"SE7EN" (1995)

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

- Ernest Hemingway For Whom the Bell Tolls 1940

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.

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.

Birds sing. Somerset stands, pondering the forested landscape.

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.

Somerset still seems distant.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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 pauses, switches his beer bottle to his other hand.

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

The second thug starts the long way round the car.

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.

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.

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.

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, looks through a notepad.

It was nothing new or unusual. But, then they heard the gun go off. Boom, boom... both barrels.

Taylor shifts his weight, impatient, annoyed.

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

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

Somerset lights his cigarette, looks to Mills.

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.

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

Mills formulates his response.

Somerset stops and faces Mills.

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.

13 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 13

MONDAY

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.

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.

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.

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 steps in, heads Mills off.

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

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

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:

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.

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.

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

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.

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 opens the refrigerator. It's nearly empty.

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

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.

He looks at Somerset under the table.

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.

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

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

Mills continues searching the garbage.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

Mills walks, climbs out of the ring.

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

Mills exits. Somerset spits out the broken cigarette.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

She looks back to the heads of lettuce.

Mills nods, his back to Tracy.

Tracy looks again to the strange man.

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

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

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.

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

24 TRACY'S P.O.V. -- THE STREET 24

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.

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

26 TRACY'S P.O.V. -- THE STREET 26

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

30 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 30

TUESDAY

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.

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.

Look at the size of that, because of the foods.

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

Somerset walks around the slab, looking the body over.

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.

Somerset stands straight, realizes something about the bruises.

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

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

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

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

Somerset gets down, holds the jar against the linoleum.

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

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.

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:

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Somerset shakes his head "no."

There's something about them... these murders mean something.

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

The captain considers this.

The captain looks at Somerset, then at Mills.

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

38 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 38

WEDNESDAY

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

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.

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.

Somerset reclines, looks at the captain.

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

The captain lays the paperwork down in two neat stacks.

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.

The workman is startled, continues his work.

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

Two female forensics are at work.

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.

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:

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.

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.

He walks on. We BEGIN to HEAR JAZZ MUSIC.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mills is hanging on every word.

Mills looks back at the television.

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.

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 yanks a painting wrapped in dusty paper, climbs down.

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.

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.

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.

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

He laughs. Somerset holds up the delicately rendered portrait.

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

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

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

William smiles like a dolt, laughs a little.

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.

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

William narrows his eyes. Does not know.

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

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

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.

William goes to continue pulling other books.

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

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.

John tries to ignore, traffic blocking his escape.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Tracy leads Somerset into the disarray of the apartment.

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

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.

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

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

Tracy nods, leaning forward, semi-conspiratorially.

Somerset pauses, enchanted by her.

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

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.

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

Tracy tilts her head, looking at Somerset.

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

Tracy stands, takes the chair back to the kitchenette.

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

55 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 55

THURSDAY

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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 greed(x) 6 pride sloth 7 lust envy

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

Mills picks up. Somerset returns to his work.

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

Somerset looks quizzical. Mills shrugs. Somerset takes it.

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

Mills looks at the phone, lost.

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.

Somerset adjusts his napkin on his lap, thinking.

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

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

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.

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 laughs, lamely.

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

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

NIGHT

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

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

Somerset shrugs.

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

Mills laughs. Burps. he turns to Tracy.

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.

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.

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

Mills opens a door to the roof --

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.

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

Mills takes the book and looks it over.

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.

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.

64 AT THE BACK OF THE CAR 64

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Somerset thinks. He walks from the edge to Mills.

Somerset thinks, coming up with something.

Somerset holds up the photo of Mrs. Gold.

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

Mrs. Gold sobs quietly, wipes her tears.

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

Somerset thinks. He walks from the edge to Mills.

Somerset thinks, coming up with something.

Somerset holds up the photo of Mrs. Gold.

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

Mrs. Gold sobs quietly, wipes her tears.

Mills looks at Somerset. Somerset holds other photos.

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

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

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

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.

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 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.

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.

Somerset pushes the painting away, stands, frustrated.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

The forensic bites his lip, still studying.

Mills and Somerset watch the forensic who works offscreen.

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.

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

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 takes out a cigarette and lights it.

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

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

77 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 77

FRIDAY

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

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.

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.

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

The cops laugh. The captain clenches his jaw.

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

Somerset wants no part of that.

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.

Somerset pulls out his gun, checks the load.

Mills turns a corner, tires screeching.

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

Somerset eats another antacid.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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 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.

Somerset pushes past the cops who recoil from the stench.

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

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.

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.

Somerset takes out rubber gloves and puts them on.

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.

Somerset places his finger along Zero's throat.

Mills studies the polaroids. Somerset walks to join him.

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

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

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

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

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...

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.

Mills and Somerset look towards the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mills pushes Somerset's hand off.

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.

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

John squirms, holds up a laminated PRESS identification pass.

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

Somerset steps down and pulls Mills back. John stands.

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

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

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.

Mills looks into the oxygen.

Mills winces, moves away from the bed.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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 steps away and Somerset gets closer to the pages.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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 continues walking.

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

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

The nun is too close for Bleeker to speak freely.

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.

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

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 takes his hand away, seems to be getting angry.

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

Stone bites his lip, moaning, disoriented.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Father Bleeker finds this talk insulting and offensive.

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.

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.

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

Somerset takes the computer list.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

Mills peels away. Somerset heads to his own car.

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.

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.

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.

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 is disappointed, runs his finger further down the page.

Mills points to the drawing of "the Sun in splendor with the eye" which hangs on the wall.

Mills looks at the page... searching...

Mills sits back, angry. Something strikes Somerset as odd. Familiar. He starts leafing quickly through the orphanage list.

Somerset finds what he's looking for.

EVENING

Somerset and Mills climb stairs, turn a corner into this hall.

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 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.

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 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.

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.

They look at each other for a long time. Both realizing they came very close to dying.

Police cars on scene. Curious civilians have gathered.

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.

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.

BOOM -- door flies open. Mills enters with Somerset. Darkness.

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 --

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.

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.

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.

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 enters, tormented, weary. He stands in the projector's bright beam, holds an 8" by 10" print.

He hands a press pass and the photo to Somerset.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The refrigerator door is open. A male forensic uses tongs to remove Zero's severed hand from behind soda cans and mayonnaise.

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.

Mills stands over the artist. Sarah, Billy and two deputy detectives are at work in the room, photographing, searching.

Somerset reads one of Doe's notebooks. Three cops are looking through other notebooks from the shelves. Mills enters.

Somerset bristles slightly at Mills' abrupt demeanor.

Somerset looks at the notebook, reads.

Mills walks. He looks into the adjoining paint room.

Mills leans in the doorway, looking at Doe's strange artworks.

The PHONE RINGS in the other room.

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.

Long pause. Mills waits.

John Doe hangs up.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Tracy brightens a bit upon recognizing him.

Tracy looks up and around.

Somerset notices Tracy noticing his gun.

Tracy laughs. She looks at her watch.

She starts down the aisle and Somerset walks with her.

Tracy considers this as they enter an open area.

Tracy stops. Somerset looks hopeful. Tracy is very tempted.

Shelves and empty aisles of books. CLASSICAL MUSIC still PLAYS.

MOVE TO the aisle marked MYSTERY, where Somerset and Tracy are leaning against shelves. They both hold books they've selected.

A CLERK looks down the aisle, then walks on.

They make their way out of the aisle. Somerset chuckles.

Somerset's car stops at the corner of Mills' street.

Somerset puts the car in park. Tracy sits for a long time, then turns to face Somerset.

Tracy can't quite figure how to put it.

Tracy wants to laugh, like it's silly, but can't pull it off.

Several last vestiges of civilization.

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.

Behind the wheel, John Doe is slumped low, calmly watching Somerset and Tracy. He can see them clearly from here.

Tracy looks out through the windshield, fighting tears.

Somerset gives her a handkerchief. She wipes her tears.

She will not look at him, keeping herself under control.

Tracy is able to muster a small smile.

Tracy leans to give him a kiss on the cheek.

They remain close, looking into each other's eyes.

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.

Tracy's face is flushed. She is confused.

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.

131 INSERT -- THROUGH REARVIEW MIRROR -- SOMERSET'S P.O.V. 131

Tracy walks down the block, straightening her hair. She runs.

Somerset looks away from the mirror. he holds his head in his hands for a moment.

Somerset leans to pull the door shut, puts the car in gear. He drives, turns the corner.

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.

Doe gets out of his car.

He looks both ways down the street, walks towards Mills' and Tracy's building.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 goes to sit beside her. He puts his hand on her shoulder.

Tracy nods. She stands, goes to start turning down the covers.

Mills feels useless, powerless. He goes to the suitcase and starts unpacking the contents. Tracy continues turning down the sheets.

142 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 142

SATURDAY

The chalkboard: 1 gluttony (x) 5 lust greed (x) 6 envy sloth (x) 7 wrath 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 looks at Somerset, who doesn't seem to be listening.

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.

Somerset puts the photo down, leans back, takes out a cigarette.

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.

Long pause.

Pause. Realization. Somerset and Mills look at each other.

Mills picks up the phone.

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?

Somerset's holding up the composite sketch of John Doe.

Mills and Somerset are across the sales counter from WILD BILL, 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.

Wild Bill pulls a box from behind the counter, digs in it.

Wild Bill gives a polaroid to Mills. We don't see the image.

A BEEL CHIMES as a POLICEMAN enters the store.

Mills and Somerset follow the policeman out.

They're gone. Wild Bill scratches his scar.

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.

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.

All the lights and walls are red. Mills and Somerset follow a COP through the twisting corridors. ROCK MUSIC THROBS. They reach a door.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The man slides off the chair and hides his face in his hands.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mills drinks deep, pours more.

Somerset sits back, looking at Mills.

You think you're toughening me up? Well, you're not! (pause) You're quitting, fine... but I'm staying to fight.

Mills stands.

Mills digs out some money and throws it on the table.

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.

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.

Mills his face against her, holding tighter still.

Tracy holds his face in her hands, sees that he is crying.

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.

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.

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.

157 INSERT -- TITLE CARD 157

SUNDAY

Somerset sits away from the bed. He's smoking a cigarette. The PHONE RINGS. Somerset gets up, not in the best of moods.

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.

Tracy shakes her head. Somerset sighs. Long silence.

Somerset takes out his cigarettes, but thinks better of it and puts them away. He watches Tracy stir her coffee.

Tears come to Somerset's eyes.

Tracy reaches to hold Somerset's hand, but he withdraws it, wipes his tears away.

Tracy looks around the cafe, tears in her eyes.

Somerset stands. He forces a smile.

Somerset steps away, leaves. Tracy watches him go.

Mills and Somerset walk towards the precinct house. They wade through cars to cross the street.

Mills remains impassive.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Somerset comes back down the stairs.

Cops move slowly in on Doe from all sides.

John Doe gets on his knees, hands up. Mills moves close, but not too. ONE COP comes from behind, nudges Doe with his foot.

John Doe gets on his stomach, obeys. Mills comes right up to Doe, steps on his neck, puts his gun against Doe's head.

Cops frisk and handcuff Doe. Somerset comes beside Mills.

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.

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.

For a long time, he's been cutting before the papillary lines can grow back.

Somerset stands looking in at Doe.

Somerset looks at them. Says nothing.

The captain leaves. Mills is furious.

Mills is at the desk with his feet up, stares at the chalkboard:

gluttony (x) 5 lust (x) greed (x) 6 wrath sloth (x) 7 envy 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.

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 wipes his brow with a handkerchief.

Mills walks up into Swarr's face.

Mills eases off. Talbot is agitated, tapping a finger on the gold tooth in his mouth. He looks at Swarr.

Talbot stands, wringing his hands. Mills and Somerset are looking at each other, thinking it over.

Talbot looks at Swarr with hatred.

Somerset turns to Talbot.

Somerset is thinking it through. He looks at Mills.

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 flicks ash in the sink. Mills finishes shaving. He steps away from the sink and wipes his chest off with a towel.

Somerset walks away. Mills laughs.

As they leave.

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.

They look at each other. Mills holds out his hand. They shake on it.

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.

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.

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.

The pilot cranks the helicopter's whining engine and the blades start to spin, churning the air.

California hefts a high-powered automatic rifle as the chopper lifts from the pad and takes off.

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.

Doe pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, looks at Mills' eyes in the rearview mirror.

Somerset adjusts the volume on a radio receiver mounted on the dash. He watches the road ahead, tailing Mills.

The chopper hovers amongst skyscrapers. California and the pilot are listening, through their helmet headsets.

California leans out the chopper door, using his binoculars.

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.

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.

The helicopter hovers steady. California stows his binoculars.

California taps the pilot's helmet.

The helicopter dips, flying like a bullet over the city skyline, heading towards the river and the setting sun.

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.

Traffic is bumper to bumper. Somerset moves his headset mouthpiece to smoke a cigarette. He steers onto the bridge, under the massive girders.

Beyond the crest of the bridge, the sunset is crimson.

John Doe strains to turn, looks out the back window.

Doe situates forward, holds his hands in front of his face, looking at his bandaged fingers.

This is an affront to Doe, angers him. Mills sees it, likes it.

Doe leans forwards, fury building in him.

Mills slams his fist against the partition. Doe sits back.

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.

It's getting dark. We've been in this section of factories before, with John Doe. The police helicopter soars overhead.

California's looking down, wearing night-vision goggles.

182 INSERT -- CALIFORNIA'S P.O.V. -- THROUGH GOGGLES 182

The goggles allow California to see clearly into the maze formed by buildings, yards and worksheds below. No one in sight.

The headlights are off. Mills' car's red brake lights are far ahead on this industrial road.

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.

Mills drives along, singing.

Doe's in the back seat, trying to bear it, steaming.

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.

Mills' tune comes to a conclusion. Somerset slows the car as he sees Mills' brake lights go on ahead.

Somerset takes off the headset/phone, stops the car.

Somerset gets out. He looks through binoculars.

188 INSERT -- SOMERSET'S P.O.V. -- THROUGH BINOCULARS 188

Mills' car has stopped under the lights of a junk-yard. Mills gets out. He walks to unlock the passenger door.

189 AT MILLS' CAR 189

Mills opens the passenger door. Doe looks out.

Doe obliges. Mills moves to unchain Doe's feet, cautious.

190 INSERT -- SOMERSET'S P.O.V. -- THROUGH BINOCULARS 190

Mills lets Doe out. Doe does a deep knee bend to loosen his legs. Mills takes out his gun.

Doe points with handcuffed hands, at a path through the junk- yard, towards warehouses. Mills motions with his gun.

Doe starts walking. Mills follows, keeping the gun on Doe. We lose sight of them behind the junk-yard's massive pieces.

191 AT SOMERSET'S CAR 191

Somerset lowers his binoculars. He gets back in the car, leaves the lights off, drives slowly towards Mills' car.

Mills follows Doe past rusting collections of machines. We took this walk with Doe before, through this metallic bone- yard.

Mills is on edge. His eyes search the towering, twisted junk. Sharp edges reach for the sky. Glass breaks under their feet.

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.

Mills steps up, keeping his distance from Doe. He can't see a thing in the blackness ahead.

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.

Doe continues walking, counting his steps, a bit quicker.

Somerset has pulled along Mills' car, at the junk-yard.

Doe walks on. Mills is behind, walking to close the gap. We can HEAR the faint SOUND of RUSHING WATER.

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.

Doe takes one step backwards and falls, straight down, disappears in the blink of an eye.

Somerset looks towards the far off alleyway, horrified.

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.

Somerset leaps out, takes out his gun. FOLLOW as he runs into the junk-yard as fast as he can.

The chopper's over the river. California listens intently.

STATIC CRACKLES LOUD in his headset, then it GOES DEAD. California grips his mouthpiece.

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.

FOLLOW Somerset as he charges onwards through the junk-yard, stumbling over pieces of metal. He runs towards the alleyway.

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.

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.

Somerset enters the alley, short of breath. He points his gun in front of him, fearful. Moving slowly.

California is enraged, looks towards the pilot.

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.

A figure appears in the center of the waterfall behind Mills.

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.

Somerset comes upon the open manhole. Water rushes by.

The central pool bubbles, undulating. Somerset surfaces, inhaling, bringing his gun up. He looks. No one in sight.

His voice reverberates, barely heard against the roaring water. he swims to the edge, climbs out. He walks, looking...

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.

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.

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 --

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.

Doe sounds far, his voice echoing from the front of the church.

Somerset can see through the heat warp. Doe stands facing him from the altar.

Somerset obeys, bends, slides the gun down the aisle till it hits the bottom altar stair. He keeps walking, slowly.

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.

Doe's voice is thick with passion. Somerset is about halfway down the aisle, still moving.

Doe walks across the altar.

Doe picks up a container of gasoline, looks out at Somerset.

Somerset stops.

Doe begins dousing Mills with gasoline, covering Mills' body and clothing. Mills stirs, coming to. He coughs, choking on the gas and fumes.

Somerset looks fearful. He starts approaching again.

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.

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.

Doe takes one step down off the altar. Somerset is still edging forward, hands out away from his body.

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 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.

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.

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.

Doe begins twisting the loose end of the rope around the statue.

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.

Somerset manages to life his head, struggles to his knees.

Doe checks to make sure the rope around Saint Emiliani is secure, tightening the knots.

Doe stands behind Emiliani, heaves against the statue.

Mills watches, gritting his teeth, rubbing the glass against the rope, fingers bleeding.

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.

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.

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.

Doe lowers the flame, standing below and beside Mills, with his attention focused on Somerset.

Mills continues cutting, bleeding, almost through the rope. He begins to swing his feet slightly, his body swaying.

Doe steps towards Mills.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

211 VIEWED FROM FAR BACK IN THE CHURCH 211

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.

212 CLOSE ON JOHN DOE'S FACE 212

Doe's face, covered in blood, twisted in agony, helpless, flames rising. He continues screaming.

His glasses crack from the heat.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Somerset hasn't acknowledged the captain, still looking away.

The captain takes out a sealed envelope. Somerset takes it.

On the envelope: DETECTIVE SOMERSET, handwritten, in red marker.

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 nods.

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.

Movers latch up the back of the truck while the driver climbs in and fires up the engine.

Somerset walks away. Tracy walks away, gets in the passenger side of the moving truck.

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.

He opens it. He takes out a small note, handwritten. It reads:

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.

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.

Cars roll by in the street. Cops come and go.

Somerset walks up the stairs into the precinct house.

END