Somerset, then at Mills.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   That's not necessary.  You're in.

                                 MILLS
                   Thank you, sir.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Start picking up the pieces.  I'll
                   shuffle some paper and try to get you a
                   new partner.

     Mills stands.  Somerset will not look him in the eye.  Mills
     leaves, slams the door.  Somerset seems deflated.

                                 CAPTAIN (CONT)
                   You win, Somerset.  You're out.


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     WEDNESDAY

     EXT.  CITY STREET -- MORNING

     A vendor lays out a pile of tabloid newspapers at his busy
     newsstand.  The headline: SECOND BIZARRE MURDER!, in huge print.

     The vendor lays out another tabloid pile.  Headline: "GIVE ME MY
     POUND OF FLESH," SAYS BLOODTHRISTY KILLER, in big, red letters.
     The vendor places a third pile beside the others:  SICKENING
     MURDERS - EXCLUSIVE DETAILS INSIDE!!!


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- MORNING

     Old office.  Moving boxes on the floor.  The single window faces
     a billboard.  Somerset works on a manual typewriter.  He types
     hunt-and-peck, slowly.  His paperwork is on the desk in two
     sloppy piles.  A jarring SOUND is HEARD OFFSCREEN, like fingers
     on a blackboard.  Somerset looks up, irritated.

     A WORKMAN is working at the open door, holding the source of the
     sound, a razor blade he's using to scrape the words DETECTIVE
     SOMERSET off the door's window.

                                 WORKMAN
                   Sorry.

     Somerset turns back to typing.  The captain steps in, looks at
     the workman, then drops more papers on Somerset's desk.

     As always, the neatly groomed captain clenches his jaw.  He
     looks around.  Two of boxes on the floor have DETECTIVE MILLS
     written across them.  The captain picks one up, puts it on top
     of the other.  He sits, watching Somerset, starts straightening
     the forms on the desk.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   What are you going to do with yourself
                   out there, Somerset?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'll get a job.  Maybe on a farm.  I'll
                   fix up my house.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Can't you feel it yet?
                           (pause)
                   Can't you feel that feeling... that you
                   won't be special anymore?

                                 SOMERSET
                           (lying)
                   I don't know what you mean.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   You know.

     Somerset reclines, looks at the captain.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Did you read in the paper today, about
                   the man who took his dog for a walk?
                   And how he was mugged?  And, his wallet
                   was taken, and his watch.  Then, while
                   he was still lying unconscious, his
                   attacker stabbed him with a knife in
                   both eyes.  It happened last night.  Not
                   far from here.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   I heard.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I have no understanding of this place.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   It's always been like this.

     Somerset saddles up to the typewriter.  Hunt-and-peck.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Yes.  You're absolutely right.

     The captain lays the paperwork down in two neat stacks.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   You were made for this work, Somerset.
                   I can't believe you're going to trade it
                   all in for a tool belt and a fishing
                   rod.  But, I guess I'm wrong.

     The captain leaves.  Somerset looks up now that the captain's
     gone.  He grabs the paper piles and ruffles them back to their
     disheveled state.  He looks at the workman.

     The workman is looking at Somerset, has a rag in his hand to
     remove the last remnants of Somerset's name.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (angrily)
                   Put a little elbow grease into it!

     The workman is startled, continues his work.


     INT.  LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- DAY

     The grandly furnished apartment where the second murder took
     place has been dusted for prints and searched.

     Two female forensics are at work.

     INT.  LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, MASTER BEDROOM -- DAY

     Mills is seated in front of a long writing desk with many
     drawers.  All the drawers are open.  Mills looks through letters
     and stationary.  Nothing of use.  He tosses the pile back.

     He sits back, frustrated, yanks off one rubber glove, looks
     around the room.  Books have been taken off their shelves, the
     bed has been stripped.  The room has been given the once over.

     The victim's family photographs hang in expensive frames on one
     wall.  There are at least thirty photos of various sizes:
     ancestors, sons and daughters, grandchildren and friends.  An
     over-weight forensic, CHRIS, 35, leans in through the doorway.

     Mills looks up and Chris shakes his head glumly.

                                 MILLS
                   He must have left us another puzzle to
                   solve... somewhere.

                                 CHRIS
                   We'll keep looking, but we're running
                   out of possibilities.

     Chris leaves and Mills stands to stretch.  Something catches
     Mills' eye.  He walks over to the door, curious.  At the base of
     the open door, there's a ball of paper wedged under to act as a
     doorjamb.  Mills puts his glove back on, pulls the ball out.

     He uncrumples the paper as the door slowly swings shut.  The
     page has a drawing on it, of the sun with waves of heat at its
     edges.  There is a single eye in the center of the sun.

     An arrow is drawn in dried blood on the back of the closing
     door.  Mills notices this and pushes the door closed.

     The blood arrow points to the side and up, seems to be pointing
     to the photo gallery wall.  Mills goes to examine the photos.

     His eyes search each photo... one by one... till he sees it:

                                 MILLS
                   Christ...

     A framed photo of a falsely pretty, middle-aged woman smiling
     and wearing pearls.  Under the glass, on the photo itself,
     circles have been drawn in blood around the woman's eyes.


     EXT.  CITY STREETS, DOWNTOWN -- NIGHT

     An assault on the senses.  Crowded streets and sidewalks.  On
     every corner, in every doorway, on every stairwell -- freaks,
     junkies, punks, leather boys and motorcycle girls.  A few
     tourists wander in the mix, heedful of the dangers around them.
     Buildings border narrowly.

     Somerset walks against the stream.  He carries a file.

     CAR HORNS HOWL.  MUSIC BLASTS from the entrances of clubs.
     REGGAE from one club is soon OVERTAKEN by RAP from a second
     story window.  TECHNO-POP blasts from the tattoo parlor.

     Somerset does not like this place, views it with disdain.  He
     walks to avoid two men fighting on the ground.  The men are
     pulling hair and pounding each other idiotically.

     Somerset takes a cigarette from a full pack, lights it as he
     crosses through the traffic jam in the street.  A VAGRANT steps
     up with his hand out.

                                 VAGRANT
                   Spare me a cigarette, money-grip?  Spare
                   me a cigarette?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Sorry.  Last one.

     He walks on.  We BEGIN to HEAR JAZZ MUSIC.

     INT.  JAZZ CLUB -- NIGHT

     A club at capacity.  The JAZZ MUSIC CONTINUES like a slow, cool
     breeze from a JAZZ TRIO on a platform.

     The air is thick with smoke.  Yuppies sit elbow to elbow with
     the last members of the beat generation.  Everyone's drinking
     beer, smoking pot.

     Somerset crosses the club, looking for someone.  He takes a
     tissue from his pocket, rips pieces off and jams the pieces in
     his ears.  At the back of the club, a major-league bouncer
     stands in front of a closed door.  Somerset shows his badge and
     the bouncer steps aside with reservation.

     INT.  NARROW STAIRWELL -- NIGHT

     The walls are black.  Somerset opens the door, enters, walks
     down the long flight of stairs.  As Somerset descends, the JAZZ
     MUSIC FADES and is ENGULFED by the sound of SPEED METAL.
     DEAFENING.

     At the bottom, Somerset opens another door.  He enters --

     INT.  UNDERGROUND ART GALLERY -- NIGHT

     A narrow room.  SPEED METAL is even LOUDER.  This is a private
     art party.  The people are lizard-like, pale.  Men and women
     priding themselves on their gauntness.

     Somerset passes canvases on the walls.  Pointlessly abstract
     paintings.  Splatters, smears and blobs of color.

     Party-people stand in front of these "works," engrossed.
     Somerset slides past, not interested in the art, jamming the
     tissue further in his ears.  He spots his objective.

     WILLIAM McCRACKEN, 42, stands inside a circle of admirers.  He is
     dressed like a pauper, his baggy clothing stained with many
     colors of paint.  He wears dark sunglasses, bored by the
     bleached-blonde girl whispering in his ear.

     Somerset worms his way to stand in front of William.  The party-
     goers turn their attention to this intrusion.

     William looks up, pushes the girl away.  He takes off his
     sunglasses.  His eyes are badly bloodshot and listless.

     He looks Somerset over... and then grins, glad to see him.


     INT.  MILL'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

     Mills stands brooding over a photocopy of the picture of the
     woman with her eyes circled in blood.  He looks overworked,
     drinks coffee.  His desk is swamped with files.

                                 MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
                   I have voiced the same concerns to our
                   law enforcement officials, and they
                   assure me he is of the highest caliber.

     Mills looks to a t.v. on a table, picks up a remote, increases
     the volume.  On the screen, MARTIN TALBOT, 47, source of the
     voice, stands before reporters.  He's a powerful presence, with
     a gold tooth in the front of his mouth.

                                 A REPORTER (V.O.)
                           (from t.v.)
                   As District Attorney, don't you feel
                   some responsibility?  Detective David
                   Mills lacks the experience...

                                 TALBOT (V.O.)
                           (from t.v.)
                   I've always said... I've always said,
                   don't send a boy to do a man's job.

     Mills is hanging on every word.

                                 TALBOT (V.O.,CONT)
                   But, David Mills has a sterling record
                   with the Philadelphia force.  I stand
                   behind him one hundred percent.

                                 MILLS
                           (relieved)
                   You tell 'em boss.  Detective David
                   Mills is a wonderful human being...

                                 TALBOT (V.O.)
                   However... however... let me say this...

     Mills looks back at the television.

                                 TALBOT (V.O.,CONT)
                   If Detective Mills, at any point in this
                   investigation... if he is not pulling
                   his weight, I will be the first in line
                   to pull his plug.

     Mills points the remote, turns the t.v. off as reporters crowd
     Talbot.  Mills stares at the blank screen, dispirited.

     Across the room, Tracy stands in the doorway.  Mills does not
     see her.  He looks at the photocopy and sits at his desk.

     Tracy watches him, great concern in her sad eyes.


     INT.  WILLIAM'S STUDIO/APARTMENT -- NIGHT

     Somerset walks through this vast artist's studio, a converted
     warehouse space filled with canvases.  It's clear the works at
     the underground art gallery were William's.  William climbs a
     ladder to a loft storage space.  He moves cautiously, like he's
     not quite up to the task.

                                 WILLIAM
                   I always figured that's the only reason
                   you and I used to be friends.  Because I
                   was a friend of hers.

     William yanks a painting wrapped in dusty paper, climbs down.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   Speaking of which...

     William hands the painting to Somerset, walks to a director's
     chair facing a paint-splashed canvas on an easel.  He is a used-
     up man, bound in an apathy-induced haze.  He sits, picks up a
     squeeze bottle of orange paint from a table of supplies.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   I painted that about five years ago.  I
                   always told myself I'd give it to you
                   next time I saw you.

     Somerset starts unwrapping the painting.

     William "paints," using the squeeze bottles and by flicking
     saturated brushes so that the paint flies against the canvas.
     Most times, he's not even looking at the canvas or colors he's
     using.  He looks over his shoulder at Somerset.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   Things are different these days, pal.
                   You wouldn't believe it...

     Somerset looks at the unwrapped painting and is hit by a swell
     of memories.  Horribly sad memories.  It's a portrait in oils of
     a pretty, red-headed woman.

     William shoots red paint with one hand, concentrates on
     lighting a filterless cigarette with the other.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   People buy my paintings now... they
                   drive down in their BMWs and Rolls
                   Royces.  It's the new money generation.
                   I guess they think they're touching the
                   avant-garde...

     William looks at his creation, then calmly kicks the easel over.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   There's another thousand dollar William
                   McCracken expression of anarchy.

     William gets up, walks across the wet canvas, leaving
     footprints.  He looks down at what he's done.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   Make that two thousand.

     He laughs.  Somerset holds up the delicately rendered portrait.

                                 SOMERSET
                   How is she?  Have you seen her recently?

                                 WILLIAM
                   Huh... oh.  No.  She moved out of the
                   city.  Last winter.  She married some
                   businessman, or something like that.

     Somerset fights the anguish this causes, puts the painting down.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Good for her.
                           (pause)
                   I'm leaving soon myself.  I'm finally
                   getting out.

                                 WILLIAM
                   Yeah?  What happened to the idealistic
                   super-cop I used to know?

                                 SOMERSET
                   He became a realist.

     William grunts, flicks his cigarette away, takes out a bag of
     pills.  He palms a few, notices the judgment in Somerset's eyes.

                                 WILLIAM
                   Oh... sorry.

     William turns his back to Somerset, pops the pills.  Out of
     sight, out of mind.  Somerset is disappointed, disgusted.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (sarcastic)
                   Not that I don't appreciate your recent
                   artistic endeavors... but, what happened
                   to the painter I used to know?

     William smiles like a dolt, laughs a little.

                                 WILLIAM
                   I can't remember.

     INT.  WILLIAM'S STUDIO/APARTMENT -- LATER NIGHT

     Color photos of the first and second murder sit on a drawing
     table.  The top photos are like establishing shots, each taking
     in the entire display the murderer created.

     William examines with Somerset looking over his shoulder.

                                 WILLIAM
                   Man... can I buy these from you?

                                 SOMERSET
                   They're not for sale.

     Somerset lays out photos of the notes, triangle and circle:

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   What is it?  What's the murderer trying
                   to say?

     William narrows his eyes.  Does not know.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   What picture is he painting?

                                 WILLIAM
                           (figuring)
                   Wait a minute...

     William has an idea.  He ambles over to a row of cabinets where
     oversized art books are stacked.  He hunts through a pile,
     shoves some books aside.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   I... I've seen things like that...

                                 SOMERSET
                   Where?

     William keeps digging, finds one book, finds another.  He opens
     one as he walks back to the drawing table.

                                 WILLIAM
                   It's church stuff.  Christianity.

     William lays a book down, finds a page.  He opens it to
     Somerset.  There is a circle to the side of the text.  It says
     GLUTTONY under the circle.

     Somerset creases his brow, turns the page.  William opens
     another book.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   When it first started... Christian
                   artwork was all from Bible stories.  It
                   was like... nobody had any imagination.
                   It was all... standardized.

     William pages through and we catch glimpses of the bizarre,
     worlds of Hieronymus Bosch.  Horrifying religious visions.

                                 WILLIAM (O.S.,CONT)
                   But, later, everyone started painting to
                   tell their own stories... to teach
                   lessons.  Guys like Bosch, Bregel the
                   elder... Van Eycks.

     William shoves the open book to Somerset.  Somerset looks:

     Seven paintings in a circular pattern showing characters giving
     in to sins.  Wicked, grotesque people.

     Somerset turns the book to examine each painting right side up.

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   The seven deadly sins.

                                 WILLIAM (O.S.)
                   That's what these murders remind me of.
                   Paintings like these.
                           (points)
                   Gluttony... greed...

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   Envy, wrath, pride, lust and sloth.
                   Seven deadly sins.

                                 WILLIAM
                   Amen, brother.

     William goes to continue pulling other books.

                                 WILLIAM (CONT)
                   I can find more examples.  There's lots
                   of paintings like those... painted over
                   hundreds of years.
                           (moves books)
                   And you're right... that murderer is an
                   artist.

     Somerset is chilled by all this, immersed in the Bosch book.

                                 SOMERSET
                   And, it's two down... five to go.


     EXT.  CITY STREET, PORNO DISTRICT -- NIGHT

     A bright, tawdry intersection.  Neon swirls and circuit-bulbs on
     porno theatres provide the flash.  Cars, taxies, and barkers
     urging sexual indulgence from doorways provide the noise.

     The streets and sidewalks are crowded with lonely humans, mostly
     men, looking around, sizing up promises made on porno placards:
     FUN WITH NUDES, BIG BOOBS, NAKED DESIRE, etc.  The usual
     contingent of abnormal cretins wanders in the crowd, looking for
     someone to hurt.

     MOVE through the crowds.  Meet JOHN, a balding, middle-aged man,
     wearing thick glasses.  There is not a single thing strange or
     unusual about his appearance.  FOLLOW him as he walks.  He's
     nervous, looking at the porno palaces.

     His sweaty hand clutches a Bible tight against his chest.  He
     doesn't feel comfortable being here.

     John walks to a corner, waits for the light so he may cross.  A
     grotesque STREET PREACHER approaches waving his own Bible.
     People walk away from him, so he confronts John.

                                 PREACHER
                   ...are you, Sir?  Is Jesus Christ your
                   Lord and Master?  Do you believe in Him?

     John tries to ignore, traffic blocking his escape.

                                 PREACHER (CONT)
                           (pleading)
                   Don't ignore me.  Listen to what I have
                   to say.  Christ can be your savior!

                                 JOHN
                           (quiet anger)
                   Leave me alone.

                                 PREACHER
                   Think about God, sir.  I can help you
                   let Him into your life.

     Finally the light changes.  John turns and spits in the
     preacher's face.  The preacher recoils as John crosses quickly.

     John hurries between cars in the crosswalk.  The preacher curses
     from the corner, his voice drowned out in traffic.

     EXT.  ANOTHER CITY STREET, PORNO DISTRICT -- NIGHT

     People pass on the sidewalk.  John is amongst them, but he
     stops, looking up at something offscreen.

     He's looking at a bright red storefront adorned with red neon:
     THE HOT HOUSE.  Massage parlor.  The Hot House's BARKER notices
     John's interest.

                                 BARKER
                   Interesting isn't it, friend?  You like
                   that, you like girls, then come on in.

     John doesn't hear the barker.  Steps up to study fading pictures
     of naked women massaging happy men.  Nudity.

                                 BARKER (CONT)
                   You'll see a lot more inside.  You'll
                   see a lot more than that.

     John's just looking, his face bathed in bright red light, the
     neon reflected in his thick glasses.


     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- NIGHT

     Somerset, holding more than an armful of art books and novels,
     pounds on the apartment door.  Tracy opens it with the chain on.

                                 TRACY
                   Can I help you?

     She takes a second to drink Somerset in.  Somerset is surprised,
     having expected Mills.  Tracy is so exquisite that he falters.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Uh... I was looking for Mills.  David, I
                   mean.

                                 TRACY
                   He's not here right now.

     Somerset tries not to drop any books while he digs up his badge.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Mrs. Mills, my name is Somerset.  If I
                   could leave these books for him.

                                 TRACY
                           (undoes chain)
                   Please, come in.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- NIGHT

     Tracy leads Somerset into the disarray of the apartment.

                                 TRACY
                   David went for a walk.  To clear his
                   head.  Oh, you can put those here.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Thank you.

     Tracy motions and Somerset puts the books on Mills' desk.
     He starts looking through one book, checking paperclipped pages.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   Could you tell him... tell him this is
                   his reading assignment.  It's urgent.
                   I've marked the most important pages.

                                 TRACY
                   Would you like some coffee, or a drink.
                   David should be back any minute.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I do have to get going.

     Somerset sees a medal encased in glass on the desk amongst pens
     and pencils.  He picks it up: it's a medal for valor from the
     Philadelphia Police Department.

                                 TRACY
                   At least I got to meet you.  David has
                   told me a lot about you.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Really?  Good things, I hope.

                                 TRACY
                   Oh, yes.  He said you were very smart.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Really?

                                 TRACY
                   I think he's a bit intimidated by you.

     Somerset thinks about this, finds it hard to believe.  He goes
     through his pocket, pulls out a notepad and some paper scraps.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm going to leave him a list of
                   specifics.  It all relates to the case
                   he's on.

     He lays the various scraps and receipts aside on the desk, sits
     to start writing on the notepad.  Tracy goes to the kitchenette
     to get a chair.

                                 TRACY
                   You two aren't working together anymore.
                   Isn't that so?

                                 SOMERSET
                   To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Mills...

                                 TRACY
                   Tracy.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Tracy.  David and I weren't exactly what
                   you could call fast friends.

                                 TRACY
                   That's too bad.

     Tracy brings the chair over by the desk and sits.  Somerset
     looks up from his writing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I doubt your husband shares that
                   opinion.

     Tracy nods, leaning forward, semi-conspiratorially.

                                 TRACY
                   You know, Somerset, David is very...
                   determined.  I'm sure you've seen, it's
                   not likely he'll ever be compared to
                   Gandhi.

                                 SOMERSET
                   He's a good cop.  He just...

                                 TRACY
                   He sees policework as a crusade.  That's
                   what he wants it to be, and, that might
                   sound naive, but he's made a conscious
                   choice to be naive.
                           (pause)
                   Believe me, his heart's in the right
                   place.

     Somerset pauses, enchanted by her.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I hear you and he were high school
                   sweethearts.

                                 TRACY
                   Yeah.  Pretty hokey, huh?  But, what
                   girl wouldn't want the captain of the
                   football team as their lifelong mate?

                                 SOMERSET
                   It's rare these days... that kind of
                   commitment.

                                 TRACY
                   I guess so.

     Tracy's smile falters a bit.  Somerset notices this.  He breaks
     from her spell, turns to continue writing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Well... this will only take a minute.

                                 TRACY
                   Take your time.

     Somerset writes.  Tracy looks over the stack of books:

     Titles on the spines: BOSCH, A HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN ART, BREGEL
     THE ELDER, etc.  Hardcover novels: DANTE'S PURGATORY and THE
     CANTERBURY TALES.

     Tracy stands to look at the novels on top, then sees the pile of
     paper scraps from Somerset's pocket.  She picks up the piece of
     wallpaper with the pale red rose at its center.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   What is this?

     Somerset looks up.  Sees her holding the paper rose.  He takes
     it, slightly self-conscious, looks at it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   My future.

     Tracy tilts her head, looking at Somerset.

                                 TRACY
                   You have a strange way about you,
                   Somerset... I mean in a good way...
                   unusual.

     Somerset doesn't know what to say.  He pockets the paper rose.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   I apologize.  I'll get out of your hair.

     Tracy stands, takes the chair back to the kitchenette.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   It's just... it's nice to hear a man who
                   talks like that.  If David saw that
                   paper, he'd say you're acting like a
                   homosexual.  That's how he is.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (mock indignation)
                   Well!  I guess I won't be showing this to
                   him then.

                                 TRACY
                   I suppose not.

     Somerset continues writing.  Tracy sits at the kitchenette
     table, watches him.


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     THURSDAY

     EXT.  CITY MORGUE -- MORNING

     It's raining hard.  Mills exits the morgue building with a few
     art books and a paper cup of coffee.  He holds one art book over
     his head as he dashes through deep puddles in the street.

     INT.  MILLS' CAR -- MORNING

     Mills gets in, puts his coffee on the dash and tosses the art
     books in a box.  He closes the door.  Alone with the sound of
     the rain.  He wipes water off his face, looks at his tired eyes
     in the rearview mirror.

     He reaches in the box of books, takes out copies of The
     Canterbury Tales and Dante's Purgatory.  He makes a face, opens
     Dante's Purgatory:

      -------------------------------------------------------------
     |                                     THE EARTHLY PARADISE    |
     |-------------------------------------------------------- /\  |
     |                                                        /  \ |
     |                               VII The Lustful         /____\|
     |                                                      /      |
     |                                VI The Gluttonous    /_______|
     |       7 TERRACES OF                                /        |
     |                                 V The Avaricious  /         |
     |                                   and Prodigal   /__________|
     |         PURGATION                               /           |
     |                                                /            |
     |                                               /             |
     |                             IV The Slothful  /______________|
     |                                             /               |
     |                                            /                |
     |                                           /                 |
     |                     III The Wrathful     /__________________|
     |                                         /                   |
     |                      II The Envious    /____________________|
     |                                       /                     |
     |                       I The Proud    /______________________|
     |                                     /                       |
     |                                    /                        |
     |                                   /       THE ISLAND        |
     |                                  /                          |
     |                                 /        OF PURGATORY       |
     |                                /                            |
     |_______________________________/_____________________________|

     Mills turns to a bookmark, rests the book on the steering wheel.
     He reads.  He bites his lip, leaning close to the words.  He
     concentrates, mouths some of the words to himself.  He finally
     closes the book, shaking his head, not understanding anything
     he's reading.  He starts pounding the book against the steering
     wheel with all his might.

                                 MILLS
                   Fucking Dante.  Goddamn, poetry writing
                   freak, mother-fuck...

     A figure outside the window knocks on the glass.  Mills rolls it
     down.  A COP in raincoat hands a wet paper bag through.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Good work, Officer.  Good work.

     The cop leaves as Mills quickly rolls the window up and rips the
     bag open.  Inside: Cliff Notes for Dante's Purgatory and The
     Canterbury Tales.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Thank God.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- DAY

     It still rains outside.  Somerset enters, stops to notice
     DETECTIVE MILLS painted on the door where his name used to be.
     He walks, sees all his belongings have been moved from his desk
     and piled on a small temporary desk in the corner.

     Somerset sits at the temporary desk, starts organizing the files
     and papers.  Mills enters carrying the box of books.

                                 SOMERSET
                   How's it coming?

                                 MILLS
                   Great.

     Mills puts the box on the large desk.  They both settle in,
     attending to their work.  Two men, about five feet apart, each
     trying not to acknowledge the other's presence.

     Mills takes out his Cliff Notes, looks to see Somerset is
     occupied, hides them in a desk drawer.

     Somerset finishes one form, flips it and looks up.  There's a
     chalk board nailed to the wall.

     On the chalkboard:     1 gluttony(x)    5 wrath
                            2 greed(x)       6 pride
                            3 sloth          7 lust
                            4 envy

     The PHONE RINGS.  Both men look at it.  Phone RINGS again.

                                 SOMERSET
                   It's your name on the door.

     Mills picks up.  Somerset returns to his work.

                                 MILLS
                           (into phone)
                   Detective Mills here.
                           (lowers voice)
                   Honey, I asked you not to call unless...
                           (listens)
                   What... why?  Okay... okay.  Hold on.

     Mills is confused.  He holds the phone out to Somerset.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   It's my wife.

     Somerset looks quizzical.  Mills shrugs.  Somerset takes it.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (into phone)
                   Hello?
                           (listens)
                   Yes, well... I appreciate the thought,
                   but... I...
                           (listens)
                   Well, I guess I'd be delighted to.
                   Thank you... goodbye.

     Somerset gets up, hangs up, puzzled.  Mills is waiting.

                                 MILLS
                   Well?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm invited to have a late supper with
                   you and your wife.  And I accept.

                                 MILLS
                   How's that?

                                 SOMERSET
                           (sits back down)
                   Tonight.

     Mills looks at the phone, lost.


     INT.  MILL'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- NIGHT

     A record player on a moving box PLAYS QUIET MUSIC.

     There's a basketball game with NO VOLUME on the t.v. screen.
     Tracy, Mills and Somerset eat at the kitchen table.  Mills has a
     beeper by his beer and occasionally fingers it absently.

                                 TRACY
                   Why aren't you married, Somerset?

                                 MILLS
                   Tracy.  What the hell?

     Somerset adjusts his napkin on his lap, thinking.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I was close.  It just didn't happen.

                                 TRACY
                   It surprises me you're not married.  It
                   really does.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Any person who spends a significant
                   amount of time with me finds me...
                   disagreeable.  Just ask your husband.

                                 MILLS
                   No argument.

     Mills grins, but he means it.  he sips beer.  The conversation
     lapses into long silence.  Somerset concentrates on his plate.
     Tracy looks at Mills, who eats while watching the basketball
     game.

                                 TRACY
                           (to Somerset)
                   How long have you lived here?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Too long.  Much too long.
                           (drinks)
                   What do you think of our fair city?

                                 TRACY
                   You take the bad with the good, I
                   suppose.  It's... it's...

                                 MILLS
                   It takes time to settle in.

     Tracy looks at Mills.  Somerset can see it is a sore subject.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (to Tracy)
                   You'll get used to it pretty quickly.
                   There are things in any big city that
                   stand out at first.  But...

     A LOW RUMBLING is HEARD as plates begin to rattle and clatter.

                                 TRACY
                   Subway train.  It's right below us/

     The dishes clatter more.  Coffee cups clink against their
     saucers.  Tracy holds her cup to stop it, tries to act like it
     is nothing, but she is clearly bothered.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   It'll go away in a minute.

     They wait.  The t.v. picture goes fuzzy.  The RUMBLING grows
     LOUDER, knocks something over in the sink.  Mills continues
     eating.  Somerset fiddles with his food.  The record player
     skips, then plays on.  The RUMBLING finally DIES DOWN, till
     everything is normal.

                                 MILLS
                           (uncomfortable)
                   This real estate guy... a real scum,
                   brought us to see this place a few
                   times.  And, it was nice enough, and the
                   price was right.  I was thinking it was
                   nothing, but I started to notice, he
                   kept hurrying us along.  I mean what
                   could it be?  Why would he only show it
                   like five minutes at a time, before he'd
                   hustle us out the door?

     Mills laughs, lamely.

                                 TRACY
                   We found out the first night.

     Somerset tries to stay straight, but he can't help laughing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm sorry... it's a nice apartment.

     He pulls himself together, but only for a moment.  He can't stop
     it, laughs harder, covering his mouth.  Tracy and Mills laugh.

                                 MILLS
                           (sighs)
                   Oh, fuck.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- LATER NIGHT

     The record player spins a different album, DIFFERENT MUSIC.
     Tracy's clearing the last dishes into the sink.  Mills and
     Somerset have beers.

                                 SOMERSET
                   All television does is teach children
                   that it's really cool to be stupid and
                   eat candy bars all day.

                                 TRACY
                   I don't think I've ever met anyone who
                   didn't have a television.

     Tracy takes a pot of coffee to the table and pours.

                                 MILLS
                   That's weird.  It's un-American.

     Somerset shrugs.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What about sports?

                                 SOMERSET
                   What about them?

     Tracy brings over a plate of cookies and puts it on the table.

                                 MILLS
                   You go to movies at least.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I read.  Remember reading?  What's the
                   last book you read, Mills?

                                 MILLS
                   T.V. Guide.

     Mills laughs.  Burps.  he turns to Tracy.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Excuse me.
                           (to Somerset)
                   I just have to say, I can't respect any
                   man who's never seen Green Acres.

     Somerset gives a blank stare.  Tracy walks away.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   You've never seen The Odd Couple?  The
                   Flintstones?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I vaguely recall Wilma, and someone
                   named... Dino.

     Across the room, Tracy turns the t.v. and the record player off.
     She goes into the bedroom, shuts the door behind her without a
     word.  Somerset and Mills turn to the closed door.

     They look at each other, then sit for a time.  Somerset drinks
     coffee.  Mills drums his fingers on his beeper.  Big silence.


     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- NIGHT

     Mills walks up the creaky stairs.  He carries his briefcase, a
     six-pack and art books.  Somerset follows, reading a case file.

                                 MILLS
                   We think he acted like he was delivering
                   a package.  The doorman at Mr. Gold's
                   building says he doesn't even look at
                   anyone who goes in anymore.

     Mills opens a door to the roof --

     EXT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, ROOFTOP -- NIGHT

     Mills and Somerset walk onto the roof.  It is a spectacular view
     on all sides.  Miles of city lights.  Breathtaking.  SOUNDS of
     the CITY reach them.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No connection between the two victims?

     Mills shakes his head, unloads what he's holding onto a rusty
     table.  He sits in one of two lawn chairs.  Somerset sits across
     from him.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   No witnesses of any kind?

                                 MILLS
                   None.  Which I can't understand.  It's
                   like this guy's invisible.


                                 SOMERSET
                   In this city, minding your own business
                   is a perfected science.

     Somerset takes a picture from the file, the drawing of the sun
     with an eye at its center.  He opens a book, CHRISTIAN SYMBOLS,
     which is full of illustrations.  He starts paging through.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   At the precinct, Sunday nights, they
                   offer a public crime prevention course.
                   And, the very first thing they teach is
                   that you should never scream "help" if
                   you're in trouble.  Scream "fire."
                   Because people don't want to get caught
                   up in anything.  But, a fire... that's
                   entertainment.  They come running.

     Somerset holds the books up to Mills, points to a picture of the
     sun and eye, same as the drawing Mills found.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   "The Sun in Splendor with the Eye."  It
                   refers to God the father, and to Saint
                   Thomas Aquinas.

                                 MILLS
                   Which saint is he?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Aquinas wrote a summary of theology,
                   Summa Theologica.  And he wrote about
                   the seven deadly sins.

     Mills takes the book and looks it over.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   Now, what else have you got?

                                 MILLS
                   Look, I appreciate being able to talk
                   this out, but... it's my case.

                                 SOMERSET
                   So... satisfying my curiosity.  I'm
                   still leaving town on Sunday.

     Mills is pondering, very tired.  He unlatches his briefcase,
     takes a photocopy of the photo of the falsely pretty woman and
     hands it to Somerset.

                                 MILLS
                   The eyes were circled.  With Mr. Gold's
                   blood.

                                 SOMERSET
                   This is his wife?

                                 MILLS
                           (nods)
                   She was away on business.  She got back
                   the day he was killed.  If this means
                   she saw anything, I don't know what.
                   We've questioned her about ten times.

                                 SOMERSET
                   And, if it's a threat?

                                 MILLS
                   We put her in a safe house.

                                 SOMERSET
                   This is the one thing.

                                 MILLS
                   I know.


     EXT.  SLUM TENEMENTS -- NIGHT

     Two twenty-story tenement buildings stand practically underneath
     the span of a bridge.  The streets are littered with garbage.
     Teenagers stand in cliques in front of a liquor store.  Cars
     pass slowly, CAR STEREOS PUMPING out HIP HOP.

     Under the bridge, in shadow, a car is parked between two
     dumpsters.  The trunk is open.

     AT THE BACK OF THE CAR

     The trunk is full of cardboard boxes which are in turn full of
     tall, orange candles.  Hundreds of candles.  JOHN leans in under
     the trunk's bulb, opens a leather pouch and checks the contents:

     A plastic bottle of prescription pills.  A bottle of aspirin.  A
     hypodermic needle filled with liquid.  Lastly, many jars of baby
     food: STRAINED CARROTS, STRAINED SPINACH, CREAMED CORN, etc.

     INT.  SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- NIGHT

     John climbs the stairs holding the leather case and a closed
     shoebox.  He wears clip-on sunglasses, a hat pulled low, a thin
     overcoat on his plump body.

     INT.  SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- NIGHT

     John comes from the stairwell door, looks, walks up the hall.
     The walls are graffitied.  The soiled floor is wet in spots.
     ARGUMENTS and LOUD CHILDREN are HEARD from behind closed doors.
     John comes to apartment 303.  He's winded from the climb.  He
     takes out keys, lets himself in.  Closes the door.


     EXT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, ROOFTOP -- NIGHT

     Somerset stands at the edge, holding the photo of Mrs. Gold.  He
     puffs on a cigarette, looks out at the city lights.

                                 SOMERSET
                   It's like he's preaching.
                           (pause)
                   The sins were used in medieval sermons.
                   There were seven cardinal virtues, and
                   then seven deadly sins, as a learning
                   tool.  The sins distract man from true
                   worship.  True faith.

     Mills is seated at the table with art books open.

     A breeze fans the pages of the books.  The flipping pages reveal
     views of heaven, hell, adoration, crucifixion and sin.

                                 MILLS
                   Like in these paintings, and in Dante's
                   Purgatory, right?  But, in Purgatory,
                   Dante and his buddy climb that big
                   mountain...

                                 SOMERSET
                   Seven Terraces of Purgation.

                                 MILLS
                   Anyway... pride comes first, not
                   gluttony.  And in all the paintings,
                   the sins are in a different order.  I
                   can't find a pattern.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Because there's creativity in the mix.
                   Consider these books as the murderer's
                   inspiration.  Or aspiration.

     Somerset drops his cigarette to the empty street, watching the
     glowing tip fall.  He looks at the woman's circled eyes.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   He sees himself contributing to the body
                   of Christian work.

                                 MILLS
                   He's punishing these people.

                                 SOMERSET
                   For all of us to see and learn from.
                   These murders are like forced attrition.

                                 MILLS
                   What?  Forced what?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Attrition.  When you regret your sins,
                   but not because you love God.

                                 MILLS
                   Because someone's holding a gun on you.

     Somerset thinks.  He walks from the edge to Mills.

                                 SOMERSET
                   When Mr. Gold's wife found the body,
                   about how long was she in the apartment?

                                 MILLS
                   She didn't find it.  The door to the
                   apartment was open and a neighbor...

                                 SOMERSET
                   I thought you said she found the body.
                   When she got back from a business trip.

                                 MILLS
                   No.  She got back after you and I had
                   already been there.

     Somerset thinks, coming up with something.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What?

     Somerset holds up the photo of Mrs. Gold.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Maybe she is supposed to see
                   something... she just hasn't had a
                   chance to see it yet.


     INT.  SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT

     The room is like a bland hotel room.  Mills stands beside MRS
     GOLD.  He shows her photos from the murder scene.  Mrs. Gold is
     crying.  Somerset stands across the room.

                                 MILLS
                   Please, look for anything strange or out
                   of place.  Anything at all.

                                 MRS GOLD
                   I... I don't understand.  Why now?

     Mills helps her go through the photos.  He is shaken himself,
     not wanting to put her through this.

                                 MILLS
                   I need your help if we're going to get
                   the guy who killed your husband.  If
                   there's anything in these pictures...

     Mrs. Gold sobs quietly, wipes her tears.

                                 MRS GOLD
                   I don't see anything.

                                 MILLS
                   Are you absolutely sure?

                                 MRS GOLD
                   I can't do this now... please.

ette to the empty street, watching the
     glowing tip fall.  He looks at the woman's circled eyes.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   He sees himself contributing to the body
                   of Christian work.

                                 MILLS
                   He's punishing these people.

                                 SOMERSET
                   For all of us to see and learn from.
                   These murders are like forced attrition.

                                 MILLS
                   What?  Forced what?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Attrition.  When you regret your sins,
                   but not because you love God.

                                 MILLS
                   Because someone's holding a gun on you.

     Somerset thinks.  He walks from the edge to Mills.

                                 SOMERSET
                   When Mr. Gold's wife found the body,
                   about how long was she in the apartment?

                                 MILLS
                   She didn't find it.  The door to the
                   apartment was open and a neighbor...

                                 SOMERSET
                   I thought you said she found the body.
                   When she got back from a business trip.

                                 MILLS
                   No.  She got back after you and I had
                   already been there.

     Somerset thinks, coming up with something.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What?

     Somerset holds up the photo of Mrs. Gold.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Maybe she is supposed to see
                   something... she just hasn't had a
                   chance to see it yet.


     INT.  SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT

     The room is like a bland hotel room.  Mills stands beside MRS
     GOLD.  He shows her photos from the murder scene.  Mrs. Gold is
     crying.  Somerset stands across the room.

                                 MILLS
                   Please, look for anything strange or out
                   of place.  Anything at all.

                                 MRS GOLD
                   I... I don't understand.  Why now?

     Mills helps her go through the photos.  He is shaken himself,
     not wanting to put her through this.

                                 MILLS
                   I need your help if we're going to get
                   the guy who killed your husband.  If
                   there's anything in these pictures...

     Mrs. Gold sobs quietly, wipes her tears.

                                 MRS GOLD
                   I don't see anything.

                                 MILLS
                   Are you absolutely sure?

                                 MRS GOLD
                   I can't do this now... please.

     Mills looks at Somerset.  Somerset holds other photos.

                                 MILLS
                   We have to show her those.  There might
                   be something she's missing.

     Somerset looks at the photos in his hand, hesitant.  These
     photos show Mr. Gold's corpse, not covered in any way.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Have her look one last time.

                                 MRS GOLD
                   Wait.  Here... here's something...

                                 MILLS
                   What is it?

     Mrs. Gold points at the constructivist painting on the wall in
     one photo.  The painting is an abstraction of colored squares.

                                 MRS GOLD
                   This painting... in the living room...

                                 MILLS
                   What?

                                 MRS GOLD
                   Why is it hanging upside-down?

     Mills jerks his head to look at Somerset.  Big score.


     INT.  LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

     This is where the greed murder took place.  Somerset and Mills
     are taking the constructivist painting off the wall.  Nothing on
     the wall behind the painting.  Blank space.

                                 MILLS
                   Nothing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   This has got to be it.

     Somerset puts the painting down, resting it on its bottom edge.
     The frame is backed by a thick sheet of brown paper.  He points
     to where the wire used to be screwed into the frame, and to
     where it has been re-screwed.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   It has to be.  He changed the wire to
                   rehang it.

     Somerset tears along the edge of the brown paper to get to the
     space between it and the canvas.  He tears out the entire sheet.
     Mills helps pull it away, but there's nothing there.  Empty.
     Mills looks at both sides of the paper, then tosses it away.

                                 MILLS
                   It's nothing.

     Somerset pays the painting down, face up.  He pokes his finger
     on the painted surface.  Mills watches as Somerset kneels, takes
     out a credit card and presses it's edge against the canvas,
     trying to peel up some of the paint.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Give it up.  The killer didn't paint the
                   fucking thing.

     Somerset pushes the painting away, stands, frustrated.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   He fucked us.

     Somerset backs away from the wall, staring at the space where
     the painting hung.  There is only a nail.  He stares intently,
     then turns and walks out of the room.

     Mills holds his hands to his temples, furious.  SOMERSET can be
     HEARD from the other room, going through drawers, dropping
     things.  GLASS is HEARD BREAKING.  Mills grabs a lamp and throws
     it on the floor.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Son of a bitch!

     Somerset comes back in, holding something.  He steps over the
     lamp and goes to the blank wall space.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Bear with me.

     Mills watches.  Somerset has a woman's make-up compact in hand.
     He opens it, uses the soft brush to begin applying the red rouge
     powder to the wall around the nail.

                                 MILLS
                           (incredulous)
                   Oh, yeah, sure.  You got to be kidding.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Shut up and wait!

     Somerset brushes with wider strokes.  He blows, leans very close
     to the wall to study the powder.  Leans closer still.  Pause.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   Call the print lab.  Now.


     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

     Tracy is asleep with lights on.  She stirs, opens her eyes.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT -- NIGHT

     Tracy opens the door, enters.  It's quiet.  She sees Mills and
     Somerset are gone.  She's all alone.  Unhappy.

     EXT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, FIRE ESCAPE -- NIGHT

     Through the window, we can see into the bedroom.  Tracy comes
     back from the living room.  She goes to her side of the bed,
     kneels.  She reaches between the mattress and bedspring, takes
     out a paperback book she has hidden there.

     She comes to the window, opens it and climbs out onto the fire
     escape.  She sits, dangles her feet through the metal bars.  She
     opens the book and tries to read by the street light, resting
     her head against the railing.  A WOMAN is HEARD SCREAMING
     distantly.

     Tracy looks down the empty street, unsettled.  The woman is not
     heard again.

     Tracy lays back, looks at the sky, holding herself.  We can now
     see the title of the book: PREPARING FOR PARENTHOOD.  There is a
     picture of a baby on the cover.

     Tracy cries, quietly.


     INT.  LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

     A MALE FORENSIC uses a magnifying glass to study a very clear
     fingerprint in black powder on the wall.

                                 FORENSIC
                   Oh, boy...

                                 MILLS (O.S.)
                   Talk to me.

     The forensic bites his lip, still studying.

     Mills and Somerset watch the forensic who works offscreen.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                           (to Somerset)
                   Listen, honestly... have you ever seen
                   anything like this?  Been involved in
                   anything remotely like this?

                                 SOMERSET
                   No.  I have not.

                                 FORENSIC (O.S.)
                   Well, I can tell you this, detectives...

     The forensic steps down from a stool.  Behind him, where the
     painting once was, there are fingerprints, clear and distinct.
     The prints have been left side by side, to form letters which
     form the words: HELP ME.

                                 FORENSIC (CONT)
                   ...just by studying the underloop...
                   these are not the victim's prints.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, PRINT LAB -- NIGHT

     Dark.  A TECHNICIAN sits before an old computer.  The computer's
     green screen shows fingerprints being aligned, compared and then
     rejected; whir - click - whir - click - whir - click.  Mills and
     Somerset watch, bathed in the green glow.

                                 SOMERSET
                   It doesn't work for me.  I can't believe
                   he wants us to help him stop.

                                 MILLS
                   Who the hell knows?  There's plenty of
                   schizoids out there doing dirty deeds
                   they don't want to do.  With tiny voices
                   whispering nasty things in their ears.

     Somerset doesn't buy it.  The technician adjusts a knob.

                                 TECHNICIAN
                   I've seen this baby take three days to
                   finish a cycle, so you guys can go cross
                   your fingers somewhere else.

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- NIGHT

     Somerset and Mills come from the print lab.  A janitor is
     mopping the hall.  The computer is HEARD WHIRRING AND CLICKING
     onwards.  Somerset sits with a groan on a couch outside the
     door.  Mills flops beside him.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You really meant what you said to Mrs.
                   Gold.  You really believe we'll get him,
                   don't you?

                                 MILLS
                   And you don't?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I wish I still thought like you.  I'm so
                   far gone from that.

                                 MILLS
                   So, tell me what you think we're doing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   All we do is pick up the pieces.  We
                   take all the evidence... all the
                   pictures, statements.  Write everything
                   down and note what time things happened.
                   We take it all, make a nice, neat pile
                   and file it away.  Just in case it's
                   ever needed in a courtroom.

                                 MILLS
                   You're unbelievable.  In my entire life,
                   you're the oldest man I've ever met.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I've seen even the most promising clues
                   lead to dead ends.  Hundreds of times.

                                 MILLS
                   I've seen the same.  I'm not the country
                   hick-boy you seem to think I am.

     Somerset takes out a cigarette and lights it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   In this city, if all the skeletons came
                   out of all the closets... if every un-
                   revenged corpse were to suddenly rise
                   and walk again, there would be no more
                   room for the living.

     Mills slumps back, crosses his arms, closes his eyes to sleep.

                                 MILLS
                   Don't try to tell me you didn't get that
                   rush tonight... that adrenalin.  Like we
                   were getting somewhere.
                           (pause)
                   And, don't try to tell me it was because
                   you thought we found something that
                   would play well in a courtroom.

     Somerset looks at Mills, puffs the cigarette.  The computer is
     heard: whir - click - whir - click...


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     FRIDAY

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- EARLY MORNING

     Our detectives are fast asleep on the couch, leaning against
     each other.  People pass and look at them strangely.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Wake up, Glimmer Twins.  We have a
                   winner.

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, READY ROOM -- EARLY MORNING

     A windowless classroom.  The captain stands in front with a
     white screen at his side.  The face of a black man, 25, ZERO, is
     projected on the screen from a slide projector.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   His street name is Zero, as some of you
                   know.  His prints were found at the
                   scene by Detectives Mills and Somerset.

     FIVE hardened POLICE OFFICERS, four men, one woman, sit in
     chairs facing the captain.  They all wear bullet-proof vests
     with "POLICE" stencil-painted across them.  Somerset and Mills
     sit in back, drinking coffee, still trying to wake up.

                                 CAPTAIN (CONT)
                   Now, Zero has a long, long history of
                   mental illness.  Serious illness.  He
                   was all over your television sets two
                   years ago after he raped and killed a
                   seventy-three year old woman.  He got
                   off, as the saying goes, on a
                   technicality.  So we watched him on the
                   streets, and he went out of circulation
                   about a year ago.

                                 FEMALE COP
                   If he disappeared, what do you want from
                   us?

                                 CAPTAIN
                   His last place of residence is still in
                   his name.  A search warrant is being
                   pushed through the court as we speak.

     A red-headed cop, CALIFORNIA, 28, raises his meaty hand.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   So, have the housing cops walk up and
                   ring the doorbell.  Problem solved.

     The cops laugh.  The captain clenches his jaw.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Listen, California.  When you go in, if
                   Zero isn't home, some of his buddies
                   might be house-sitting.  And besides
                   using, Zero deals, so, you will be very
                   uninvited guests.

     There is chatter among the cops.  Somerset leans to Mills while
     the captain continues the briefing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Does not seem like our killer, does it?

                                 MILLS
                   You tell me.  I'm new in town.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Zero does possess the requisite degree
                   of insanity... but, he doesn't have the
                   desire somehow.  Our killer seems to
                   have more purpose.  More purpose than
                   Zero could ever conceive of.

                                 MILLS
                   We'll tag along.

     Somerset wants no part of that.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Why would we?

                                 MILLS
                   Satisfy our curiosity?


     INT.  MILLS' CAR -- MORNING

     Mills drives, follows a police van.  Somerset rides shotgun.
     Mills is pumped, ready.  Somerset takes one Rolaids tablet off a
     fresh roll and chews it.

                                 MILLS
                   You ever take one?

     Somerset pulls out his gun, checks the load.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No.  Never in twenty-four years.  I took
                   my gun out only five times with the
                   actual intention of using it.  I never
                   fired it.  Not once.

                                 MILLS
                   I pulled it once, fired it once.  I
                   never took a bullet.

                                 SOMERSET
                   And?

     Mills turns a corner, tires screeching.

                                 MILLS
                   It was my first one of these.  We were a
                   secondary unit, in vice.  I was pretty
                   shaky going in.  When we busted the
                   door, looking for a junkie, the fucking
                   guy opened fire.  One cop was hit in the
                   arm.  He went flying... like in slow
                   motion.
                           (pause)
                   I remember riding in the ambulance.  His
                   arm was like... a piece of meat.  I
                   thought, it's just his arm.  But, he
                   bled to death right there anyway.

     A pause.  Somerset opens the window, feels the air on his face.

                                 SOMERSET
                   How did the fire-fight end?

                                 MILLS
                   Well, I was doing really good in Philly
                   up till then.  Lots of simple busts.
                   I've always had this weird luck... but,
                   this was wild.
                           (pause)
                   I got that fuck with one shot... right
                   between the eyes.  And the next week,
                   the mayor's pinning a medal on me.
                   Picture in the paper, the whole nine
                   yards.

                                 SOMERSET
                   How was it?

                                 MILLS
                   I expected it to be bad, because I heard
                   about other guys.  You know... I took a
                   human life.  But, I slept like a baby
                   that night.

     Somerset eats another antacid.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I think Hemingway wrote somewhere... I
                   can't remember where, but he wrote that,
                   in order to live in a city, you have to
                   have the ability to kill.  I think he
                   meant you truly must be able to do it,
                   not just faking it, to survive.

                                 MILLS
                   Sounds like he knew what he was talking
                   about.


     INT.  SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- MORNING

     Crack vials and hypodermic needles crunch under heavy boots.

     The five cops from the briefing, fully geared up, rifles and
     handguns held, move quickly up the stairs, single-file.
     Somerset and Mills follow, guns out.  Somerset is sweating
     bullets.  Mills is juiced.

     INT.  SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- MORNING

     The cops enter the dank hallway, the same hall we saw John in
     before.  They move cautiously, stepping over a drunken, helpless
     man.  A door opens and a woman peeks out.  The female cop points
     her gun and the woman obeys, slamming the door.

     California leads, steps up to apartment 303.  He has a search
     warrant scotch-taped to the front of his bullet-proof vest.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                           (to black cop)
                   This is it.  Give it up.

     A black cop hoists a battering ram.  The other cops get on both
     sides of the door.  Mills moves front.  Somerset hangs back.

                                 CALIFORNIA (CONT)
                   Police!!  Open the door!

     The black cop brings the ram forward with a splintering thud.
     The door flies open.  The cops storm in.

     INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- MORNING

     The cops charge down a short hall into this incredibly dusty
     room.  A bed sits against a far wall.  Mills and California move
     up to the bed.  Someone lies under an indigo blanket.  Three
     other cops move, training their weapons on the bed.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Good morning, Sweetheart!

     A blond cop goes into another room.  Mills kicks the bed.

                                 MILLS
                   Get up now, motherfucker!  Now!

     INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, ADJOINING ROOM -- MORNING

     The blond cop enters, gun trained, looks around in confusion.

     The room's tables, chairs and floor are covered with hundreds of
     colorful, plastic air fresheners.

     INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- MORNING

     Somerset moves in, looks around.  He notices the area around the
     bed, the ceiling, walls and floor, has been painted indigo,
     while the rest of the room is its original white.  On a wall, a
     white sheet is pinned up with a square drawn on it in excrement.

                                 MILLS
                   I said get up, Sleepyhead!

     Mills pulls the indigo blanket off the bed, reveals the
     shriveled, sore-covered form of a black man who is blindfolded
     and tied to the bed with a thin wire wrapped time and time again
     around the bed.  Tubes lead from the stained loincloth around
     the man's waist and snake under the bed.  The victim is
     partially covered by what seem to be piles of black spaghetti.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Oh, fuck me!

     Somerset pushes past the cops who recoil from the stench.

                                 MILLS
                   Holy shit.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Sloth... it's sloth.

     The black cop touches the black spaghetti.  Holds a piece.

                                 BLACK COP
                   What the hell... those are dead worms.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                           (to Somerset)
                   Check this out, dick.

     California points with his gun to the end of the black man's
     right arm.  The hand is gone, severed at the wrist long ago.

                                 MILLS
                   It's him.  It's Zero.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Someone call an ambulance.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Someone call a hearse, more like.

     The female cop has gone to the wall where the sheet is pinned
     up.  She pulls the sheet aside and finds: fifty-two polaroid
     pictures; all pictures of Zero tied to the bed, with a date
     written at the bottom of each.  it is a visual history of Zero's
     physical decay.  The blond cop enters from the other room.

                                 BLOND COP
                   What the fuck is going on?

                                 MILLS
                   Hey, California.  Get your people out.

     Somerset takes out rubber gloves and puts them on.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   You heard him.  Hit the hall, and don't
                   touch anything.

     The other cops file out as Mills goes to examine the polaroids
     under the sheet.  Somerset replaces the sheet over Zero's body.
     California stays by his side.

                                 CALIFORNIA (CONT)
                   It looks like he's some kind of friggin'
                   wax sculpture.

     Somerset places his finger along Zero's throat.

                                 MILLS
                   Somerset, you... you better look here.

     Mills studies the polaroids.  Somerset walks to join him.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   All pictures of Zero tied to the bed.
                           (crouches)
                   The last one's dated three days ago.

     Somerset looks at the first photo.  In it, Zero is bound and
     gagged, but he is fit, healthy.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (awed)
                   The first photo... it's dated one year
                   ago.  Almost to the day.

     California lifts Zero's blanket to peek under, examining with
     morbid curiosity.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Mo-ther...

     Mills kneels and lifts the bottom of the sheet off the floor,
     finds an open shoebox.  On the box: TO THE DETECTIVES.

                                 MILLS
                   What's this?

     California leans close to Zero's gaunt, blindfolded face.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   You got what you deserved, Zero.

     Somerset leans down beside Mills.  Mills looks through the
     shoebox.  Inside are plastic, zip-lock bags.  One bag contains
     small clumps of hair, one contains a yellow liquid...

                                 MILLS
                   A urine sample... hair sample...
                   fingernail clippings.  He's laughing at
                   us.

     California is still close to Zero's face when suddenly Zero's
     lips twist.  Zero lets out a loud, guttural bark.  California
     jerks back in fear, shouting, falling over a chair.

     Mills and Somerset reel, standing.  They see California on the
     ground, scared out of his mind, pointing.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   He's alive!

     Mills and Somerset look towards the bed.

     Zero's lips move feebly as he lets out a sick, gurgling moan.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   He's still alive!


     EXT.  SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING -- MORNING

     A crowd has gathered.  Mills' car, the police van and two
     ambulances are parked on the sidewalk.

     INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, HALLWAY -- MORNING

     The siege cops are in the hall, holding neighbors at bay.

     INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- MORNING

     Three ambulance attendants are at the bed, working on Zero.  One
     attendant uses wire-cutters to clip Zero's bonds.

     INT.  SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- MORNING

     Mills and Somerset stand in the middle of one flight of stairs.
     They are both highly agitated.

                                 SOMERSET
                   The way this has gone, I didn't think it
                   was possible, but we may have
                   underestimated this guy.  The type of
                   intestinal fortitude it must take... to
                   keep a man bound for a full year.  To
                   sever his hand and use it to plant
                   fingerprints.

                                 MILLS
                   I want him bad.  I don't just want to
                   catch him anymore.  I want to hurt him.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Listen... we have to divorce ourselves
                   from our emotions here.  We have to keep
                   focusing on the small details.

                                 MILLS
                   I don't know about you, Somerset, but I
                   feed off my emotions.

                                 SOMERSET
                   He'll string us along all the way if
                   we're not careful.

     Mills is looking at the floor, burning with anger.  Somerset
     grabs him by the jacket.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   Are you listening to me?!

     Mills pushes Somerset's hand off.

                                 MILLS
                   I hear you.

     There is a sudden brilliant flash of light and the SOUND of a
     CAMERA ADVANCING.  Mills and Somerset look --

     Down the stairs, John is posing as a reporter.  He has his
     camera and flash up, pointed at the detectives.

                                 JOHN
                   Say cheese.

     He takes another picture, flashbulb flashing.  Mills charges
     downwards, grabs John by his wrinkled clothing.

                                 MILLS
                   What the fuck are you doing?

     John squirms, holds up a laminated PRESS identification pass.

                                 JOHN
                   I have a right, Officer.  I...

     Mills shoves him and John stumbles a few steps, then falls to
     the landing below with a thud.  His glasses fly off.

                                 MILLS
                   That doesn't mean anything.  This is a
                   closed crime scene now!

     Somerset steps down and pulls Mills back.  John stands.

                                 JOHN
                   You can't do this!  You can't...

                                 MILLS
                   Get the fuck out of here!

     John gets his glasses, scrambles downstairs, out of sight.

                                 JOHN (O.S.)
                   The public has a right to know!

     Somerset yanks Mills harder, till Mills sits on the stairs.

                                 MILLS
                   How do those cockroaches get here so
                   quick?

                                 SOMERSET
                   They pay cops for the inside scoop, and
                   they pay well.  You can hate them, but
                   you better give them something, or
                   they'll make it all up.

                                 MILLS
                           (calming)
                   I'm sorry... I just...

                                 SOMERSET
                   Oh, it's alright.  It's always
                   impressive to see a man feeding off his
                   emotions.


     INT.  HOSPITAL ROOM -- DAY

     Mills stands with the blase DR. BEARDSLEY, who reviews a medical
     chart on a clipboard.  Zero lies inside an oxygen tent with
     tubes running into him.  The room is dark.

                                 BEARDSLEY
                   A year of immobility seems about right,
                   judging by the deterioration of the
                   muscles and spinal cord.  Blood tests
                   show a whole smorgasbord of drugs in his
                   system.  Heroin... crack... even an
                   antibiotic which was administered to
                   keep the bed sores from infecting.

     Mills looks into the oxygen.

                                 MILLS
                   He hasn't said anything, or tried to
                   express himself in any way?

                                 BEARDSLEY
                   Even if his brain were not mush, which
                   it is... he chewed his own tongue off a
                   long time ago.

     Mills winces, moves away from the bed.

                                 MILLS
                   There's no way he'll survive?

                                 BEARDSLEY
                   Detective, he'd die right now of shock
                   if you were to shine a flashlight in his
                   eyes.


     EXT.  CITY STREET, CATHOLIC CHURCH -- AFTERNOON

     A tall church on a bustling street.  Smoggy air has eaten at the
     stonework.  The homeless are camped out on the stairs.

     INT.  CATHOLIC CHURCH, PRIEST'S QUARTERS -- AFTERNOON

     The priest's accommodations are quite spacious and comfortable.
     The parish's wealth is evident.  FATHER BLEEKER, 38, stands
     looking at several 8" by 10" glossies.  He's dressed in his
     "civilian" clothing, wears his hair short and proper.  These
     photos are making him heartsick.

     Bleeker hands them to Somerset who is seated by a fireplace.

                                 BLEEKER
                   Put them away.  I wish you hadn't
                   brought them into the church.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I needed for you to see them.

     Father Bleeker shakes his head, as if he were trying to forget
     the images.  Somerset replaces the murder photos in a file.

                                 BLEEKER
                   There were five principal phases in the
                   development of early Christian art.
                   From Hellenistic through the
                   Renaissance... each period was affected
                   by the decrees of religious leaders.

                                 SOMERSET
                   If this killer belongs to a certain
                   branch of the church... if he collects
                   religious art from a certain period, I
                   want to know.  I have to narrow it down.

     Bleeker walks to an ornate, gold cabinet.  He puts on a pair of
     cotton gloves.

                                 BLEEKER
                   The influences on these... things he's
                   done, couldn't have come before the
                   Gothic period.  What's in those pictures
                   is presented far too asymmetrically.

     Bleeker crosses himself before using a key to open the cabinet.
     He takes out an ancient devotional book and a piece of cloth.

                                 BLEEKER (CONT)
                   The colors will tell the tale.

     Bleeker takes the book to a table.  Somerset follows.  Bleeker
     lays the cloth under the book, opens the book, tenderly.

                                 BLEEKER (CONT)
                   Each sin had a symbolic color.  But the
                   specific color designations changed
                   throughout the ages.

     Somerset leans to examine Bleeker's illuminated manuscript:

     Two pages of prayer.  The prose is elaborately formed,
     surrounded by colorful illustrations of the seven deadly sins.
     Bleeker's finger points to a rendering of a man seated on a
     rock, guzzling from a jug.  It's been painted in orange.

                                 BLEEKER (O.S.,CONT)
                   This is an example.  Gluttony is the
                   sin, and the color is orange.  This
                   particular manuscript is preserved from
                   the 18th century.

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   In the murders, gluttony is green.
                   Greed is yellow.  Sloth is indigo.

     Bleeker steps away and Somerset gets closer to the pages.

                                 BLEEKER
                   So, if this murderer is as precise as
                   you say, then you need to find out at
                   what period in history was gluttony
                   green... and so on.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Where do I look?  If the colors changed
                   so often?

                                 BLEEKER
                           (contemplates)
                   There is one man... Father Stone.
                           (pause)
                   I haven't heard from him for quite some
                   time.  This was his passion.  He spent
                   his life studying the sins... and
                   preaching against them.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- AFTERNOON

     The chalkboard on the wall:  1 gluttony (x)       5 wrath
                                  2 greed (x)          6 pride
                                  3 sloth (x)          7 lust
                                  4 envy

     Mills is behind his paperwork covered desk, listening to a
     uniformed OFFICER who looks over a report sheet.

                                 OFFICER
                   Zero's landlord said an envelope of cash
                   was in the office mailbox each month.
                   He says, quote, "I never heard a single
                   complaint from this guy and nobody ever
                   complained about him.  He's the best
                   tenant I ever had."

                                 MILLS
                   There's a landlord's dream tenant.  A
                   paralyzed man with no tongue.

                                 OFFICER
                   Who pays his rent on time.

                                 MILLS
                   Bring me everything as soon as it's
                   transcribed.

     The officer leaves.  Mills starts sorting through piles on his
     desk.  He doesn't know where to begin.

     He sits back in his chair, looks at the collage-like collection
     of pictures pinned on the walls: photos and diagrams of the
     murder scenes, the drawing of the sun and eye, color pages and
     black and white copies of pages from art books.

     He stares, thinking.  He stands, takes a photocopy off the wall.
     The killer's first note:

              Dear Detectives,
                   Long is the way, and hard, that out
                   of hell leads up to the light.

                                 MILLS
                           (to himself)
                   Milton.


     INT.  CENTRAL LIBRARY -- AFTERNOON

     Big brass lamps hang from the high ceiling.  Mahogany chairs and
     tables run down the center floor which is bordered by three
     levels of balconies.  People wander like ants in an ant farm.

     Mills walks, taking it all in.  He goes to the circulation desk.
     Impatient patrons wait in a long line.  He watches the bored
     HEAD LIBRARIAN, female, 64, help an old man at the desk.

     She opens the old man's books, runs a laser pen over a bar code
     sticker, pushes a few buttons on a computer.

     INT.  CENTRAL LIBRARY, TOP BALCONY -- LATER AFTERNOON

     Near the balcony railing, overlooking the main floor, Mills sits
     before a computer card catalog.  He reads the computer screen,
     unsure.  He sets down his pad and pencil, cracks his knuckles,
     begins typing on the keyboard.  The computer gives off a quiet
     BEEP.  Pleased, Mills reads the screen.  Types.

     On the screen:                 TITLE / PARADISE LOST_

     He hits return.  Reads the screen as information on the book
     appears.  He copies it on his pad, puts the pencil in his mouth.

     He types.  On the screen:      SUBJECT / JACK THE RIPPER_

     Hits return.  Again, he copies info from the screen.


     INT.  INNER CITY CLOISTER -- AFTERNOON

     A monk opens a formidable gateway door, letting Father Bleeker
     and Somerset into a garden courtyard.  Bleeker now wears his
     priestly garb and collar.  The monastery's main building looms
     at the end of a pathway.  The building is stately, ivy-covered.

                                 BLEEKER
                   Father Stone had a church and
                   congregation of his own.  But, he...
                   there were some problems.  The church is
                   deserted now.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Problems?

     Bleeker continues walking.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   Father?

     INT.  INNER CITY CLOISTER, HALLWAY -- AFTERNOON

     The walls of the hallway are carved with images of saints.
     Bleeker whispers to Somerset beside a windowless door.

                                 BLEEKER
                   There was a small orphanage attached to
                   the church, overseen by Father Stone.
                   This was almost thirty years ago.
                           (hesitant)
                   He was an excellent priest, devoted in
                   every way.  Many in his parish demanded
                   his return.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Tell me what happened.

     Bleeker sees a NUN down the hall, coming towards them.

                                 BLEEKER
                   Allegations were made... Stone was
                   accused of abusing the children in his
                   care.  But, those charges were never
                   substantiated.

                                 SOMERSET
                   What abuse?

                                 BLEEKER
                   It was claimed... that the children were
                   beaten.  And, punished severely.

     The nun is too close for Bleeker to speak freely.

     INT.  INNER CITY CLOISTER, STONE'S ROOM -- AFTERNOON

     The door is unlocked and opened by the nun.  Somerset enters and
     Bleeker waits outside as the nun closes the door.  It's dark.

     FATHER STONE, 73, is in a wheelchair.  Feeble and frail, eyes
     sunken in their sockets.  He looks up at Somerset.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Father Stone.  I'm a policeman.  I'd
                   like to ask you a few questions, if it's
                   alright?

     The whites of Stone's eyes have yellowed.  He seems to nod.
     Somerset sits on a stool, close.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   I want to ask you about the seven deadly
                   sins.

                                 STONE
                   The sins.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Yes, father.

     Stone reaches out a hand to touch Somerset's face.  Stone's
     extremely long fingernails trail against Somerset's cheek and
     Somerset tries to hide his revulsion.

                                 STONE
                   Are you one of mine?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I don't...

                                 STONE
                   Are you saved?  Do you have God?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I... I need to ask about the sins.  Do
                   you understand what I'm saying?

     Stone takes his hand away, seems to be getting angry.

                                 STONE
                   Are you a sinner?

     Stone's weak arms wheel him away, towards a corner.

                                 STONE (CONT)
                   There are sinners here.  Even here.
                   And, pain waits for them.  Hell is
                   hungry for them.

     Stone bites his lip, moaning, disoriented.

                                 STONE (CONT)
                   They don't realize... they don't know.
                           (pause)
                   Fuck them all!

     Somerset is shocked by the strength and volume of Stone's jagged
     voice.  The nun goes to place a comforting hand on Stone's
     shoulder.  Stone is beginning to cry.

                                 NUN
                           (to Somerset)
                   They shouldn't have let you disturb him.
                   This shouldn't have been allowed.

                                 STONE
                   Where are the children?
                           (much louder)
                   Where are the children?!


     INT.  CENTRAL LIBRARY, OUTSIDE LIBRARIAN'S OFFICE -- AFTERNOON

     From a mahogany hallway lined with book-carts, we look THROUGH a
     big WINDOW into the head librarian's office.  The elderly head
     librarian is at a computer, chain-smoking, working the keyboard.
     Mills alternates talking on the telephone and reading things off
     his pad to the librarian.

     We cannot hear them, but it's clear Mills is excited as he walks
     back and forth, hovering over the librarian, looking at her
     computer screen, making suggestions, then walking to monitor a
     dot-matrix printer which spews a waterfall of computer paper
     onto the floor.  Back and forth goes Mills, carrying the phone.
     He closes the pad, puts it in his pocket.

     The librarian finishes typing, sits back, done.  Mills hangs up
     the phone, goes to put it on the librarian's desk, but the cord
     drags, knocks a pile of books off a table.

     The librarian is irritated, goes to pick up the books.  Mills is
     apologizing.  He goes to watch the printer.  He tears the last
     sheet's perforated edge, gathers the huge pile of printed paper
     off the floor.

     Prize in hand, Mills is so grateful he bends to give the old
     woman a kiss on the cheek, but she pushes him away, now even
     more annoyed.  Mills goes to leave, knocks over another pile of
     books.  Before he can assist, the angry librarian points to the
     door.  Mills obeys like a scolded child, exits.

     The librarian shakes her head in disgust.


     EXT.  ABANDONED CHURCH/ORPHANAGE -- AFTERNOON

     A once exemplary church, now boarded up, neglected.  Gothic in
     style, it stands with deserted brownstones and empty lots of
     rubble as neighbors.  Smokestacks spew smoke distantly.  Cars
     and trucks drive by on a nearby elevated highway, but down here
     on the street it's a ghost town.

     There's a building attached to the rear of the church.
     Somerset's car is parked beside it.

     INT.  ABANDONED ORPHANAGE, CLASSROOM -- AFTERNOON

     The windows are covered over.  Somerset and Father Bleeker move
     through.  Somerset has a flashlight with a wide beam.  The room
     is empty except for broken, cob-web covered school desks and a
     few file cabinets.  There are cracked blackboards on the walls.
     Rats skitter away from the light.

     Somerset opens a file cabinet drawer.  It's empty.  He walks to
     a door, starts pulling at the rotting boards which seal it shut.

                                 BLEEKER
                   What are you looking for?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm just looking.

     INT.  ABANDONED CHURCH -- AFTERNOON

     Somerset pushes the door.  He and Bleeker enter from the
     classroom into the far back corner of the church.  Big church.
     Shafts of colored light needle through the holes in the pieces
     of wood and cloth that cover the broken stained glass windows.

     Somerset walks down the center aisle between deteriorated pews.
     rats run.  Pigeons flap about, dirt drifting off their wings.

     Somerset shines his flashlight forward to the rather barren
     altar.  To the right, at the top of the altar stairs, there is a
     stone statue of a saint with his arms outstretched, welcoming.

     The life-size saint is covered in spider-webs.  Tiny spiders
     crawl across his eyes, which look down on Somerset.

                                 BLEEKER
                   Saint Jerome Emiliani.  The patron saint
                   of orphans.

     Somerset shines the flashlight against the back altar wall,
     revealing a wooden carving of Christ crucified.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Is this still the Lord's house?

                                 BLEEKER
                   Of course it is.

                                 SOMERSET
                   And, even if Father Stone was guilty of
                   everything... if he was hurting children
                   here?  It's still the Lord's house?

     Father Bleeker finds this talk insulting and offensive.

                                 BLEEKER
                   You have no faith, Somerset?  Have you
                   given up on the church entirely?

                                 SOMERSET
                   No.
                           (pause)
                   That's not what I've given up on.

     Somerset notices two ends of a thick rope suspended from the
     ceiling above the center of the altar.  He looks up, following
     the rope with the flashlight, when he notices something else.
     His mouth drops.  Bleeker looks, and is equally horrified.

     Above them, in the beam of light: seven large paintings on
     panels tilted forward at the curve of the ceiling above the
     altar.  Seven ancient paintings; seven deadly sins.

     The beam of light moves to the panel to the immediate right: a
     painting of a man kneeling, grasping at gold coins all around
     him.  The man is naked, as was the victim of the greed murder.
     The chief color in this panel is a vulgar yellow.

     The third in the series is sloth.  The painting, in indigo,
     shows a man at rest in a pliant bed.  The skeletal man's eyes
     are rolled up in their sockets.  He is covered in slimy worms.


     EXT.  ABANDONED CHURCH -- LATE AFTERNOON

     The streets are full of patrol cars.  Cops and forensics enter
     and exit the church from various doorways.  Saw-horses are
     loaded off a flat-bed truck as a police barricade is erected.

     INT.  ABANDONED CHURCH -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Much activity, as forensics with flashlights go about their
     business, checking every nook and cranny of the church, looking
     for any sign that someone's been here recently.  Small temporary
     floodlights are hoisted on tripods.

     Two photographers stand at the tops of tall ladders.  Flash-
     photo after flash-photo is taken of the seven paneled tableau.

     Near the open church doors, Mills speaks with great animation,
     holding his ream of computer paper.  Somerset looks at the altar
     and the tableau, preoccupied.

                                 MILLS
                   Our guy's a bookworm, right?  And, I
                   know it's a long shot, but you have to
                   give a picture id and current phone bill
                   to get a library card.  Hey...

     Mills snaps his fingers in Somerset's face, gets his attention.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   I made two separate lists of books.  One
                   relating to the sins... Dante's
                   Purgatory, Canterbury Tales... The
                   Dictionary of Catholicism... all the
                   religious stuff.  The second list was
                   books about torture methods, mass
                   murderers... sadomasochism.  Whatever
                   our killer might study to do the things
                   he's done.  Whatever his other interests
                   are.

     Somerset takes the computer list.

                                 SOMERSET
                   So, what is this?

                                 MILLS
                   Alright.  Everything at the library goes
                   into a computer.  So, you can get in the
                   system and cross-reference...

     Mills fumbles in his pocket, takes out his pad and reads.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Let's say you take, Dante's Purgatory,
                   call number eight-five-one-D, and... The
                   Biography of the Marquis de Sade,
                   ninety-two S-A-D-E.  Put those books in
                   the system, and the computer can give
                   you the name of anyone who's ever taken
                   out both those books.  And, it doesn't
                   just give you their name and address, it
                   gives you a complete history of their
                   library reading habits.

     Mills slaps the list in Somerset's hand.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                           (psyched up)
                   If somebody's out there reading Paradise
                   Lost and studying The Life and Times of
                   Charlie Manson, I want to talk to them.

     Somerset looks up from the list, warming to it.  He starts
     looking around, searching for someone.

     EXT.  ABANDONED CHURCH -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Somerset and Mills exit down the stairs.  Somerset's still
     searching, holding the list.  He spies a uniformed cop, DARIO.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Dario!  Come here.

     Dario runs up.  Somerset puts his hand on his shoulder and makes
     him walk with him.  Mills continues on to his car.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   According to the Father, this orphanage
                   wasn't around for more than five or six
                   years in the late fifties.  So, I want
                   someone to go to the Department of Child
                   Welfare or City Hall and dig up all the
                   records on this place.  Understand?

                                 DARIO
                   I got it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Get a list of every child who attended
                   this orphanage before it shut down.  Get
                   it on my desk within the hour.

     Somerset releases Dario, who runs to obey.  Somerset goes to his
     own car.  Mills is driving to leave, stops, revs the engine.
     Somerset hands the computer list through the window.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   You thought of this all by yourself?
                   This was your brainstorm?

                                 MILLS
                   Yeah.  Is that so hard for you to
                   believe?

                                 SOMERSET
                   It's a pleasant surprise.

                                 MILLS
                   I'm not as stupid as I look.

     Mills peels away.  Somerset heads to his own car.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (to himself)
                   I guess not.


     INT.  SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- EARLY EVENING

     Seven large photos hang with the other materials on the wall:

     The seven tableau paintings.  Gluttony, greed and sloth,
     followed by vanity.  Vanity shows a woman standing in front of a
     mirror, staring at her image.  The floor around her is scattered
     with flowers.  The primary color is violet, and as in all the
     paintings, there is a quality of ugliness in the character.

                                 MILLS (O.S.)
                   Ramirez.  Manuel Ramirez.

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   No... I don't see any Ramirez.

     The lust painting is next.  It shows a man standing over a
     woman.  The woman is nude, under a sheet, and the man's features
     are bizarre, lecherous.  He wants that woman.  There are apples
     on the floor and on the bed.  The color is red.

                                 MILLS (O.S.)
                   Elinski.  Dennis Elinski.

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   No.

     Envy is particularly gruesome.  The Devil is seen hovering in
     the air, wearing a crown, his body orange and slick, wrapped in
     a cloak of flames.  His arms held high, his right hand grips a
     sword, a bolt of lightning, arrows, wheat, thistles, etc.  His
     left hand, holds a plain globe around which a serpent has
     wrapped itself.  He looks down at several pitiful mortals in a
     pit of fire.  The mortals reach for him, yearn for him, the skin
     on their bodies is stretched taut over their bones.

                                 MILLS (O.S.)
                   Atwater?  Paul Atwater.

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   No.

     Wrath shows a man surrounded by vaporous, satanic demons.  He
     stands in a puddle of blood, looking at his hands stained with
     and dripping blood.  Other than the rich red, the color is blue.

     Mills is at his desk, a good portion of the print-out list
     draped to the floor.  He rubs his eyes, sighing, gets back to
     it.  Somerset, at the temporary desk, studies his orphan list.

                                 MILLS
                   Okay, here we go.  Listen to the books
                   this guy's been taking out...
                           (reading list)
                   Basic Homicide Investigation.  Forensic
                   Toxicology... The Encyclopedia of Modern
                   Serial Killers...
                           (looks up, excited)
                   Of Human Bondage.

                                 SOMERSET
                   That's not what you think it is.

     Mills is disappointed, runs his finger further down the page.

                                 MILLS
                   Holy shit.  Somerset...
                           (reading list)
                   The Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas.

     Mills points to the drawing of "the Sun in splendor with the
     eye" which hangs on the wall.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Aquinas.  Right?

                                 SOMERSET
                   That's right.  Let me have it.

     Mills looks at the page... searching...

                                 MILLS
                   Fuck... he used a false name.

                                 SOMERSET
                   How do you know?

                                 MILLS
                   His library card lists him as Jonathan
                   Doe.  John Doe.

     Mills sits back, angry.  Something strikes Somerset as odd.
     Familiar.  He starts leafing quickly through the orphanage list.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What?

     Somerset finds what he's looking for.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Christ... it's like a sick joke.

                                 MILLS
                   What are you talking about?

                                 SOMERSET
                   There is one boy here.  He was
                   abandoned... no one knew who his
                   parents were, so he was named at the
                   orphanage...
                           (looks at Mills)
                   John Doe.  It's his legal name.


     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- EARLY EVENING

     Somerset and Mills climb stairs, turn a corner into this hall.

                                 MILLS
                   It's impossible odds that this is him.

                                 SOMERSET
                   We're focusing.

                                 MILLS
                   I know, I know.  On one little thing.
                   I'm not complaining.  I'll follow
                   anything we get and I'll take it any way
                   we can get it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   We'll look at him.  Ask a few questions.
                   Try to get a feeling whether we should
                   keep tabs on him.

     They reach a door, apartment 3A.  Somerset knocks.  Mills takes
     out his gun and looks at Somerset to ask "what do you think?"
     Somerset nods that he should have the gun ready.  Mills steps to
     the side of the door, knocks hard.  Waits.

                                 MILLS
                           (quietly)
                   I'll do the talking, right?  Let me
                   practice here... um, excuse me Mr. Doe,
                   but, are you by any chance a serial
                   killer?  Oh... oh, you are?  Well, come
                   with us then, if you don't mind.

     Mills smiles at his own wit.  A STAIR is HEARD CREAKING
     offscreen.  Mills turns to look towards the stairs.

     A MALE FIGURE stands at the top of the stairs, wearing a hat,
     standing in shadows.  The man looks at them, lets out a scream
     of horror and reaches into his coat.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Somerset!

     GUNFIRE SOUNDS and a bullet slams into door 3A behind Mills.  He
     and Somerset recoil in shock, going to the floor as another
     bullet explodes, blasting plaster off the wall.  The man is
     HEARD RUNNING back down the stairs.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   It's him!  Jesus Christ, we can get this
                   fucker!

     Mills jumps up.  He moves towards the railing.  Somerset sits up
     and takes out his own gun.  The stairwell is silent.

     Mills peers over the railing into the stairwell's center, gun
     pointed.  A HEAVY METALLIC CLICK is HEARD.  Echoes.  Mills leaps
     backwards as bullets begin raining up from below, accompanied by
     the SOUND of an UZI SUB-MACHINE GUN FIRING.

     Somerset lays flat as he and Mills crawl away from the railing,
     which is being shredded along with the floor around it.  Bullets
     soar unceasingly.  Mills and Somerset hold their hands over
     their ears.  Pieces of wood and plaster fly everywhere.  The uzi
     stops and the man can be HEARD RUNNING again.

     Mills gets up, covered in debris.  He runs down into the smoky
     stairwell.  Somerset rolls over, gets up more slowly.

     EXT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT BUILDING, REAR -- EARLY EVENING

     Mills rushes out into this weedy, overgrown courtyard.  He sees
     a thin vagrant sleeping on the building's junk-pile, then looks
     all directions.  His eyes are wild.  His gun hand is shaking.

     The courtyard is surrounded by alleyways.  The shooter could
     have gone anywhere and is nowhere in sight.  Somerset comes out,
     face wet with sweat.  Mills holsters his gun.

                                 MILLS
                   Are you alright?  Are you okay?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Yeah.  I think so.

     They look at each other for a long time.  Both realizing they
     came very close to dying.

     EXT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT BUILDING, FRONT -- NIGHT

     Police cars on scene.  Curious civilians have gathered.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- NIGHT

     UP THE STAIRWELL, several forensics are collecting shell
     casings, putting them in bags.  The casings are scattered all
     the way up the stairs.  ONE FORENSIC walks up beside a COP.

                                 ONE FORENSIC
                   I hear he's running around with an uzi
                   in one hand and a book of poetry in the
                   other.

                                 COP
                   A real, modern-day renaissance man, huh?

     AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, two forensics, SARAH and BILLY, wait
     behind Mills and Somerset.  Surgical gloves on all hands.  Mills
     kicks at the door to apartment 3A with all his might.  Again.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOMONE -- NIGHT

     BOOM -- door flies open.  Mills enters with Somerset.  Darkness.

                                 MILLS
                           (to forensics)
                   Give us first crack at it.

     Sarah and Billy wait in the hall.  Somerset hits a switch on the
     wall and a lamp illuminates on a desk.  The desk is in the
     center of the room, facing them.  The walls, floor to ceiling,
     are covered with visual stimuli; pictures, paintings, newspaper
     articles, sketches, writings on napkins and notebook sheets,
     etc.  Mostly religious images.

     The far wall is made of shelves full of books.  Mills goes to
     the desk while Somerset goes to the books.  Books: An Overview
     of Theology, Handbook of Firearms, A History of the World, Summa
     Theologica, U.S. Criminal Law Review, etc.

     Mills looks at the desktop.  The surface is marked by dried oil
     colors.  There are tubes of paint laying out, boxes of water
     colors and pastels.  Mills looks at one corner of the desk.  An
     orange candle has been allowed to burn down.  The wax trail goes
     all the way down the edge of the desk to a puddle on the floor.

     Somerset walks, studying one wall of pin-ups.  There are
     articles about the seven deadly sins, pages from art books,
     pencil drawings of Satan and Christ, and drawings of the seven
     paneled tableau paintings which inspired the murders.  Somerset
     lifts several sheets to note the paper scraps are spaced so
     tightly and completely that they cover the window.

     At the desk, Mills opens the top middle drawer.  It's empty
     except for The Holy Bible.  he opens another drawer, which is
     filled with at least forty empty aspirin bottles.

     Somerset looks at a door which is papered over by all the
     newspaper articles and photographs about the seven deadly sin
     murders.  He opens the door --

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM TWO -- NIGHT

     Somerset enters.  The ceiling light is on.  There are
     bookshelves on each wall, filled with thousands of notebooks.

     Somerset takes one notebook down.  It is a thick composition
     book with a marbled black and white cover.  Inside, the pages
     are covered in small handwritten sentences and drawings.

     Somerset takes down another notebook and opens it.  Same as the
     first; scribbled sentences and sketches.

     He walks to another wall, pulls another notebook.  Same deal.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Jesus Christ.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM ONE -- NIGHT

     Mills opens a final drawer to find a rosary and a revolver.

     He looks around, nervous and excited, being in the murderer's
     lair.  He goes to a closed door across the room, notices John
     Doe's bed in the corner.  Sees Doe has a cross nailed to the
     ceiling directly above the bed's pillow.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, BATHROOM -- NIGHT

     Mills enters the bathroom.  It has been converted into a
     darkroom, lit by red bulbs, with strips of film hanging from the
     ceiling.  WATER is HEARD DRIPPING.

     Mills opens the shower curtain.  Prints hang drying, clipped to
     wires over the tub.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, THE PAINTROOM -- NIGHT

     Somerset enters from the room of notebooks.  This is John Doe's
     art studio.  Windowless, with several easels holding paintings
     in various states of completion.  The walls are covered with
     photos and finished canvases, except for one wall which is blank
     white.  Somerset turns the lights off.

     There is a 16mm film projector on a table, facing the blank
     wall.  Somerset turns the projector on.  It clatters to life,
     running a piece of film.

     The film is spliced into a non-stop loop. Somerset watches the
     wall, light strobing across him.

     The projector shows an image of clouds drifting, with strange,
     superimposed angels in flowing robes floating jerkily.  It's
     like an old, Hollywood version of heaven.

     The image switches abruptly to fire and tormented souls laboring
     around a pit of molten goo.  Like Heaven, it's a scratched piece
     of film from Hollywood's early days.

     Somerset turns to examine one of the paintings on an easel.  The
     painting has been skillfully rendered, in small, controlled
     brush strokes.  It shows a modern city street, stylized, dark.
     The city is peopled by mutated humans and freakish beasts.
     Sinners in the streets, killing, raping, pillaging.  Buildings
     are burning, blood is being spilled.  It's dense with detail.

     Somerset walks to another painting which is covered by a drop
     cloth.  He removes the cloth, uncovers a huge canvas.  We do not
     see the painting, but when Somerset does his features turn grim.

                                 MILLS (O.S.)
                   Somerset!

     Mills enters, tormented, weary.  He stands in the projector's
     bright beam, holds an 8" by 10" print.

                                 MILLS (O.S.)
                   Somerset, we had him.  Goddamn it.

     He hands a press pass and the photo to Somerset.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   The pass is a fake... we had him.

     Somerset looks at the photo, a picture of Mills and Somerset on
     the stairwell of the slum apartment building; the picture John
     took when he posed as a reporter.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   We were that close to him.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I know.

     Somerset motions to the huge canvas.  Mills looks:

     The painting is frightening collage, thick with paint.  The
     photo of Mills and Somerset has been incorporated in bits and
     pieces.  Duplicate images: enlarged eyes, hands, faces.  The
     faces have been ripped, scratched, mutilated.  Grainy eyes with
     holes jabbed in them are mounted in paint beside chopped broken
     arms.  Mills' head is on Somerset's body, and vice versa.  It's
     like a sick, fragmented vision of a slaughter house floor.


     EXT.  CITY STREETS -- NIGHT

     A block of burnt-out row homes and warehouses.  Stray, wild dogs
     roam in a pack.  A car turns down this street.  It's John Doe's
     car, moving fast.  Its headlights go out and it cruises,
     avoiding garbage cans in the street.

     FOLLOW the dark car.  Ahead, a few blocks away, we can see the
     only lights in this neighborhood, the flashing reds, whites and
     blues of police activity.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S CAR -- NIGHT

     John Doe brings the car to a stop.  He watches the police at
     work around the abandoned church.  He gives no discernable
     reaction, puts the car in reverse.  He looks behind as he drives
     back the way he came.


     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, KITCHEN -- NIGHT

     The refrigerator door is open.  A male forensic uses tongs to
     remove Zero's severed hand from behind soda cans and mayonnaise.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM ONE -- NIGHT

     The forensic walks through with the hand in a clear plastic bag,
     past a FEMALE SKETCH ARTIST who puts the finishing touches on a
     fairly accurate drawing of the balding John Doe.

                                 SKETCH ARTIST
                   This is the guy?

     Mills stands over the artist.  Sarah, Billy and two deputy
     detectives are at work in the room, photographing, searching.

                                 MILLS
                   Make sure it gets around.

                                 SKETCH ARTIST
                   You got it.  Tomorrow morning, this
                   city's good citizens will be on the
                   lookout for Elmer Fudd.

                                 SARAH
                           (to Mills)
                   We can't find anything to hang onto.  No
                   pay-stubs, no appointment books or
                   calendars.  Not even a book of phone
                   numbers.  And, you're not going to
                   believe this...

                                 MILLS
                   Keep looking.

                                 SARA
                   It's just... we haven't found any
                   fingerprints yet.  Not one.

                                 MILLS
                   You know, you're right.  I don't believe
                   it.  Keep looking.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM TWO -- NIGHT

     Somerset reads one of Doe's notebooks.  Three cops are looking
     through other notebooks from the shelves.  Mills enters.

                                 SOMERSET
                   We need to put more men on this.

                                 MILLS
                   I'm working on it, alright.  What have
                   we got.

     Somerset bristles slightly at Mills' abrupt demeanor.

                                 SOMERSET
                   We've got about five thousand notebooks
                   in this room.  And, as near as I can
                   tell, each notebook contains two hundred
                   and fifty pages.

                                 MILLS
                   Then, he must write about the murders.

     Somerset looks at the notebook, reads.

                                 SOMERSET
                   "What sick, silly puppets we are, and
                   what a gross stage we dance on.  What
                   fun we have, dancing around, not a care
                   in the world.  Not knowing that we are
                   nothing.  We are not what God intended."
                           (turns pages)
                   "On the subway today, a man came up to
                   start a conversation.  He was making
                   small talk, this lonely man, talking
                   about the weather and other things.  I
                   tried to be accommodating, but my head
                   began to hurt from his banality.  I
                   almost didn't notice it had happened,
                   but I threw up all over him.  And I
                   couldn't stop myself from laughing."
                           (closes book)
                   No dates indicated.  They're placed on
                   the shelves in no discernible order.  He
                   describes a scab on his arm for five
                   pages, then writes about existential
                   philosophy on the next.

     Mills walks.  He looks into the adjoining paint room.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   It's just his mind poured out on paper.

     Mills leans in the doorway, looking at Doe's strange artworks.

                                 MILLS
                   You were right.  He is preaching.

     The PHONE RINGS in the other room.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- NIGHT

     All attention is focused on the phone on Doe's desk.  A tape
     recorder is rigged to the receiver.  Mills and Somerset enter.
     Mills walks over, pushes a button on the recorder, picks up.

                                 MILLS
                           (into phone)
                   Hello... hello?

                                 JOHN DOE (V.O.)
                           (from recorder)
                   I admire you, David.  Imagine my
                   surprise on finding you at my doorstep.
                   I admire you more and more every day.

                                 MILLS
                           (into phone)
                   Okay, John.  Let's...

                                 JOHN DOE (V.O.)
                           (from recorder)
                   No, no, no!  You listen and don't talk.
                   I suppose you found the painting and the
                   photos.  This is just as well.  Now we
                   all know we've all seen each other.
                           (pause)
                   I mean what I say.  I do admire you.

     Long pause.  Mills waits.

                                 JOHN DOE (V.O.,CONT)
                   Oh, there is one other thing.  Fourteen
                   hundred thirty.  West Eighty-sixth
                   street.  Apartment six-o-four.

     John Doe hangs up.


     INT.  APARTMENT 604, BATHROOM -- NIGHT

     Somerset looks around this femininely decorated bathroom.

     In the sink, objects covered in blood: a pair of scissors, a
     hypodermic needle, first-aid tape and gauze bandages, a bottle
     of anesthetic for use with the needle, a straight razor.

     Somerset moves from the sink, looks in the bathtub.  The tub and
     shower walls are splattered with blood.  The tub has a few
     inches of water in it.  The water is cloudy red and bits of
     gauze float in it.  Somerset jiggles the drain's knob.

     Some bubbles pop up from the clogged drain.

     INT.  APARTMENT 604 -- NIGHT

     Mills is in a dark mood.  He and Dr. O'Neill stand by a WOMAN
     who hangs by a noose from the ceiling.  The woman's head has
     been bandaged sloppily with white gauze and tape.  Her eyes have
     been left uncovered.  The gauze is stained red in small spots.

     The woman hangs low, so her feet are inches from the floor where
     piles of dried flowers and a cordless telephone lay.  There's a
     chair knocked over behind her.

     O'Neill's going through his black bag.  A violet, velvet curtain
     has been draped on the wall in the corner, behind a full length
     mirror.  The mirror reflects the corpse.  A seven-pointed star
     is smeared in lipstick on the mirror's surface, with the words I
     DID NOT KILL HER, SHE WAS GIVEN A CHOICE below.

     Somerset enters from the bathroom, looks at the murder display.

                                 MILLS
                   Pride.  Just like in the painting.

     Somerset nods.  He walks to a dresser.  The woman's purse sits
     open and Somerset extracts her driver's license.  He looks at
     the photo.  The woman in the picture is beautiful.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You can see what he did.

     O'Neill steps up to the woman.  He brandishes dull scissors.
     The captain enters with two uniform cops.  He looks around,
     grim, clenching his jaw.

                                 MILLS
                   Cut her up... dressed the wounds.  He
                   put the noose around her neck and stood
                   her on the chair.

                                 SOMERSET
                   She had the telephone.

                                 MILLS
                   Call for help, and you'll live.  But,
                   you'll be mutilated.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Or, kick out the chair, and spare
                   yourself a lifetime of hideousness.

     O'Neill's cutting the bandages on the woman's face.  He pulls
     them away in front.  Mills looks, disgusted by the sight.

     Somerset sits in a chair, runs his fingers through his hair.

                                 O'NEILL
                   He cut off her nose to spite her face.
                   And he did it very recently.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Alright, boys, you're running on empty.
                   Go home.  Just make sure you sleep with
                   the phone between your knees.


     INT.  BOOKSTORE -- NIGHT

     The bookstore is a labyrinth.  Tables and shelves, mountains and
     valleys of books.  Books, new and used, hard and soft, in
     disorganized groups.  CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYS.  A few customers
     search for titles.

     Somerset walks, downcast, winds out of one aisle into another.
     he has his jacket over his shoulder, runs his fingers along the
     books as he goes.  He pulls one book, The Merchant of Venice,
     looks at it, replaces it.  He looks down the aisle and is
     surprised to see Tracy.

     Tracy stands solemn, scanning book spines.  Somerset approaches.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Tracy?

     Tracy brightens a bit upon recognizing him.

                                 TRACY
                   Somerset.  How are you?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm alright.  I'm glad to see you found
                   this place.  I almost should have
                   expected to run into you here, knowing
                   that you teach English.

     Tracy looks up and around.

                                 TRACY
                   It's so huge.  It's amazing.

                                 SOMERSET
                   This is why I moved into this
                   neighborhood.

                                 TRACY
                   Don't you love the smell of all the old
                   books.  It smells like... like... I
                   guess just old books, but, I love it.

     Somerset notices Tracy noticing his gun.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   Forgive me.  No matter how often I see
                   guns, I can't get used to them.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Same here.

     Tracy laughs.  She looks at her watch.

                                 TRACY
                   If David's going to be back home soon, I
                   should get back.

     She starts down the aisle and Somerset walks with her.

                                 TRACY (CONT)
                   I hope you'll come to dinner another
                   night.  Before you leave.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You can stay and browse a little longer,
                   can't you?  I mean...

     Tracy considers this as they enter an open area.

                                  SOMERSET (CONT)
                   I... I hardly know anyone I can talk
                   about books with anymore.  I'd
                   appreciate the company.

     Tracy stops.  Somerset looks hopeful.  Tracy is very tempted.

     INT.  BOOKSTORE -- LATER NIGHT

     Shelves and empty aisles of books.  CLASSICAL MUSIC still PLAYS.

                                 SOMERSET (O.S.)
                   The irony is, that after a day of the
                   type of work he did, he'd come home and
                   read me these morbid crime stories.  Le
                   Fanu's Green Tea.  Murders in the Rue
                   Morgue.

     MOVE TO the aisle marked MYSTERY, where Somerset and Tracy are
     leaning against shelves.  They both hold books they've selected.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   My mother would give him hell... because
                   I was young, and he was keeping me up
                   till all hours, giving me nightmares.

                                 TRACY
                   Sounds like a father who wanted his son
                   to follow in his footsteps.

                                 SOMERSET
                   One birthday, he gave me a hardcover
                   book called The Century of the
                   Detective, by Jurgen Thorwald.  It
                   traced the history of detection as a
                   science and it sealed my fate.  Because
                   it was real, and that a drop of blood or
                   a piece of hair could solve a crime...
                   was incredible to me.

     A CLERK looks down the aisle, then walks on.

                                 CLERK (O.S.)
                   We're closing up, Somerset.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Okay, thanks.

                                 TRACY
                   David's going to wonder where I am.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'll give you a ride.

                                 TRACY
                   No.  Please, don't bother.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I have to insist.  If your husband found
                   out I let you ride the subway at this
                   hour he'd tear my head off.

     They make their way out of the aisle.  Somerset chuckles.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   I mean, literally.


     EXT.  CITY STREET -- NIGHT

     Somerset's car stops at the corner of Mills' street.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset puts the car in park.  Tracy sits for a long time, then
     turns to face Somerset.

                                 TRACY
                   You've lived here for so long, Somerset.
                   You know this city.  I...

     Tracy can't quite figure how to put it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   It's a hard place, Tracy.

                                 TRACY
                   When David and I lived in Philadelphia,
                   we could afford to live on the
                   outskirts.  But now...
                           (pause)
                   I hate it here.  I feel scared, and I
                   feel sick and... I hate it.

     Tracy wants to laugh, like it's silly, but can't pull it off.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You have to put blinders on sometimes.
                   Most times.  But, keep in mind, Tracy,
                   like tonight, there are small pockets of
                   sanity.  Some bars and bookstores.
                   Museums.  Several last vestiges of
                   civilization.

     EXT.  CITY STREET -- NIGHT

     In Somerset's car, Tracy and Somerset continue talking.

     On the other side of the street, closer to the middle of the
     block, John Doe's car is parallel parked at the curb.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Behind the wheel, John Doe is slumped low, calmly watching
     Somerset and Tracy.  He can see them clearly from here.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Tracy looks out through the windshield, fighting tears.

                                 TRACY
                   I've visited so many of the schools,
                   looking for work, you know.  And, the
                   conditions are... horrible.  I can't
                   believe how bad it is.
                           (pause)
                   Children shouldn't have to grow up here.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You can always look into the private
                   schools.  You'll find something.

     Somerset gives her a handkerchief.  She wipes her tears.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   You're too hard on yourself, Tracy.

     She will not look at him, keeping herself under control.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   It's okay to hate this city.  It's
                   natural.  But, there is a bright side in
                   all this.  There is.  You want to hear
                   it?

     Tracy is able to muster a small smile.

                                 TRACY
                   Oh, God, yes.  Please.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I can't think of another place that
                   needs education more than this city.
                   And you're a teacher.  You can make a
                   difference in a few people's lives.
                   It's a very good thing.

     Tracy leans to give him a kiss on the cheek.

                                 TRACY
                   Goodnight, Somerset.

     They remain close, looking into each other's eyes.

                                 SOMERSET
                  Goodnight.

     Somerset reaches to touch Tracy's face.  They kiss.  They kiss a
     long time.  Tracy wraps her arms around Somerset's neck.
     Somerset runs his fingers through Tracy's hair.  They share
     their sorrow.  Tracy's tears run down her face.  Finally, they
     part, opening their eyes.

     They know this is wrong.  Somerset's hands are shaking.  He
     grips the wheel, feels helpless.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   I'm sorry, Tracy.  I'm sorry.

     Tracy's face is flushed.  She is confused.

                                 TRACY
                   I... I better go.

     Tracy gets out, neglects to close the door, not looking back.

     Somerset tries to come to his senses.  He doesn't understand
     either, and his heart is aching.  He adjusts the rearview mirror
     to watch Tracy go.

     INSERT -- THROUGH REARVIEW MIRROR -- SOMERSET'S P.O.V.

     Tracy walks down the block, straightening her hair.  She runs.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset looks away from the mirror.  he holds his head in his
     hands for a moment.

     EXT.  CITY STREET -- NIGHT

     Somerset leans to pull the door shut, puts the car in gear.
     He drives, turns the corner.

     INT.  JOHN DOE'S CAR -- NIGHT

     John Doe watches Somerset's car leave.  Doe turns his attention
     to Tracy, who hurries along the other side of the street.  Tracy
     looks back, enters her apartment building, digs out her keys.
     She gets through the door and climbs stairs, disappearing.

     EXT.  CITY STREET -- NIGHT

     Doe gets out of his car.

     He looks both ways down the street, walks towards Mills' and
     Tracy's building.


     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- LATER NIGHT

     Mills and Tracy are asleep in their bed.  Mills' eyes shift
     under their lids.  Rapid eye movement.

     A SOUND is HEARD from the other room.  Mills awakens.  He lays
     still a moment, then gets up, slowly, reaches to take his gun
     off the bedside table.  He grabs his pants from a chair, slides
     into them.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- NIGHT

     Mills opens the bedroom door and enters quietly, gun held up.
     He moves, crouching.

     In the dark, objects in the room and shadows from windows form
     complex, confusing patterns.

     Mills walks between moving boxes, attempting to remain silent.
     He aims the gun from point to point as he advances.

     He gets to a closet.  Staying on one side, he opens the door and
     points his gun.  He carefully separates the clothing hanging
     there.  Nothing.  No one.

     He turns to look over the room.  It's the first time we see it
     in Mills' eyes -- real fear.

     The door to the apartment is wide open.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- NIGHT

     Mills moves from his apartment, gun out, into the dark hallway.
     The coast is clear.  He stays low, moves down the hall.  He
     stops, looks up.

     EXT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, ROOFTOP -- NIGHT

     Mills shoves the rooftop door open.  It creaks as it swings.

     Mills moves out, backwards, looking to top the raised rooftop
     entrance, covering it with his gun.  He moves around, sees
     nothing, walks to the edge of the roof and looks over.

     INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

     Mills returns to the bedroom, still holding his gun up.  He
     looks at Tracy asleep in the bed.  The room begins to RATTLE a
     little as a subway train is again passing underground.

     He walks to the window and checks the lock.  He halts.  He opens
     the window and reaches out.  The rattling is a bit LOUDER.

     From the fire escape, he picks up a bundle of thorny thistles
     wrapped with a rubber band.  Mills realizes, Doe was here.


     INT.  SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT

     The room is plain, like the room Mrs. Gold was kept in.  The
     door opens and Tracy and Mills enter.  They look sleepy,
     carrying suitcases.  A uniformed cop closes the door for them.

     Mills goes to lay a suitcase on a table while Tracy looks
     around, depressed, distant.  The lighting is bad.  There are no
     decorations, no windows.  A wide crack runs down one wall.

     Tracy sits down on the bed.  Mills notices her discontent.

                                 MILLS
                   It won't be for long, honey.  I swear.
                   This is just till this is over.

                                 TRACY
                   I know.

     Mills goes to sit beside her.  He puts his hand on her shoulder.

                                 MILLS
                   I'm sorry.

     Tracy nods.  She stands, goes to start turning down the covers.

                                 TRACY
                   I know.  It can't be helped.

     Mills feels useless, powerless.  He goes to the suitcase and
     starts unpacking the contents.  Tracy continues turning down the
     sheets.


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     SATURDAY

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- EARLY MORNING

     The chalkboard:            1 gluttony (x)      5 lust
                                2 greed (x)         6 envy
                                3 sloth (x)         7 wrath
                                4 pride (x)

     Somerset is seated, holding the photo of the lust painting from
     the tableau.  Mills is behind his own desk.  They both look like
     they haven't gotten much sleep.

                                 MILLS
                   There's two people in that painting.
                   So, maybe he's planning to kill two
                   people this time.  Maybe.

     Mills looks at Somerset, who doesn't seem to be listening.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What's wrong this morning?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Nothing.  Sorry.

     Somerset looks up, sips from a cup of coffee, looks at the
     photo.  Mills swings his chair, looks out the window at the
     morning light on the billboard.

                                 MILLS
                   Lust is next.  Lust is sex.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Apples on the floor.  Original sin.

                                 MILLS
                   Adam and Eve.

     Somerset puts the photo down, leans back, takes out a cigarette.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Sex, sex, sex.  Fucking sex.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Lust is everywhere.  That's the hard
                   part.  I think lust is the most
                   prevalent sin, even more than greed.

     Somerset looks at the burning tip of his cigarette.  He gets up
     to stretch his legs.

     Mills picks up the lust photo, puts his feet up on the desk.

                                 MILLS
                   Lust is red.

     Long pause.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Bright red.

                                 MILLS
                   Blood red.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

                                 MILLS
                   Red blooded.  Red head.  Dead.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Red light district.

     Pause.  Realization.  Somerset and Mills look at each other.

                                 MILLS
                   That would make sense.

                                 SOMERSET
                   It would be fitting.

                                 MILLS
                   You're damn right it would.

     Mills picks up the phone.


     EXT.  CITY STREETS, PORNO DISTRICTS -- AFTERNOON

     Porno theaters and Adult Bookstores rule these busy sidewalks.
     Marquees offer SEXY STUFF, PUSSY FEST and movies like MIDNIGHT
     PLOWBOY and NATIONAL LAM-PORN'S CHRISTMAS INSERTION.  Cops are
     walking through the pedestrian flow, handing out photocopies.
     There are many patrol cars on the street.  Definitely a larger
     than usual police presence.

     Cops are questioning the proprietors of porn at the entrances of
     their shops and theaters.

     Cops are taping photocopies onto lamp posts.  These photocopies
     are warnings, with the drawing of John Doe's face above a line
     of information and the words HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?


     INT.  WILD BILL'S LEATHER SHOPPE -- AFTERNOON

     Somerset's holding up the composite sketch of John Doe.

                                 WILD BILL (O.S.)
                   Yeah, he was here.  This morning.

     Mills and Somerset are across the sales counter from WILD BILL,
     37.  Wild Bill is shirtless, covered in tattoos.  A thick scar
     runs down his forehead to his bent nose.  Leather belts, whips
     and jackets hang from the walls.

                                 MILLS
                   It was definitely him?  You're positive?

                                 WILD BILL
                   Yeah.  John Doe.  Easy name to remember.

                                 SOMERSET
                   What was this job you did for him?

     Wild Bill pulls a box from behind the counter, digs in it.

                                 WILD BILL
                   I got a picture of it.  That's what he
                   came for this morning.  I figured he
                   must be one of those art guys... like
                   those guys who piss in a cup and drink
                   it on stage.  Performance art.

     Wild Bill gives a polaroid to Mills.  We don't see the image.

                                 MILLS
                   Oh, fuck...

                                 WILD BILL
                   I think I undercharged him.  I was up
                   all night working to finish it.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (looks at photo)
                   You built this for him?  You built this?

                                 WILD BILL
                   I've built weirder shit than that.

     A BEEL CHIMES as a POLICEMAN enters the store.

                                 POLICEMAN
                   Somerset... we have a situation.

     Mills and Somerset follow the policeman out.

                                 WILD BILL
                   Hey, my picture!

     They're gone.  Wild Bill scratches his scar.

                                 WILD BILL (CONT)
                   Fucking pigs.


     EXT.  THE HOT HOUSE MASSAGE PARLOR -- AFTERNOON

     It's a madhouse outside The Hot House.  Police action in
     progress.  Cops have formed a barrier, holding off a crowd and
     creating an aisle to the back of a jail-van.  Cops and
     detectives escort various men, women and transvestites into the
     large vehicle.  The crowd, consisting of the dregs of society,
     is angry.  Some spit and throw trash at the cops.

     INT.  THE HOT HOUSE, RECEPTION AREA -- AFTERNOON

     An ANGRY COP pounds his nightstick on a glass cage.  Inside the
     cage sits an oily FAT MAN in front of a wall of sex toys.

                                 FAT MAN
                   Just wait!

                                 COP
                   Get out of the fucking booth!

                                 FAT MAN
                   Just wait!  I'll come out, just wait!

     INT.  THE HOT HOUSE, CORRIDORS -- AFTERNOON

     All the lights and walls are red.  Mills and Somerset follow a
     COP through the twisting corridors.  ROCK MUSIC THROBS.  They
     reach a door.

                                 COP
                   I don't want to go in there again.

     INT.  THE HOT HOUSE, RED ROOM -- AFTERNOON

     Mills and Somerset enter.  ROCK MUSIC CONTINUES, LOUD.  A strobe
     light flashes from the ceiling onto TWO AMBULANCE ATTENDANTS.
     The first attendant places a sheet over a bed, hiding the corpse
     of a WOMAN with long blonde hair.  The second attendant tries to
     examine the pupils of a CRAZED MAN, 55, who sits naked on the
     floor, wrapped in a sheet.  A COP holds the crazed man down.

                                 CRAZED MAN
                   He... he... he made me do it!

                                 SECOND ATTENDANT
                   I have to look at you.  I have to look
                   at you.

     An X is scratched into the red paint on the wall.  Mills and
     Somerset move towards the covered body.

     There are apples on the bed and floor.  The ROCK MUSIC from
     outside SUDDENLY STOPS.

                                 FIRST ATTENDANT
                   You're not going to want to see this
                   more than once.

                                 CRAZED MAN
                   He had a gun!  He... he made me do it!

     The sheet is lifted for the detectives.  They grimace at what
     they see.  We do not see.  Somerset closes his eyes and walks to
     face a wall, shaken.  The first attendant replaces the sheet.

     Mills steps back, takes out his handkerchief and sucks on it.

                                 CRAZED MAN (O.S.,CONT)
                   He made me do it!


     INT.  SANATORIUM, WHITE ROOM -- AFTERNOON

     A polaroid is on a white table.  It is the photo Wild Bill gave
     to Mills and Somerset.  It is a picture of a belt, made with
     extra leather straps so it can be worn securely around the
     groin.  It is a strap-on phallus, but there is no plastic
     protuberance.  Instead, there is a metal knife.  It is a strap-
     on butcher's knife.

     Somerset is seated beside the white table in this white room.
     Mills stands behind him.  The crazed man from the lust murder is
     in a chair across the room.  The crazed man is crying.

                                 CRAZED MAN
                   And... and... and he said... he asked if
                   I was married.  And, I could see he had
                   a gun in his hand.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Where was the girl?

                                 CRAZED MAN
                   What?  What?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Where was the prostitute?

                                 CRAZED MAN
                   She was... she was on the bed.  She was
                   just sitting on the bed.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Who tied her down?  You or him?

                                 CRAZED MAN
                   He had a gun.  He had a gun, and he made
                   it happen.  He made me do it!
                   He made me put it on... that thing.  Oh,
                   God... he made me wear it.  He had the
                   gun in my mouth.

     The man slides off the chair and hides his face in his hands.

                                 CRAZED MAN (CONT)
                   The gun was in my throat.

     Mills looks at the mirror in the room.

     Somerset stands, picks up the Polaroid as two men in white
     uniforms enter to collect the crazed man from off the floor.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- EARLY EVENING

     Somerset and Mills are shell-shocked, seated at their desks.
     Somerset is looking out the window.  Mills stares at the wall.

     Somerset looks to his temporary desk.  He picks up a small pile
     of mail, sorts through it.  An 8" by 10" manila envelope
     interests him.  It reads DETECTIVE SOMERSET on the outside,
     handwritten in red marker.  He opens it.

     He takes out a grainy photograph of he and Tracy kissing in his
     car.  It's obviously been taken with a special night-lens.

     Somerset goes pale, suppressing a gasp.  He holds the photo to
     hide it from Mills, looks to see Mills has not noticed.  He
     feels panicky, crumples the photo and envelope in his hand.

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, MEN'S ROOM -- NIGHT

     Somerset enters, latches the door.  He takes the crushed photo
     and envelope from his pocket.  He quickly checks under the
     stalls to see he is alone.  He opens a window, goes to the sink.

     He takes out his cigarette lighter, lights the envelope and
     photo, watches them catch.  Once they're burning steady he
     throws them in the sink.

     He backs away, leans against the wall, watching, feeling sick.


     INT.  SPORTS BAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset and Mills sit with a full pitcher of beer between them.
     The JUKEBOX plays QUIETLY for other customers.  The walls of the
     bar are lined with trophies, ribbons and other victory symbols.

                                 SOMERSET
                   There's not going to be a happy ending.
                   It's not possible.

                                 MILLS
                   If we get him, I'll be happy enough.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No.  Face it now.  Stop thinking it's
                   good guys against the bad guys in this
                   city.

     Mills drinks deep, pours more.

                                 MILLS
                   How can you say that?  Especially after
                   today?

                                 SOMERSET
                   You tell me... when you walk into an
                   apartment, and a man has beaten his wife
                   to death, or, a wife murdered her
                   husband in cold blood... and you have to
                   wash the blood off their children.  You
                   put the killer in jail.  Who won?

                                 MILLS
                   If I thought like you, I'd have slit my
                   wrists a long time ago.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Where's the victory?

                                 MILLS
                   You do your job.  Follow the law and do
                   the best you can.  It's all there.

                                 SOMERSET
                   If we caught John Doe tomorrow, and it
                   turned out he was the devil... if it
                   turned out he was literally Satan, then,
                   that might live up to our expectations.
                   No human being could do these horrible
                   things, right?!  But, this is not the
                   devil.  It's only a man.

                                 MILLS
                   Why don't you shut the fuck up for a
                   while?!  Huh?  You make these
                   speeches... like you know everything
                   there is to know.

     Somerset sits back, looking at Mills.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   You think you're preparing me for the
                   hard times ahead?
                   You think you're toughening me up?
                   Well, you're not!
                           (pause)
                   You're quitting, fine... but I'm staying
                   to fight.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Who are you fighting for?  People don't
                   want a champion.  They just want to keep
                   playing the lottery and eating
                   hamburgers.

                                 MILLS
                   What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?
                   What burnt you out?

                                 SOMERSET
                   There's no one thing, if that's what you
                   mean.  I just... I can't live anymore
                   where stupidity is embraced and nurtured
                   as if it were a virtue.

                                 MILLS
                   You're so much better than everyone,
                   right?  No one's worthy of you.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Wrong!  I sympathize completely.
                   Because if you can't win... then, if you
                   don't ignore everything and everyone
                   around you, you go insane.  It's easier
                   to smoke crack, and not worry that your
                   wife and kids are starving to death.
                   And, it's so much easier to bear a child
                   till that child finally shuts up,
                   because it takes so much work to love.
                   And, if you bothered to think about the
                   abuse, and the damage, you'd be sad.

                                 MILLS
                   You're talking about people who are
                   mentally ill.  You're...

                                 SOMERSET
                           (cuts in, furious)
                   No, I am not!  I'm talking about common,
                   everyday life here.  Where Ignorance
                   isn't bliss, it's a matter of survival.

                                 MILLS
                   Listen to yourself.  You say, "the
                   problem with people is they don't care,
                   so I don't care about people."  But, if
                   you're not part of the solution...

                                 SOMERSET
                           (cuts him off)
                   People who are in arguments over their
                   heads always use meaningless slogans.
                   But, life doesn't conform to analogies.

                                 MILLS
                   You're already here, and you've been
                   here a long time.  So, there's a part of
                   you that knows, even if everything you
                   say is true, none of it matters.

                                 SOMERSET
                   That part of me is dead.

     Mills stands.

                                 MILLS
                   Fuck you.  You want me to agree with
                   you.  "Yeah, you're right, Somerset,
                   this place is fucked.  Let's go live in
                   a fucking log cabin!"  Well, I don't
                   agree with you.  You're quitting, and it
                   makes me sick.  Cause, you're the best
                   I've ever seen.

     Mills digs out some money and throws it on the table.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Thanks for the beer.

     Mills leaves.  Other patrons watch him go.  Somerset takes out a
     cigarette.  He goes to light it.  The lighter will not light,
     and when it does, Somerset's hand is shaking.


     INT.  SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT

     Mills comes quietly into the bedroom.  Tracy is asleep in the
     bed.  Mills takes off his jacket, puts it down.  He sits on a
     chair and unties one shoe, takes it off.  He looks at Tracy,
     looks at her a long time.

     He puts the shoe on the floor and goes to get on the bed.  He
     kisses Tracy's forehead, looks at her sleeping innocently.  He
     is touched, saddened.  He kisses her cheek, then wraps his arms
     under and around her.  He holds tight, kisses her again.  Tracy
     stirs.

                                 TRACY
                   David?

     Mills his face against her, holding tighter still.

                                 MILLS
                   I love you.

     Tracy holds his face in her hands, sees that he is crying.

                                 TRACY
                   David?

                                 MILLS
                   I love you.

     Mills clings to her.  She wraps her arms around him as he cries
     quietly against her, and she kisses him, tries to comfort him.
     He sobs.


     EXT.  CITY STREETS, INDUSTRIAL AREA -- NIGHT

     John Doe walks in this section of huge industrial complexes.
     Factories and foundries are lined side by side, seemingly for
     miles.  We can HEAR TUGBOAT HORNS sounding low and deep.  We're
     near the water.

     Doe seems to know where he's going.  He passes stacks of
     industrial piping and steel drums piled to the sky.

     He walks through an industrial junk-yard filled with trashed
     bulldozers, trucks and discarded factory equipment.  It's like a
     stroll through a bone-yard of dead dinosaurs.

     At the end of this field of metal, there is a tall, narrow
     alleyway formed by two warehouses.  Doe enters, looking up at
     the single lit bulb on the wall above.

     He looks at the ground, picks up a rock and a beaten hubcap,
     walks under the bulb.  He throws the hubcap with all his might.
     It soars, but misses the bulb, falls to the ground behind.

     Doe takes aim with the rock.  He throws, grunting.

     The rock smashes the bulb, bringing darkness to the alley.

     Doe walks back to the mouth of the alley.  He stops and turns to
     start from there.  He walks, deliberately, looking down at his
     feet.    FOLLOW as he walks.

     He stops, looks back to the way he came, then looks down at the
     ground in front of him again.  He takes off his thick glasses.

     He holds the glasses in his hand.


     INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

     Somerset is in bed.  The metronome is sounding: tick, tick,
     tick... The SOUNDS of the CITY are LOUD.

     Somerset closes his eyes, concentrating on the metronome.  Tick,
     tick, tick... A MAN and a WOMAN are HEARD SCREAMING at each
     other incoherently from outside.  Somerset rolls over, restless. 
     Tick, tick, tick...

     A THIRD VOICE is HEARD from outside.  This man is screaming at
     the other two people to shut up.  Somerset opens his eyes, sits
     up.  He reaches over, grabs the metronome and throws it against
     the wall.


     INSERT -- TITLE CARD

     SUNDAY

     INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING

     Somerset sits away from the bed.  He's smoking a cigarette.  The
     PHONE RINGS.  Somerset gets up, not in the best of moods.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (into phone)
                   Hello.

                                 TRACY (V.O.)
                           (from phone, upset)
                   Hello, Somerset.  It's Tracy.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Is everything alright?

                                 TRACY (V.O.)
                   Yes.  Everything's fine.  Could... could
                   you meet me somewhere.  To talk.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (pause)
                   I don't think that's a good idea.

                                 TRACY (V.O.)
                   I need to talk to someone, Somerset.
                   You're the only friend I have here.  I
                   don't know anyone else.


     INT.  COFFEE CAFE -- MORNING

     Somerset and Tracy are seated in a booth by the window.  The
     city's morning rush passes by outside.  The cafe is noisy.
     Tracy is very upset.  Somerset is very uneasy.

                                 SOMERSET
                   David doesn't know about this?  You
                   haven't told him?

     Tracy shakes her head.  Somerset sighs.  Long silence.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   I have to tell you, Tracy, I'm not the
                   one to talk to about this.

                                 TRACY
                   I just can't think straight.  I don't
                   know why I called you, except I can't
                   stand to hold it as a secret anymore.  I
                   had to get it out... and I can't tell
                   David yet.  Not yet.

     Somerset takes out his cigarettes, but thinks better of it and
     puts them away.  He watches Tracy stir her coffee.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I... I had a relationship once, very
                   much like a marriage.  And, there was a
                   baby.  A long time ago.  Things were
                   good.  And I got up one morning, and I
                   went on a case... a murder, like any
                   other.  Except it was my first since
                   hearing about the baby.  And, I felt
                   this fear and anxiety coming over me.  I
                   looked around and I thought, how can I
                   raise a child here?  So, that night, I
                   told her I didn't want us to have
                   children,  And, over the next few
                   weeks... I convinced her...

     Tears come to Somerset's eyes.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   I mean, I wore her down... slowly.

                                 TRACY
                   I want to have children.  But...

                                 SOMERSET
                   I can tell you, I know... I'm positive I
                   made the right decision.  I'm positive
                   it was the right thing to do.  But,
                   there's never a day that goes by that I
                   don't wish I had decided differently.

     Tracy reaches to hold Somerset's hand, but he withdraws it,
     wipes his tears away.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   If you... if you decide not to have the
                   baby... if that's what you decide, then
                   never tell Mills you were pregnant.
                   I mean that.  Never tell.
                           (pause)
                   Your marriage would just wither, and die
                   altogether.

     Tracy looks around the cafe, tears in her eyes.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   But, if you decide to have the baby,
                   then, at that very instant, when you're
                   absolutely sure... tell him.  Tell him
                   that exact second.  And, spoil that kid
                   every chance you get.

                                 TRACY
                   Somerset...

     Somerset stands.  He forces a smile.

                                 SOMERSET
                   That's all the wisdom I can share with
                   you, Tracy.  I barely know you.

                                 TRACY
                   Will I see you again, before you leave?

                                 SOMERSET
                   Probably not.  But, it's probably better
                   that way.

     Somerset steps away, leaves.  Tracy watches him go.


     EXT.  CITY STREET -- DAY

     Mills and Somerset walk towards the precinct house.  They wade
     through cars to cross the street.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I've decided... I want to stay on, till
                   this is over.  Till either it's done, or
                   we can see it will never end.

     Mills remains impassive.

                                 MILLS
                   Oh, you want to stay now?

                                 SOMERSET
                   One of two things is going to happen.
                   We're either going to get John Doe...
                   or, he will finish his series of seven,
                   and he'll never be found.

                                MILLS
                   You think if you stay you're doing me
                   some big favor?

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm requesting you keep me on as your
                   partner a few more days.  You'd be doing
                   me the favor.

                                 MILLS
                   You knew I'd say yes.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No.  I wasn't sure at all.

     They enter the precinct house.  Down the sidewalk, from a
     distance, comes John Doe.  His brown workboots and clothing are
     splattered with blood.

     He walks towards the precinct house, hands in his pockets, like
     he's merely out for a walk on a Sunday afternoon.  People on the
     sidewalk stop upon seeing him, avoiding him.

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, RECEIVING LOBBY/BOOKING -- DAY

     Mills and Somerset walk past booking cubicles and benches of
     handcuffed low-lifes.  The place is swimming with activity.

     The two detectives head to a duty desk at the end of the room.

                                 SOMERSET
                   As soon as this is over, I'll be gone.

                                 MILLS
                   What a great big surprise that is.

     They pass through a gate and Somerset goes to the staircase
     leading to the second floor.  Mills stops at the duty desk.
     Other cops are fighting for the DUTY SERGEANT'S attention.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Mills and Somerset are on the premises.

                                 SERGEANT
                   Wonder-fucking-ful.

     Mills stops, looks.  Somerset stops, looks back down the stairs.

     John Doe stands inside the precinct house doors.  He holds out
     his arms as if to say "presto, here I am."

     Near silence comes to the room as all eyes go to the figure of
     John Doe.

     Mills is riveted, finding this impossible to comprehend.

     One UNIFORMED COP takes out his gun, points it at John Doe.

                                 UNIFORMED COP
                   It's him!

     Several other cops drop what they're doing and draw weapons.
     Mills, still off-balance, walks back through the gate, takes his
     gun out and points it at Doe.

                                 MILLS
                   Get down on the floor.

     Somerset comes back down the stairs.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Be careful!

     Cops move slowly in on Doe from all sides.

                                 ANOTHER COP
                   You heard him!  Get on the floor!

     John Doe gets on his knees, hands up.  Mills moves close, but
     not too.  ONE COP comes from behind, nudges Doe with his foot.

                                 ONE COP
                   Spread your legs and get your hands out
                   in front of you.

                                 MILLS
                   Get down!  Face down!

     John Doe gets on his stomach, obeys.  Mills comes right up to
     Doe, steps on his neck, puts his gun against Doe's head.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Don't move.  Don't move a fucking inch.

     Cops frisk and handcuff Doe.  Somerset comes beside Mills.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I don't believe it.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Hello, Lieutenant Somerset.

                                 COP
                   What the hell is this?

     The cop putting the handcuffs on Doe holds up Doe's hands.  Doe
     winces.  Every single one of Doe's fingers has a bandage wrapped
     around it.  John Doe looks up, his face pressed against the
     floor, glasses askew, Mills' gun at his temple.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   I want to speak with my lawyer.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, OBSERVATION ROOM -- DAY

     Mills, Somerset and the captain stand in darkness.

     On the other side of a two-way mirror, John Doe is seated in a
     restraining chair in an interrogation room.  His hands and legs
     are bound with leather straps to the chair's arm and legs.  A
     strap hold tight around Doe's throat.  This is not some
     superman/serial killer.  He looks more like an eccentric college
     professor.  His lawyer MARK SWARR, 43, sits at a table, taking
     notes.

     Mills holds a fingerprint card.  The black ink prints are just
     useless blobs with traces of blood in them.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   He cuts off the skin of his fingertips.
                   That's why we can't find a single usable
                   print in his apartment.  For a long
                   time, he's been cutting before the
                   papillary lines can grow back.

                                 MILLS
                   What about the trace on his bank
                   account?  The guns?

                                 CAPTAIN
                   The orphanage is all we have.  His bank
                   account is only five years old and it
                   started as cash.  There's no credit
                   history, no employment history.  We even
                   tried to trace his furniture.  All we
                   know for sure is he's wealthy, well
                   educated and totally insane.  We may
                   never know how he got that way.

     Somerset stands looking in at Doe.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Because he is John Doe, by choice.

                                 MILLS
                   When do we get to question him?

                                 CAPTAIN
                   You don't.  This goes to court now.

                                 MILLS
                   This doesn't make sense, captain.  He
                   wouldn't just turn himself in!

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Well, there he sits.  It's not supposed
                   to make sense.

                                 MILLS
                   He's not finished!

                                 CAPTAIN
                   You're wound way too tight on this,
                   Mills.

                                 MILLS
                   Somerset... help me out here.

     Somerset looks at them.  Says nothing.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   It's over.

     The captain leaves.  Mills is furious.

                                 MILLS
                   Damn it, Somerset.  You know Johnny's
                   fucking with us.  He's pissing in our
                   faces again!

                                 SOMERSET
                   Slow up.  You and I are, probably for
                   the first time ever, in total agreement.
                   He wouldn't just stop.

                                 MILLS
                   Well... what the fuck, man?

                                 SOMERSET
                   John Doe's only two murders away from
                   finishing his masterpiece, right?  But,
                   can you even conceive of what might
                   happen next?  I mean, can you tell me
                   how he's going to go about it?

                                 MILLS
                           (pause)
                   No.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I can tell you this; I recognize his
                   lawyer.  His name is Mark Swarr.  He's
                   the one who kept Zero out of prison.
                           (pause)
                   We'll wait for John Doe's plea.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- DAY

     Mills is at the desk with his feet up, stares at the chalkboard:

                    1 gluttony (x)       5 lust (x)
                    2 greed (x)          6 wrath
                    3 sloth (x)          7 envy
                    4 pride (x)

     Clock on the wall says 4:45.  Somerset packs books into boxes,
     preparing for his eventual departure.  The captain opens the
     door and steps into the office.  He clears his throat, looking
     like there is something very wrong.

     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, CAPTAIN'S OFFICE -- DAY

     Mills and Somerset stand together.  The captain is behind his
     desk with the D.A., Martin Talbot, seated in front of him.  Mark
     Swarr addresses them all, seems nervous, but in control.

                                 SWARR
                   My client says there are two more
                   bodies... two more dead, hidden away.
                   He will take Detective Mills to these
                   bodies, but only Detective Mills.  Only
                   at six o'clock, today.

     Swarr wipes his brow with a handkerchief.

                                 TALBOT
                   Oh, Christ.

                                 MILLS
                   Why me?

                                 SWARR
                   He says he admires you.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (to captain)
                   This is all part of his game plan.

                                 SWARR
                   Mr. Doe claims that if the detective
                   does not accept this offer, the bodies
                   will never be found.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Frankly, counselor, I'm inclined to let
                   them rot.

     Mills walks up into Swarr's face.

                                 MILLS
                   You like what you do for a living?

                                 CAPTAIN
                   Back off, Mills.

                                 SWARR
                   I'm required by law to serve my clients
                   to the best of my ability, and to serve
                   their interests.

     Mills eases off.  Talbot is agitated, tapping a finger on the
     gold tooth in his mouth.  He looks at Swarr.

                                 TALBOT
                   We don't make deals like this.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   We're going to have to pass.

                                 SWARR
                   My client... he also wishes that I
                   inform you, if you do not accept, he
                   will plead insanity, across the board.

                                 TALBOT
                   Let him try.  I'd like to see him try!

                                 SWARR
                   Come now, Martin.  Even he knows, with
                   the nature of these crimes, I could get
                   him off with such a plea.

     Talbot stands, wringing his hands.  Mills and Somerset are
     looking at each other, thinking it over.

                                 TALBOT
                   I'm not letting this conviction slide.
                   I can tell you that, right here and
                   right now!

                                 SWARR
                   He says, if you accept, under his
                   specific conditions, he will sign a full
                   confession and plead guilty... right
                   here, and right now.

     Talbot looks at Swarr with hatred.

                                 MILLS
                   I'll do it.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Hold on... just a minute.

     Somerset turns to Talbot.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   If he were to plead insanity... this
                   conversation is admissible.  The fact
                   that he's blackmailing us with his
                   plea...

                                 SWARR
                   And, my client reminds you, two more
                   people are dead.  The press would have a
                   field day if they found out the police
                   didn't seem too concerned about finding
                   them... giving them proper burial.

                                 MILLS
                   I'll do it.  I want to finish it.

     Somerset is thinking it through.  He looks at Mills.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (to captain)
                   Well... let's get the fucking lawyer out
                   of the room, and we can talk about how
                   this whole thing's going to go down.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, BATHROOM -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Mills' hand reaches to the sink to pick up a razor.  He's
     shirtless, his chest covered in shaving cream.  He starts
     shaving in front of a mirror.  Somerset is behind him, smoking.

                                 SOMERSET
                   If John Doe's head splits open, and a
                   U.F.O. flies out, I want you to have
                   expected it.

                                 MILLS
                   I will.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No emotion.  Stay as cold as ice.

                                 MILLS
                   I will.

     Somerset flicks ash in the sink.  Mills finishes shaving.  He
     steps away from the sink and wipes his chest off with a towel.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                           (very serious)
                   Listen, Somerset... we've been through a
                   lot together.  And, I uh...

                                 SOMERSET
                   What is it?

                                 MILLS
                   I would like to make sweet love to you.

     Somerset walks away.  Mills laughs.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Please...

     As they leave.

                                 MILLS
                   Give me a kiss on the lips.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Give me a break.


     INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, READY ROOM -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Mills has his shirt off.  A female technician, Josie, tapes a
     radio transmitter and microphone to his chest.

     Somerset sits nearby at one of the ready room desks.  He wears a
     bullet-proof vest, is just finishing a check of his gun.  He's
     putting the bullets back into it.

     Josie finishes prepping Mills.  Mills presses the adhesive,
     making sure it will hold.  He puts on a shirt and bullet-proof
     vest, fastens the velcro.

     Somerset stands, puts the gun in his hip holster.

     Mills picks up his own gun, checks it, holsters it.  He watches
     Somerset take out a roll of antacids.  Somerset pops a few.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Ready?

                                 MILLS
                   Extremely.

     They look at each other.  Mills holds out his hand.  They shake
     on it.


     INT.  CITY STREET, IN FRONT OF PRECINCT HOUSE -- LATE AFTERNOON

     The street is full of shadows as the sun is falling low.  On the
     steps of the precinct house, a throng of reporters shifts
     anxiously.  A line of policemen holds them back.  The precinct
     doors open.  Martin Talbot arrives, escorted by cops.  The
     press swarm lurches forward, flashbulbs explode.

     Talbot holds out his hands, quieting them, about to speak.

     EXT.  CITY STREET, AT BACK OF PRECINCT HOUSE -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Mills' car pulls out of the fenced parking lot.  John Doe is
     seated in the rear.

     The car speeds up on the street, turns onto an avenue, heading
     into a canyon formed by tall buildings.  At the corner, a car is
     parked.

     Somerset is at the wheel.  He pulls out, follows Mills' car.

     EXT.  SKYSCRAPER ROOFTOP -- LATE AFTERNOON

     California is dressed in full battle gear.  He looks through
     binoculars at the city below.  The wind blows hard.

     He turns and runs to a sleek helicopter on the roof's heli-pad,
     climbs in the side door.  The PILOT leans back from the cockpit
     to hand him a helmet.  California dons it, starts strapping
     himself in so he can lean out the open door.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Is this wind going to hurt us?

     The pilot cranks the helicopter's whining engine and the blades
     start to spin, churning the air.

                                 PILOT
                   Just makes the ride a little more fun.

     California hefts a high-powered automatic rifle as the chopper
     lifts from the pad and takes off.

     INT.  MILLS' CAR -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Mills drives, looking to the back seat through the rearview
     mirror.  A steel mesh partition separates front from back.

     John Doe sits with his hands cuffed.  He is dressed in gray
     pants and a gray shirt.  His feet are cuffed to a metal fastener
     on the floor of the car.  Rivulets of sweat pour down his face.
     He seems wired.

                                 MILLS
                   What's your story, Johnny?  Who are you,
                   really?

     Doe pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, looks at
     Mills' eyes in the rearview mirror.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   It doesn't matter who I am.  Who I am
                   means absolutely nothing.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Somerset adjusts the volume on a radio receiver mounted on the
     dash.  He watches the road ahead, tailing Mills.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   What's your deal?  You seem pretty
                   fucking nervous.

                                 JOHN DOE (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   I want this to go well.  It's very
                   important to me, obviously.

     INT.  POLICE HELICOPTER -- LATE AFTERNOON

     The chopper hovers amongst skyscrapers.  California and the
     pilot are listening, through their helmet headsets.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   You want this to go well?  What is this?

                                 JOHN DOE (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   Turn right on this street.  Stay in the
                   left lane.

     California leans out the chopper door, using his binoculars.

     EXT.  CITY STREET -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Mills' car weaves through traffic.

     Somerset's car isn't far behind, goes through a red light,
     barely missing a truck.  Other cars blow their horns.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- LATE AFTERNOON

     A cellular phone on the passenger side is BEEPING.  Somerset
     pushes a button on the phone's panel.  He puts on a
     headset/telephone, speaks into the mouthpiece.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I'm here.

                                 CALIFORNIA (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   Downtown and moving west.  Looks like
                   you're going to be crossing water.

                                 SOMERSET
                   If we're on the bridge, you keep your
                   distance.  You hear me?

     INT.  POLICE HELICOPTER -- LATE AFTERNOON

     The helicopter hovers steady.  California stows his binoculars.

                                 SOMERSET (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   Cross the river before us if necessary.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   You got it.

     California taps the pilot's helmet.

     EXT.  CITY SKY -- LATE AFTERNOON

     The helicopter dips, flying like a bullet over the city skyline,
     heading towards the river and the setting sun.

     EXT.  CITY STREETS -- LATE AFTERNOON

     FROM HIGH ABOVE, we see traffic on the highway at the polluted
     river's edge.  Cards and trucks move like blood through veins.

     DOWN CLOSER, we can see Mills' car in the flow.  The car turns
     into a lane of traffic on its way to the huge suspension bridge.

     Somerset's car is in close pursuit.

     UNDER THE BRIDGE, the police helicopter travels close to the
     water, moving parallel to the bridge, but low, so that it's out
     of the sightline of the vehicles above.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Traffic is bumper to bumper.  Somerset moves his headset
     mouthpiece to smoke a cigarette.  He steers onto the bridge,
     under the massive girders.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   For us to go pick up two more dead
                   bodies, and have that be the end of
                   it... just seems too boring for you.

     INT.  MILLS' CAR -- LATE AFTERNOON

     Beyond the crest of the bridge, the sunset is crimson.

                                 MILLS
                   Wouldn't be sensational enough.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Wanting people to pay attention, you
                   can't just tap them on the shoulder.

     John Doe strains to turn, looks out the back window.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   Sometimes you have to hit them in the
                   head with a sledgehammer... and then you
                   get their strict attention.

                                 MILLS
                   What are you looking at, Johnny?

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Looking back... at the city proper...

     Doe situates forward, holds his hands in front of his face,
     looking at his bandaged fingers.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   And yet, no pillar of salt.
                           (smiles to himself)
                   Lost on you, isn't it?  You've never
                   read the Bible, have you, David?

                                 MILLS
                   I remember a lot of people reading it at
                   me when I was a kid.  I preferred the
                   classic comic version myself.

     This is an affront to Doe, angers him.  Mills sees it, likes it.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   I used to have "Godspell" on an eight-
                   track tape.  Does that count?

     Doe leans forwards, fury building in him.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   You make me sick.

                                 MILLS
                   Sit back, freak.

     Mills slams his fist against the partition.  Doe sits back.

                                 JOHN DOE
                           (under his breath)
                   Ignorant heathen.

                                 MILLS
                   Right, right.  I forgot.  You think
                   these murders were for God.  Right?
                           (pause)
                   I'm asking you seriously.  You really
                   think what you did was God's good work?

     Doe looks out the window at other cars, refuses to answer.

     He's pressing the tips of his forefingers into his thumbs,
     causing blood to drip from under the bandages.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   The Lord works in mysterious ways.


     EXT.  CITY STREETS, INDUSTRIAL AREA -- NIGHT

     It's getting dark.  We've been in this section of factories
     before, with John Doe.  The police helicopter soars overhead.

     INT.  POLICE HELICOPTER -- NIGHT

     California's looking down, wearing night-vision goggles.

     INSERT -- CALIFORNIA'S P.O.V. -- THROUGH GOGGLES

     The goggles allow California to see clearly into the maze formed
     by buildings, yards and worksheds below.  No one in sight.

                                 CALIFORNIA (O.S.)
                   Fuck, man... there's about a thousand
                   places to be ambushed out here.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     The headlights are off.  Mills' car's red brake lights are far
     ahead on this industrial road.

                                 CALIFORNIA (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   I don't see anything... not yet.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (in mouthpiece)
                   A quick sweep is all we get.  Clear out
                   now.  You're right in front of us.

     Somerset reaches to turn up the volume on his radio receiver.
     Mills is HEARD SINGING "Jesus Christ Superstar," loud.  Somerset
     allows a very faint smile.

     INT.  MILLS' CAR -- NIGHT

     Mills drives along, singing.

                                 MILLS
                   Jesus Christ, Superstar... who in the
                   world do you think you are?  Jesus
                   Christ, Superstar...

     Doe's in the back seat, trying to bear it, steaming.

     EXT.  INDUSTRIAL SKIES -- NIGHT

     The chopper goes high, away, over the industrial area.

     It moves to the other side of the factories and settles in low
     over the river.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Mills' tune comes to a conclusion.  Somerset slows the car as he
     sees Mills' brake lights go on ahead.

                                 JOHN DOE (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   We can walk from here.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (in mouthpiece)
                   You stay out of this unless I call you
                   in, California.  Understand?

                                 CALIFORNIA (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   You're in charge.

     Somerset takes off the headset/phone, stops the car.

     EXT.  INDUSTRIAL ROAD, AT SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset gets out.  He looks through binoculars.

     INSERT -- SOMERSET'S P.O.V. -- THROUGH BINOCULARS

     Mills' car has stopped under the lights of a junk-yard.  Mills
     gets out.  He walks to unlock the passenger door.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   Alright, Somerset.  Going for a stroll.

     AT MILLS' CAR

     Mills opens the passenger door.  Doe looks out.

                                 MILLS
                   Lean on your side.  Hands behind your
                   head and lock your fingers together.

     Doe obliges.  Mills moves to unchain Doe's feet, cautious.

     INSERT -- SOMERSET'S P.O.V. -- THROUGH BINOCULARS

     Mills lets Doe out.  Doe does a deep knee bend to loosen his
     legs.  Mills takes out his gun.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   Where are we going?

     Doe points with handcuffed hands, at a path through the junk-
     yard, towards warehouses.  Mills motions with his gun.

                                 MILLS (V.O.,CONT)
                           (from receiver)
                   Lead the way.

     Doe starts walking.  Mills follows, keeping the gun on Doe.  We
     lose sight of them behind the junk-yard's massive pieces.

     AT SOMERSET'S CAR

     Somerset lowers his binoculars.  He gets back in the car, leaves
     the lights off, drives slowly towards Mills' car.

     EXT.  INDUSTRIAL AREA, JUNK-YARD -- NIGHT

     Mills follows Doe past rusting collections of machines.  We took
     this walk with Doe before, through this metallic bone-yard.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   It's right this way.

     Mills is on edge.  His eyes search the towering, twisted junk.
     Sharp edges reach for the sky.  Glass breaks under their feet.

                                 MILLS
                   So far, so good.

     SOUNDS of BOATS on the river can be HEARD.  Doe's heading for
     the alleyway created by two warehouses beyond the junk-yard.

     Doe nears the alleyway.  It is pitch dark.  Doe stops before
     entering, turns to Mills.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   In here.

     Mills steps up, keeping his distance from Doe.  He can't see a
     thing in the blackness ahead.

                                 MILLS
                   You go first.

     Doe faces the alley.  He starts walking.  We MOVE with him as he
     goes.  He's counting silently to himself, moving his lips.

     Mills walks behind Doe, keeping a sharp eye out in all
     directions.  He's about ten feet behind Doe, keeping his gun
     trained on the back of Doe's skull.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   Tell me where we're going.

     Doe continues walking, counting his steps, a bit quicker.

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset has pulled along Mills' car, at the junk-yard.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   Slow down, Johnny.  Stop right there.
                           (pause)
                   I said stop!

     EXT.  WAREHOUSE ALLEYWAY -- NIGHT

     Doe walks on.  Mills is behind, walking to close the gap.  We
     can HEAR the faint SOUND of RUSHING WATER.

                                 MILLS
                   I'll blow your head off right now!

     Doe stops abruptly.  He spins on his heels, facing Mills.

     Mills is getting closer, pumped, ready to pull the trigger.

     Doe reaches up with his hands, takes off his glasses.  He holds
     them in one hand.  The SOUND of the WATER is LOUDER.

     Mills is about six feet from Doe, and knows something's wrong.

     John Doe smiles.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   What...

     Doe takes one step backwards and falls, straight down,
     disappears in the blink of an eye.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   No!

     INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset looks towards the far off alleyway, horrified.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   Motherfucker!  No!

     INT.  WAREHOUSE ALLEYWAY -- NIGHT

     Mills stands facing the open manhole cover Doe disappeared into.

     A torrent of water rushes by underground.  Mills fires a few
     futile shots into the water, out of his mind with rage.  He
     pulls back the top of his bullet-proof vest, exposing the
     microphone.

                                 MILLS
                   He's gone, Somerset!  He's in the water!

     EXT.  INDUSTRIAL ROAD, SOMERSET'S CAR -- NIGHT

     Somerset leaps out, takes out his gun.  FOLLOW as he runs into
     the junk-yard as fast as he can.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from receiver)
                   I'm going in!

     INT.  POLICE HELICOPTER -- NIGHT

     The chopper's over the river.  California listens intently.

                                 MILLS (V.O.)
                           (from headset)
                   I have to go in after him!

     STATIC CRACKLES LOUD in his headset, then it GOES DEAD.
     California grips his mouthpiece.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Somerset, what's going on down there?!

     INT.  UNDERGROUND WATERWAY -- NIGHT

     An underground pipe-way.  Mills tries to swim, is mostly carried
     in the flow.  He's battered against the sides of the pipe,
     holding his breath desperately.

     EXT.  INDUSTRIAL JUNK-YARD -- NIGHT

     FOLLOW Somerset as he charges onwards through the junk-yard,
     stumbling over pieces of metal.  He runs towards the alleyway.

     INT.  UNDERGROUND WATERWORKS -- NIGHT

     WATER ROARS.  A square pool of water churns.  A moment, then
     Mills rises, gasping, choking.  He's disoriented, furious,
     waving his gun, expecting Doe to be right on top of him.

     No one around.  Mills looks.  This is some sort of unmanned
     water switching station.  the walls are covered in catwalks,
     drainage pipes and tunnels.  Some tunnels and pipes spew water
     down into the central pool, others are sealed shut.

     Mills pulls himself from the central pool to a concrete
     spillway.  He stands up, searching.  Doe could be anywhere.

                                 MILLS
                   Come on, Johnny!  I'm right here!

     INT.  UNDERGROUND WATERWORKS TUNNEL -- NIGHT

     There is a plastic bag with an automatic pistol and extra clip
     inside hanging from a protruding shut-off valve.  John Doe's
     hands tear the bag open, taking the contents.

     EXT.  WAREHOUSE ALLEYWAY -- NIGHT

     Somerset enters the alley, short of breath.  He points his gun
     in front of him, fearful.  Moving slowly.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Mills!

     INT.  POLICE HELICOPTER -- NIGHT

     California is enraged, looks towards the pilot.

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   God damn it!  Let's do something!

                                 PILOT
                   Somerset said wait!

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   Fuck that!  Let's go!

                                 PILOT
                   Where?

                                 CALIFORNIA
                   I don't know!  Just go!

     INT.  UNDERGROUND WATERWORKS -- NIGHT

     Mills climbs onto a catwalk.  He passes tunnels, looking down
     each, intense, ready to kill.  A waterfall flows and over the
     other end of the catwalk.

     Mills stands, looking over the railing at the central pool and
     other tunnels.  He points his gun and fires into a far tunnel.

                                 MILLS
                   Come on!  Let's do it!  You and me!

     A figure appears in the center of the waterfall behind Mills.

                                 MILLS (CONT)
                   I'm not going to let you win this!

     John Doe steps out of the waterfall, putting on his glasses.

     He seems calm, unloads his gun into Mills' back... BLAM, BLAM...

     Mills twists, blown forward by the bullets slamming into his
     bullet-proof vest.  BLAM, BLAM, BLAM... he stumbles, trying to
     turn and fire back, but bullets strike him down and he falls to
     the floor of the catwalk, gun falling from his hand.

     CLICK.  Doe's gun is empty.  The gunshots echo.  Mills lays
     there on his stomach, pounded, blacking out, the hot bullets in
     his vest smoking and sizzling from the water splashing them.

     Doe moves quickly, starts searching Mills' pockets.

     EXT.  WAREHOUSE ALLEYWAY -- NIGHT

     Somerset comes upon the open manhole.  Water rushes by.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Christ.

     INT.  UNDERGROUND WATERWORKS -- NIGHT

     The central pool bubbles, undulating.  Somerset surfaces,
     inhaling, bringing his gun up.  He looks.  No one in sight.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Mills!  Pull out!

     His voice reverberates, barely heard against the roaring water.
     he swims to the edge, climbs out.  He walks, looking...

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                           (pleading)
                   Pull out now!

     Somerset looks up, and freezes up on seeing --

     -- Doe's handcuffs hang, swinging, on the rail of the catwalk
     above, with Mills' radio transmitter and wire tied to them.


     EXT.  INDUSTRIAL JUNK-YARD -- NIGHT

     Somerset runs to his car, driven, gasping for breath, still
     soaking wet.  He stops for one second, looks.

     Not too far away, the police helicopter flies low to the ground,
     turning in wide circles.

     Somerset climbs into the car, starts it up.  He drives away,
     leaving his lights off.  The engine protests loudly, forced to
     its limit.  The car disappears in darkness.

     The police helicopter circles, useless.


     EXT.  ABANDONED CHURCH/ORPHANAGE -- NIGHT

     The church stands elegant at night, when its decayed state is
     partially hidden.  Small shafts of light escape from holes in
     the facade and just into the blackness.

     Somerset is out of his car.  He strides towards the church,
     checks his gun as he goes.  FOLLOW with him, getting closer to
     the church.  He climbs the stairs.

     Somerset steps up and kicks the church doors open, met by a
     tremendous blast of light --

     INT.  ABANDONED CHURCH -- NIGHT

     Flickering orange light from hundreds of once tall orange
     candles, now burnt low.  They greet Somerset, in the church's
     old candle racks, on the floor, on the altar and all through out
     the pews.

     Somerset's eyes try to adjust to the light.  He holds his gun
     ready, walks down the long center aisle.

                                 JOHN DOE (O.S.)
                   Hello, Somerset.

     Doe sounds far, his voice echoing from the front of the church.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Where's David?

                                 JOHN DOE (O.S.)
                   He's here.  With me.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Tell me what you want.

     Somerset can see through the heat warp.  Doe stands facing him
     from the altar.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   What do I want?  The same you... I want
                   an ending.  Stay where you are.  Put
                   your gun on the floor and slide it all
                   the way down here.

     Somerset obeys, bends, slides the gun down the aisle till it
     hits the bottom altar stair.  He keeps walking, slowly.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I want to see him.  Show me Mills.

     On the altar, Doe is sweating hard, standing over Mills.  Mills
     is slumped forward on the floor, unconscious.  His bullet-proof
     vest has been removed.

     Mills' hands are tied tight together in front of him, tied to
     one end of the thick rope suspended from the ceiling.  Doe holds
     the other end of the rope, has his gun tucked under his belt.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   You're an intelligent man, Somerset.
                   You understand what you're a part of,
                   don't you?  When this is finished, it
                   will seem surreal, but it will be a
                   whole, crystalline reality.  And, no one
                   will be able to deny it, no matter how
                   hard they try.

     Doe's voice is thick with passion.  Somerset is about halfway
     down the aisle, still moving.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You're a murderer.  That's all.  The
                   only way you've distinguished yourself
                   is by your particular brutality.

     Doe walks across the altar.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   You know that's not true.  You know.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You're killing innocent people, and I
                   should admire you?  You're doing it
                   because it gives you pleasure.  That's
                   the only purpose... your sick pleasure.

     Doe picks up a container of gasoline, looks out at Somerset.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Stay where you are!

     Somerset stops.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   I won't deny my personal desires.  I
                   won't.

     Doe begins dousing Mills with gasoline, covering Mills' body and
     clothing.  Mills stirs, coming to.  He coughs, choking on the
     gas and fumes.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   But, I don't mourn the victims in this
                   any more than I mourn the thousands who
                   died in Sodom and Gomorrah.

     Somerset looks fearful.  He starts approaching again.

                                 SOMERSET
                   All you've done is cause more misery and
                   pain!  You've given people all the more
                   reason to believe there is no God!

     Somerset eyes his gun at the bottom of the stairs.

     Doe sees Somerset moving, throws the gas can away, takes out his
     gun.  Doe walks to the edge of the altar, all the time holding
     his end of the rope.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Stop!

     Somerset is twitching with anger, looking at the gun about
     fifteen feet in front of him.

     Mills manages to look up, weak, his eyes barely able to open
     because of the stinging gasoline.

                                 MILLS
                   Somerset?

     Doe takes one step down off the altar.  Somerset is still edging
     forward, hands out away from his body.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Do you really think I'm just going to
                   let this happen?!  You think I'm going
                   to let him die?

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Yes.

     Doe fires his gun and the bullet slams into the front of
     Somerset's bullet-proof vest.  Somerset flies back, knocking
     over a rack of candles on his way to the floor.

     Doe walks quickly back onto the altar.

                                 MILLS
                   Motherfucker!

     Mills tries to grab at Doe as he passes, but Doe turns and kicks
     Mills in the ribs.  Mills cringes in pain.

     Somerset lays in the aisle, on his stomach, gasping.  He can't
     catch his breath, his twisted face pressed against the floor.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   How can you speak of God, Somerset?
                   When was the last time you spoke His
                   name?

     Mills tries to rub the gas out of his eyes with his bound hands.

     His mind works feverishly.  He looks around to see where he is,
     then he searches the floor.  We can see, inside his open shirt,
     the bleeding, upside-down cross Doe has cut into his chest.

     Doe walks back to shout angrily down at Somerset.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   When did you last speak His name?  Was
                   it in prayer?  Or, did you say the
                   Lord's name after you stubbed your big
                   toe?  Or, did you use His name to curse
                   another man?

     Somerset holds his chest, blinking, trying not to black out.

     Mills finds a piece of broken stained glass on the floor.  He
     picks it up, palms it, still choking on gasoline.

     Doe walks over to the statue of Saint Jerome Emiliani, pulling
     the rope from above so it goes taut and Mills' arms raise above
     his head.  Doe wraps the rope around Emiliani's arm.

                                 MILLS
                   I'm going to kill you, Johnny.  I'm
                   going to see you dead.

     Doe begins twisting the loose end of the rope around the statue.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   The irony, David, is that you policemen
                   and I want the same things.  But, you
                   are so short sighted.  In this city,
                   where you can see a deadly sin on every
                   street corner... and in every home, we
                   want repentance.

     Mills clutches the glass piece and starts cutting the rope just
     above his hands.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   We want good over evil.  We want values
                   instilled in the children.  We want a
                   world where a man or woman can lead a
                   decent life.
                           (pause)
                   Wisdom, understanding, counsel,
                   fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of
                   the Lord.  Such simple concepts.  Why
                   are they non-existent?

     Somerset manages to life his head, struggles to his knees.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (weakly)
                   Let him go, God damn you.

     Doe checks to make sure the rope around Saint Emiliani is secure,
     tightening the knots.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   There were two men once, who had
                   wonderful gardens.  Two gardens of
                   flowers that went on as far as the eye
                   could see.  Beautiful gardens... the
                   fragrance was inspiration in itself.

     Doe stands behind Emiliani, heaves against the statue.

     Mills watches, gritting his teeth, rubbing the glass against the
     rope, fingers bleeding.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   But, both gardens were beset by
                   problems.  Weeds started to take root,
                   and there were infestations of insects
                   and diseases.  The gardens started to
                   turn putrid.  And, one man fought to
                   save his garden, because he could never
                   forget how it once was.  Everyday he cut
                   the weeds, and killed the insects.
                   Fought the diseases.

     Doe finally topples the statue, down the altar stairs, and the
     other end of the rope pulls Mills upwards, screaming in pain.
     Mills is held, about eight feet in the air, legs dangling.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   That man never had a beautiful garden
                   again.

                                 MILLS
                   Fuck you!

                                 JOHN DOE
                   The other man plowed his garden under.
                           (pause)
                   He plowed it under the soil.  He started
                   over.

     Somerset gets to his feet, steadying himself on a pew.

     Doe walks across the altar, picks up a long metal pole with a
     thick wick and candle snuffer on the end.  He lights the wick
     from a near candle.  The flame burns long and thin.  He looks
     down at Somerset, takes out his gun.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   Stay there, Somerset.  Or, I'll kill him
                   right now.

     Doe holds the flaming pole up, near Mills.

     Somerset stops.  He looks up at Mills.

     Mills is straining.  He nods to Somerset, and Somerset sees
     Mills cutting at the rope.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Alright... you don't have to do this,
                   John.  You've already made your point.

                                 JOHN DOE
                   Do you think I chose this?  Can you even
                   begin to understand how painful my
                   existence has been?  It's like... like
                   having every sense heightened beyond
                   comprehension.

     Doe lowers the flame, standing below and beside Mills, with his
     attention focused on Somerset.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   So that the stench of the street coats
                   your throat like bile.  So, sugar is so
                   sweet it... it makes your bones ache to
                   the marrow.

                                 SOMERSET
                   You're insane.  That's why.

                                 JOHN DOE
                           (seething)
                   No!  You're wrong!

     Mills continues cutting, bleeding, almost through the rope.  He
     begins to swing his feet slightly, his body swaying.

                                 JOHN DOE (CONT)
                   I was chosen.  And I've wished a
                   thousand times I could have been a
                   normal man.  Like David Mills, a common
                   man... with a common life.  But, wishing
                   that is my sin.  I can't have it and I
                   shouldn't.

     Doe steps towards Mills.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Don't do this!

                                 JOHN DOE
                   I meant what I said.  I admire David
                   Mills.  I envy David Mills.
                           (pause)
                   Envy is my sin.

                                 SOMERSET
                   No!

     Just as Doe is to put the flame to Mills, the rope is finally
     cut through.  Mills drops, swinging his legs forward, smashing
     Doe in the face, knocking Doe's glasses off.

     Mills hits the floor with a thud.

     Somerset runs forward.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   David, get out!

     Doe has fallen back, dropping the metal pole.  Mills scrambles
     to his feet and charges at Doe, shouting.

     Doe squints, screaming, raises his gun.  Fires twice!

     The bullets catch Mills in mid-run, and carry him off his feet,
     backwards.

     Somerset grips his own gun, just as Mills' body falls, tumbles
     off the altar area and down the stairs in front of him.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   No!

     Somerset lets out a scream of pain and rage that chokes in his
     throat.  He falls to his knees and halts Mills' body.

     Somerset's shaking, unable to breathe, turning Mills over and
     cradling his head in his arms.  Tears come to his eyes.

                                SOMERSET (CONT)
                   David... David?  Please...

     On the altar, Doe throws his gun away.  he starts feeling around
     him, unsteady, looking for his glasses.

     Mills' eyes are closed.  He is still, bloody.  He swallows.

     With one gasp, without a word, he is dead.

     Somerset looks up at Doe, vision blurred by rage and tears.

     Doe stands, putting on his glasses, faces Somerset.

     Somerset lays Mills' body down.  Stands, walks up towards the
     altar, raises his gun.

                                 SOMERSET (CONT)
                   You.

     Doe stands, quaking, teeth clenched, fists balled up.  He waits
     for the bullets, falls to his knees.

     The gun trembles in Somerset's hand as Somerset brings the
     barrel to Doe's face.  A millisecond's pause.  Somerset changes
     the angle of fire.  BLAM, he blows John Doe's arm to pieces in a
     splattering explosion.

     Doe screams, falling back, on the altar floor.

     VIEWED FROM FAR BACK IN THE CHURCH

     The entire church with its candles frames the torture:

     Somerset walks to where Doe flops horribly, bleeding.  Somerset
     aims, shoots Doe in the leg.  Doe screams, rolling, trying to
     crawl away, knocking over candle racks.  Somerset follows.  He
     shoots Doe's other leg.  He shoots Doe in the other arm.  Flames
     begin to rise and spread quickly amongst the pews.  Doe
     continues to spasm, wrenching, hand slapping the bloody floor.
     BLAM, BLAM, BLAM.  Somerset steps back from Doe, overturns a
     rack of candles on top of him.  He steps away.  Watching.
     Flames begin rising on Doe's clothing.

     CLOSE ON JOHN DOE'S FACE

     Doe's face, covered in blood, twisted in agony, helpless, flames
     rising.  He continues screaming.

     His glasses crack from the heat.


     EXT.  ABANDONED CHURCH/ORPHANAGE -- NIGHT

     Smoke billows from the windows.  The fire is moving quickly,
     ravenous.  It's just starting to light up the night.

     From the front door, Somerset walks weeping, carrying Mills'
     body in his arms.

     INT.  ABANDONED CHURCH -- NIGHT

     The seven deadly sin tableau burns.

     Flames cause the paint to bubble and blacken.  Gluttony, greed
     and sloth are already halfway gone.

     Flames eat at pride, lust.

     Wrath and envy are being consumed.  Wrath goes last.  A man with
     bloodied hands, in tones of blue.  Flames devour it.


     EXT.  CEMETERY -- DAY

     A field of blue.  Cops in orderly rows.  The funeral of David
     Mills.  Many police officials and politicians stand in tribute.

     Somerset is here, in his dress blue uniform.  He stares forward,
     still numb, beaten.  Rifles are raised by a corps of riflemen.
     Blanks explode from the barrels.  They reload in unison.

     Somerset looks towards the grace where Mills' casket lies under
     an American flag.  Tracy is there.

     Tracy stands surrounded by strangers at the grave-site.  Her
     head is lowered.  She cries.  Each blast of the rifle salute
     causes her to react with a start.

     EXT.  CEMETERY -- LATER DAY

     The funeral is over.  Somerset stands at the edge of the
     graveyard, looking at the distant city.  Behind him, the
     mourners are still filing out to their cars.

     The captain approaches.  He comes to stand beside Somerset,
     similarly solemn.

                                 CAPTAIN
                   I don't know if I should do this.
                           (pause)
                   We found the motel room Doe must have
                   been staying in after you found his
                   apartment.

     Somerset hasn't acknowledged the captain, still looking away.

                                 CAPTAIN (CONT)
                   Anyway... we found this in his
                   belongings.

     The captain takes out a sealed envelope.  Somerset takes it.

     On the envelope: DETECTIVE SOMERSET, handwritten, in red marker.


     EXT.  MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING -- DAY

     Tracy and Somerset stand near a moving truck in front of the
     apartment building.  MOVERS carry Tracy's belongings to the
     truck.  Mills' car is attached to be towed behind.

                                 SOMERSET
                   I wish I could say something...
                           (pause)
                   Something to... I don't know...

                                 TRACY
                   I'll be okay.

     Somerset nods.

                                 SOMERSET
                   We'll keep in touch.  I'll come visit.

                                 TRACY
                   I'll write to you when we get there.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Take care of yourself.
                           (pause)
                   Take care of the baby.

     Tracy nods.  There's nothing left for them to say.  They're both
     empty.  It's time for them to give a gesture, a kiss, or a hug,
     to say goodbye, but neither makes the first move.

                                 MOVER
                   That's all, Mrs. Mills.  We got
                   everything.

     Movers latch up the back of the truck while the driver climbs
     in and fires up the engine.

                                 SOMERSET
                   Goodbye, Tracy.

                                 TRACY
                   Goodbye, Somerset.

     Somerset walks away.  Tracy walks away, gets in the passenger
     side of the moving truck.


     EXT.  CITY STREET -- LATER DAY

     Sidewalks jammed with people, hurrying.  Somerset walks in a
     fog, hands in his pockets.  He stops at a corner, but does not
     cross.  He stands there, looks up.

     At the city around him.  The buildings towering over him.

     At the cars, buses and taxies racing in the streets, blowing
     their horns and spouting soot.

     Somerset reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out the envelope
     from John Doe.  He studies it in his hand.

                                 SOMERSET
                           (to himself)
                   Oh... man...

     He opens it.  He takes out a small note, handwritten.  It reads:

                                          PLOW THEM UNDER.

     Somerset looks up again, mortified, fighting to keep control of
     his emotions.  He looks around:

     At the miserable people, walking past him.

     At a man at the top of the subway station stairs, sitting in a
     cardboard box, holding out a cup, rattling the change inside.

     A father passes by, holding his young son's hand.  Somerset
     turns to watch them as they pass.  The gather reaches to pick
     the boy up and carry him.  The boy holds tight.

     For some reason, this makes Somerset ache with sorrow.

     The father hugs his son to him, kisses him on the cheek.  The
     boy returns the kiss, with great affection.

     Somerset watches them disappear in the mass of humanity.  He
     looks back at the note in his hand.

     He tears the note up, into little pieces.


     INT.  MOVING TRUCK -- DAY

     The truck moves along in steady traffic.  Tracy sits beside the
     driver.  She looks out at the city across the river.

     She reaches into her pocket, takes out a small manila envelope.
     She opens the envelope and slides two keys on a keychain out
     into her palm.

     She's looking at the keys when she notices something about the
     envelope.  She reopens it, takes out a small folded piece of
     paper.  She unfolds it:

     It is the piece of wallpaper with the pale rose at its center.

     She smiles very faintly.


     EXT.  PRECINCT HOUSE -- EARLY EVENING

     Cars roll by in the street.  Cops come and go.

     Somerset walks up the stairs into the precinct house.

     END




   

Se7en



Writers :   Andrew Kevin Walker
Genres :   Drama  Mystery  Thriller


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