"SECRET WINDOW" (2004)

A guy's tortured face.

MORT RAINEY sits in the driver's seat of his car, knuckles white on the wheel. Frozen. His face is wet with tears.

He wipes his cheeks in irritation, puts the car in gear and steps on the gas, pulling out of the parking lot he's been parked in. We roll with him, still staring at his face as he hauls around a corner and out onto the road, into a mid-winter snow storm, middle of the night.

Suddenly he CURSES, double-foots the brakes, stops abruptly in the middle of the road, sits there for a moment --

-- and puts the car in reverse. He backs right back into the parking lot, back to the very spot he was before, where he comes to a stop. He gets out, leaving the door hanging open, the car BINGING at him about the keys, the lights, you're doing everything wrong.

He walks across the parking lot and now we see where he is, it's a strip motel, the kind where you park your car in front of your room, a twelve-cabins-twelve-vacancies kind of place. Big red letters say "MOTEL," beneath that, in neon, "Irv's Lakesider."

We stay where we are and watch from outside as he walks straight into’the office. The door JINGLES, we see through the window as he walks behind the unattended front counter, takes takes

something off the wall, turns and walks back out, holding a key.

Just as he leaves, a MANAGER in a tee shirt comes out from the back room, looking around to see what happened.

Mort is already outside again, SLAMMING the door to his car and throwing it back into gear. He guns the engine and takes off down the long row of cabins, toward a certain cabin at the far end. A cabin that has two cars parked nearby.

Mort hits the brakes, skids right up onto the sidewalk, jumps out, and goes straight to the door. He slides the key into the lock, turns the handle and shoves the door open, hard.

The door BANGS off the cheap drywall, and as the car's

headlights burn into the room we get a look at the instrufhent of Mort's torture.

“=

2. 06/05/2003 (pink) CONTINUED: ~ ; “= 8 2

We can't be sure, of course, but it's a pretty good bet it's the. NAKED COUPLE asleep in the twisted, love-stained sheets. Well, any were at now they're awake and all hell breaks taiaeais

They' re horrified, " shocked and. caught and humiliated.

There's so much noise and jumping around there's no point writing down the dialogue, because we can't make out more than a word or two of it anyway. But all the words have been shouted before verbatim, and by the way Mort is yelling at the Naked Woman and the Naked Man is screaming at Mort to calm down we can

‘tell who got fucked over and who did the fucking.

And now the Motel Manager arrives and jumps into the mix, SHOUTING and waving just like the others. God what a mess.

It's sweaty and ugly and painful, so we pull back the way wa came, out the door of the room, back into the snow-driven parking lot, leaving them to themselves.

The door SLAMS shut in our faces. aa

Into some rooms you should never look. t cur To:

We fly over a lake in the woods, toward a house at its edge. It's a nice little cabin, maybe a hundred years old, remodeled once or twice but seen better days now.

Winter's over, it's a beautiful early summer day and the windows are open. We pass low over the ground, over a rotting flower garden -- looks like it used to be nice, but whoever was in charge has neglected it lately.

Above it, halfway up the side of the house, there's an odd window. Drifting toward it, we see that it seems to split the top and bottom floors, as if somebody remodeled and forgot to do anything about the window. It's ajar, so we drift inside through it.

4a

3. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

We come through the window and emerge in a loft that's been turned into an office, its walls lined with books and: bound periodicals. The odd window is right at floor level, so we glide across the floor. There's a beat up old leather chair near the desk and a small dog asleep in it -- CHICO, a friendly old mutt with a graying muzzle. The desk is piled high with crap, this guy's not a filer. There's an old laptop computer on the desk, some words on the screen, we nose close enough to read them.

Four days after George had confirmed to his own satisfaction that his wife was cheating on him, he confronted her. "I have to talk to you, Abby," he said. "I

The cursor blinks accusingly at the tail of that unfinished thought, the rest of the screen is blank. We drift over the railing of the loft and find a mirror over the fireplace. Moving into (and through) the mirror --

-- we see Mort asleep on the couch below. He's put on about six years in the past six months, and the overlong midday nap he's buried in doesn't help. Yeah, there's dried drool. A legend:

Six Months Later

A KNOCK on the front door gets no response from Mort but it draws our attention. Approaching the door, we see a DARK FIGURE move to the window next to the door. The drapes are drawn so we just see a silhouette as the figure tries to peer through the window. Then it moves back to the door.

Another knock, louder now. And then, surprisingly, the doorknob turns a few times, stopped by the lock. This guy wants in. A third knock, really a pounding, is abruptly cut off as Mort

_ jerks the door open, revealing the man on the porch.

JOHN SHOOTER looks about forty-five, very thin, a calm face, almost serene, but carved with deep lines. He wears a blue work shirt, buttoned all the way to the razor-reddened flesh of his neck. Jeans (cuffed), yellow work shoes. But it's the hat that catches your attention. It's a big black one, a round crown planted squarely on his head, sort of like the kind Quakers wore.

Mort stands there, still waking up, only halfway imto the real world. Shooter speaks first.

4. 06/19/2003 (yellow)

' Mort blinks. Huh?

Mort opens his mouth, finds nothing to say, and closes it again.

He holds out his hand, and it's got something in it. Mort flinches, but it's only a stack of paper. A manuscript.

MORT a I can assure you-

(MORE)

5. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

| ~ ,f0me grievance you feel you have, you could call my literary agent in-

SHOOTER | This is between you and me.

Chico the dog limps into the doorway, wagging his tail * enthusiastically. ,

Chico makes arthritic attempts to befriend Shooter. *

Chico does. ; *

ee

He holds out the manuscript. Mort's reflexes make him reach for it, but he pulls his hand back.

. SHOOTER Won't do you any good to play games with me, Mr. Rainey. This has got to be settled.

He steps back inside and closes the door.

B

6. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

Mort freezes right next to the door as soon as it's closed. He holds his breath ‘and waits for either the knock to come or footsteps to trail away. But he Hears neither. Shooter is just standing there. Silently, Mort bolts the door.

Chico sits by the door, staring up at Mort -- are we going out or staying in?

Finally, there is a soft THUMP, followed by work shoes on porch, then work. shoes on gravel. Mort goes to the window and touches the curtain aside.

Through the window, he sees Shooter crunching across the driveway toward his car, an old station wagon. From this angle, Mort can make out the license plate's state of issue -- Mississippi .

Shooter opens the door, gets behind the wheel, tosses his hat on the seat next to him. He starts the car, puts it in reverse, and backs all the way down the driveway, out to the road.

Mort sighs. That's over. But then a worrisome thought crosses his mind. He looks back at the door.

Shooter's manuscript sits on the front porch, a rock resting on top of the title page to keep it from blowing away. The edges of the pages flutter in the wind.

Mort stands on the front porch, barefoot, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, looking down at it. Hard to tell how long he's been standing like this, just staring at the thing.

He looks up the driveway, makes sure Shooter really is gone. He squats down next to the manuscript, wants to get a closer look but doesn't want to touch it. He picks up the rock, tosses it into the bushes.

The title page blows off the stack, blown by the breeze, and Mort catches it. He turns it around and reads it.

. Sowing Season - by John Shooter

Mort breathes a little sigh of relief.

He scoops up the rest of the manuscript --

9A

Te 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

“= and — it out in the kitchen trash can.

Never heard of your story. He washes his hands in the sink, as if to scrub it off himself --

-- and flops back down on the couch.

He rolls over and resumes his nap. Chico curls up next to the couch and resumes his nap too. cur To:

From out on the lake, we look at the cabin. Dark clouds hover above and a soft summer rain is falling.

Mort stares blankly out the window. He's at his desk, in front of the computer. Next day, maybe? A clock TICKS on the desk in front of him. It's 10:26. Somewhere downstairs, a VACUUM CLEANER drones.

Those TICKS are too damn loud. Mort looks up at the clock. . Still 10:26. He turns and looks at Chico, who is asleep in the leather chair next to the desk, apparently his writing spot.

Chico lifts his head sleepily, looks at Mort. Are we writing?

Chico puts his head back down. Mort looks back at the computer screen. Still that same unfinished sentence.

"I have to talk to you, Abby," he said. "I

Mort looks back up at the clock. Hey, whaddya know, it's 10:27. Time flies.

8. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: 10

Downstairs, the vacuum cleaner shuts off.

Struck by inspiration, Mort highlights the mini-paragraph he has written. . . “= Tee i .

’

And deletes it. Now the whole screen is blank. He looks back at Chico.

Chico sighs-:

In the kitchen, Mort takes a can of Coke out of the fridge and

-knocks it shut with his hip. He notices a stack of paper on the

counter and bends over, not recognizing it. It's spotted with orange juice and a few coffee grounds, but the title page is still clear:

Sowing Season by John Shooter

How'd it do that? He threw it out. In the background, MRS. GARVEY, fiftyish, a cleaning lady, drags an old canister vacuum down the stairs to a crash-landing on the living room floor, visible through the open door.

She wears a smiley face pendant around her neck and treats Mort with the overly kind, somewhat irritating concern one gives a victim of a terminal disease. . MRS. GARVEY

I found one of your stories in the

trash, Mr. Rainey. I thought you might

want it, so I put it on the counter.

Curious, he turns over the title page and picks up the manuscript. As he reads the first few sentences, we creep closer to his face and hear his inner voice:

on,

9. 06/19/2003 (yellow) CONTINUED : . il

Mort's brow furrows. His voice reads on.

; -MORT (V.O.) (CONT'D)

. He therefore decided to kill ‘her. -He- would do it in the deep corner formed where the house and barn came together at an extreme angle.

A look approaching panic crosses Mort's face.

Mort's arm twitches out away from him, almost involuntarily ~--

-- and he slams the manuscript back down on the counter, just to. get it away from him, knocking over his can of Coke in the process.

Mrs. Garvey comes in a hurry, surveys the situation, sees that it's just spilled Coke, and grabs a towel.

He moves out of the way, and the first thing she does is pick up the manuscript and put it back in his hands. Mort looks down at the fucking thing in irritation, can't get away from it. Now it's stained with Coke too.

a1

“y ear

11a

CONTINUED :

10. . 06/19/2003 (yellow)

(2) : ‘ 11 _ (moving to the .sink) 'Scuse. ’ . MORT It's not mine. MRS. GARVEY Oh. TI thought it was. MORT No, it says John Shooter. Right here.

See?

He holds up the title page and she favors it with a polite, slightly confused glance.

Somebody else wrote this story.

She bends down to clean up the soda on the floor.

Mort looks at the story, still in his hands. He's afraid of it.

A chair BANGS down on the floor of the living room, next to the book case wall. Mort stands on it and stretches as high as he

x *

can reach. ¥ CLOSE ON the spine of a book on a top shelf -- "Everybody Drops * the Dime," the author's last name is Rainey. A hand grabs it. *

The book THUNKS down on the desk, turns toward us. Full * author's name on the front cover ~~ Morton Rainey. Plus the

word "Stories."

12a

— ain, 06/19/2003 (yellow) CONTINUED : . , 12

Mort's finger skims the table of contents. About a dozen stories here; The finger stops at one called "Secret Window."

“ Pages riffle by, stop at the first ‘page of "Secret Window."

Mort stares down at the page, doesn't bother to sit. Two push- ins now, one toward the page, one toward Mort's face as he reads it. Again, his inner voice:

Mort sags into the chair, still reading.

MORT (cont’d)

Shit...

(inner voice again) He even knew the place’ he would do it, the exact place;

(aloud) the little patch of garden

(inner voice) she kept in the extreme angle formed where the old and new parts of the house came together. The garden she loved more than she loved him.

Mort looks up, to the other side of the loft, at that funny little window, the one down at floor level. As Mort looks --

-- AMY RAINEY, mid-thirties, the female half of the naked couple from the opening, dissolves into place. She's curled up on the floor of the empty loft, they must have just moved in. She's looking out that odd little window.

rad

12A

12B

12. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: . ‘ 12A

She pulls her knees up to her chest, stares happily out the window.

Back in the present, Amy dissolves away, leaving the floor bare again. Mort shakes off the memory and sits forward. He SLAPS Shooter's story down on the desk on his left, the book next to it on his right. .

He reads. Compares sentences.

Pages flip, middle of the story now. Things are moving faster, jumpy .

More pages, near the end, Mort's face is sweaty, he's grinding his teeth.

Last page, shit, this got worse and worse, he shoves them both away from him and sits back, breathing hard. He stares for a moment, shocked still --

-- and then snaps out of it and starts searching the desk, almost frantic. Doors rip open, are rifled and slammed shut, papers overturned, swept aside. Dig, dig, dig, past junk mail, paper clips, cancelled checks, old Doritos. Finally, lifting up a thick, heavily marked manuscript, he unearths the mother lode.

A sun-faded, nearly flattened old pack of L&M's. “Mort lets goa happy GASP, picks them up and pokes them open.

Three cigarettes are lined up neatly inside, only a little squashed.

BR match flares, touches the tip, Mort sucks hard and the tobacco CRACKLES with age.

Mort sits back in the chair, exhales a cloud around his head.

A thought is right there in the front of his brain. He turns and looks at Chico, gives the thought breath.

,

ea

12B

13. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: 12B

Chico just stares back: .

What?

Mort looks up, startled. Mrs. Garvey is at the top of the stairs, jacket on, purse in hand. Mort darts the cigarette hand down below the desk so she doesn't see.

He looks back down, hoping she'll leave, but she stays there for a moment. She SNIFFS the air lightly, then looks at him with big sad eyes. She SIGHS and he looks back up.

Some women don't know a good thing when they got it. Some women don't know . they got the whole world when it's right in front of their nose. There, that's it, not another word from me. Would you like me to make you something to eat?

She sniffs once more, shakes her head sympathetically, and leaves.

12B

14a

oe 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: (2) SO , 12B

Immediately, Mort brings the cigarette back up and takes another deep drag. He. looks down at the two stories on his desk. Back over’ at Chico, who is staring at him accusingly.

- ‘ MORT I didn't steal it. ‘

Downstairs, we hear the front door SLAM shut.

Mort THUNDERS down the stairs a little too fast, dizzy from the smoke, bringing the whirling cigarette haze down the stairs with him. He starts for the kitchen, spots the couch --

~- and swerves in mid-stride right toward it. He barks his shin on the coffee table on the way, CURSES under his breath, strips his bulky wristwatch off his wrist, dumps it on the table and collapses onto the couch, into it, almost, as if its gravity is three times that of the rest of the planet. It pulls him right down into its deepest recesses, his face buries in pillow.

Chico harumphs to the floor in front of the fireplace, always game for a nap. Mort catches eyes with him.

He rolls over, staring at the ceiling. His eyes roll back into his head as sleep sucks him in. A clock TICKS on the fireplace mantel.

IN THE BLACK, 14

the clock continues to tick, like a bomb ac I down, Louder, and louder. Light fades up and we're --

-- still staring up at the ceiling, but it's in black and white now. Faintly, POUNDING is heard. We sit up and look at the front door. The POUNDING grows louder. Light streams around the corners of the door. We draw toward it, the POUNDING is louder still, the door is bending on its hinges, brilliant white light streaming hard to get inside. We move toward the front door. Our hand reaches down and opens it.

Shooter is on the front porch, facing away from us. He turns toward us, but we can't see his face. He's wearing a swath of some kind of gray fabric over his head, his entire head is wrapped in it.

+e ee HH

14a

14a. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED : ; : 14A

The clock continues to TICK, like a bomb ticking down, louder

and louder. Then as suddenly as everything went black it flashes --

OMITTED "| ee "eRe eso

on,

ee 06/05/2003 (pink)

-~ white and loud, really loud, a ball ringing, Like a class bell, on and on and it won't stop. Mort's eyes pop open wide and he sucks in his breath and now he's bathed in sweat and panic and has no idaa where he is or how much time has passed, but the reason for the sweat and the bright is easy enough, it's the blinding midday sun, pulverizing his face through the big living room windows. The ringing stops.

Mort sits up, looks a wreck. The ring again, but this time a regular ring, a telephone. He answars.

t

Mort freezes, and that visible blanche combined with the woman! voice should tell us it's the ex.

16. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED : 16

. AMY (0.S.) “Are you all right?

O£ course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be all right?

Close on Amy's face. She's sitting at the table in her kitchen, a cordless phone pressed to her ear. She's tense, not an enjoyable call for her either.

An awkward pause. Mort wipes his forehead. Looks at his hand, it's dripping sweat. He softens his tone.

Further back from her now, seeing the whole kitchen. It's nice, this is an expensive house someplace. Amy's on the phone in the background. In the foreground, a few pictures hang on a wall. Weird spaces in the picture wall, some have been taken down recently and there hasn't been enough new living yet to £111 the spaces.

No answer. She gets up and walks toward us.

.19

17. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: 19

He picks his watch up off the coffee table and looks at it idly. It's one thirty.

Mort flips the watch over in his hand, looks at the back side. There's an engraving there -- "I Love You, Amy."

He hesitates. Well, something weird did happen, but she's kinda the last person he wants to tell about it. Still...

, MORT Do you remember "Secret Window?" Amy (0.S.) Huh? MORT

My story. The one where the woman has the garden and the guy-

AMY (0.S.)

I remember. Not one of my favorites. MORT

Good to know. AMY (0.S.)

Well, it was kinda hostile, don't you think?

S.

18. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

CONTINUED : sO 20 . MORT “Gee, I miss your constructive criticism. ~ ~ ; AMY (0/S.)

(this is headed south) What about the story?

On the second floor of Amy's house, she comes up the stairs toward us.

She comes into the bedroom and turns toward a mirror, checks out her makeup.

AMY

I don't know. Lemme see. You got weird on that one, wrote it mostly at night, I think. You'd thrash around and then get up and work on it till breakfast.

(pause) What do you mean “influenced?"

19, 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

Amy can tell something's up.

aMy °

Mort, you swore the one time was the only time. MORT (0.S.)

I don't know. Look, no, it didn't happen. Never mind, forget it.

Mort hesitates, something else on his mind.

Zing. Pause.

Amy (0.S.) What was that for, me saying I didn't like your story?

* But nobody hangs up. Mort chews his lip, doesn't want to ask

something, can't help it.

Hope crosses Mort's face and gives the game away -- he still wants her back.

et

‘24

CONTINUED :

20. °:. 06/19/2003 (yellow)

Well, I'd be lying if I said I was sorry to hear that.

Amy looks confused for a moment, then realizes the conclusion

Mort has drawn and winces.

Amy turns and looks out the window, to the driveway below.

Mort blinks. again.

Feels like an asshole, which makes him angry

On the sidewalk now, in front of Amy's house, a charming white house in Riverdale. She's visible in the upstairs window,

checking outside again.

Audi pulls up into the foreground.

The conversation continues as a black

21. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: . ‘ 27

A man gets out of the car. TED, the male half of the naked couple, gets out and heads toward the house, waving to the upstairs window.

Amy turns away from the window abruptly.

Mort hangs up hard without another word. He grabs at the air in intense frustration, why did I do that, why did I fuck it up like that, what is the matter with me.

He grabs a walking stick that's propped in a corner. Snatches a heavy shirt off a hook. And the front door SLAMS behind him.

In front of the fireplace, Chico lifts his head, mildly indignant. You can't go for a walk without me.

cur To:

Mort's walking stick plunges into the mud and SCHLOOPS out of it as he strides along the lake path, Mort strides along the lake path, trying to walk off the phone call.

He reaches a place where the path forks. He takes the right~ hand branch climbing a steep bank back up to the road. As he reaches the top, the sun comes out from behind a.cloud and his own long shadow appears in front of him, leading him forward, pointing the way --

-- toward the pair of dusty yellow work shoes at the top of the hill. John Shooter leans against his old Ford station wagon, arms folded across his chest, waiting, as if he knew all along Mort would arrive at this spot, at this time.

Mort doesn't allow himself to stop, but can't help a little hitch in his stride. He stops about six feet short of Shooter, opens his mouth to speak, but the other man speaks first.

Mort stares at him. His fingers tighten on the walking stick.

,

“I -thought you'd ask that.

on, MORT

all, sure... That's the whol i isn't: it? When two writers: show up . with the: same. story, it's all .abo the words’ first. “Wouldn't

: . L suppose L.woukd, 1 ok . .. Why ‘I’ came all: the way tpt her * es ey Aachen :

J 4 A car approaches; pa ‘Scout. Mort turns, waves ce)

: GREENLEAF, an elderly man in a flannel shirt.- “Te Shooter. raises: a-hand slightly, tips a. finger i in a practiced, © areal sort of ius Then tux Mort. : :

“Now wi at were @ we. saying?’

_MORT"

We. were trying to establish proveliande. That means-

; ’ SHOOTER I know what it means. I know I'iw wearing shitkicker. clothes, and driving a shitkicker car and I- come froma long _ Line of shitkickers but that doesn't * a tame ane eer ue *

‘MORT: ;

Let's “out past: the bulishit,° okay? ‘When. did you write the’ story, “Me nenpoen? :

{vy

7 oF

08/20/03. (cherryj

. 30 CONTINUED: (3 30

. publistied for the first timéin June of we de 1995, in 4 Hepeiti Wics: ond ut. T.

3 : go ens for youkeelt, wllery Queen's Mystery Magazine, June, 1995.

¢ ont/d) book Jacket,

Part of you does. Part of you-wants ">. Ju that Yo strike me as the: oa ha

_ Chico the dog sits.next to the table, looking at Mort, th Mort's food,-then at Mort; then at Mort's food. You ddné with

CONTINUED :

SHOOTER

Right is right and fair is fair... ‘the

He gets in the car and siams the door.

SHOOTER (cont! d).

The second thing is the’ real reason Ts ‘come. ‘

" MORT re And ‘what's, that?

. sf SHOOTER real” ‘

We'll get to it. © Meantime: yo' think

“about' what's fight and Wat's fair ‘an how: ae: onmnte end. .

“Okay. rs a es 2 * (pause) You do realize you're insane, ‘right?

SHOOTER : .You, didn't think mbapodir'd ev

‘datch'y agen ‘out, : “did -you?: i

Lunch. A-bowl of. soup and a can of peanuts.

‘kitchen~ faucet DRIPS. Mort's: Sitting at. the kitchen. tab arms’:

folded on) ‘at, staring down into the chicken noodle, unmi

that?

Mort turns wed, stares at the dripping faucet. Then hie: turns, licoks at the telephone. Be stares at it for a while, then looks back into his soup.

Sa

31 |

28. 0 07/28/03 (salmon)

CONTINUED : 31

{like a kid) , T don't wanna call’ her.

He looks up at the clock over the sink. 4:12.” Ha turns and laoks at Chico, who's staring up at him expectantly. Mort pushes his food aside and lays his head down on his amns on

top of the table. He stays there for a second or two, then sits up abruptly, newly energized.

Chico gets up and limps toward the door. Obviously not getting any food from this joker.

Chico reaches the side door, in the living room, and pushes through a doggie door at the bottem, headed outside.

He turns, sees the coffee table in the living room. And the * phone sitting on the edge of it.

Mort BANGS his palms on the kitchen table with determination.

In the living room, the phone BANGS down in the middle of the coffee table. Mort sits on tha couch, staring at it.

Looks to his right, to the pillow, which still holds the indentation where his head rested during his last nap. He leoke back at the phone and CLAPS his hands together purposefully.

Me veacdhes Tor the phone ~~

(32

28A, 07/20/03 (goldenrod) _ CONTINUED : . ' 32

-- and unplugs the cord. He lies back on the couch, settles the | pillows in their familiar positions, gets them exactly right, one light punch in the center for the dent --

-- and he lets his head fall slowly onto it as darkness creeps in around the corners of the screen, washing the whole thing --

33A

29. 2 06/19/2003 (yellow)

Nighttime in the cabin. Mort's eyes.are still closed and his. head is drifting, rolling, lolling off the couch, but as he and his body reach the edge, there's nothing underneath, no floor, just a sheer dropoff that gives way to a rocky path a hundred feet below. He loses his balance on the edge of the couch and falls, SCREAMING -~-

-- to the floor. Nice way to wake up.

He sits up, looks around, orienting himself. Night fell while he was asleep and he's in a darkened house. He climbs back onto the couch, turns on a light. Squints at his watch. 10:26.

He's slept for six hours.

He sits back on the couch, rolls his head. He's horribly stiff. He notices the phone in front of him, remembers the call he's | been avoiding.

He clears his throat.

Got a bit of a frog. He clears his throat again, can't quite get it. He gets up. :

Mort comes into the kitchen and goes to the sink, runs a glass of water from the leaky tap. Takes a drink. Clears his throat again.

That's better. He turns around from the sink --

-- and stops in his tracks. From this angle, he can see out the kitchen window, to the driveway. He's looking at the garbage cabinet, and there's something on it. Two somethings, actually, one white and one dark. The white one is fluttering, it seems to have been pinned to the house.

%

eee ee

33A

34A

29A. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

CONTINUED : - 33A

Distracted by this, he sets the water glass back down on the counter and leaves the kitchen. We stay and look at the glass. Almost half of it hangs off soca front of the counter. _It makes us nervous. e 2s

The front door opens and Mort starts to come out. He pauses, flicks a switch inside to turn on the outside light, but nothing happens. He flicks it again. He looks up.

The porch bulb is broken, right in half.

We stay where we are while he goes back inside and searches for something. He comes back, a flashlight in hand.

He walks across the porch, toward the screen door.

Mort's bare feet step out of the porch and down the steps to the driveway. He turns and looks to his left, where he saw the white something. It's pinned to the wall of the house, just above the garbage cabinet, fluttering in the night breeze.

He flicks on the flashlight and trains it on it. It's a white sheet of typing paper. A few words are printed on it in big, bold, easy to read strokes:

YOU HAVE THREE DAYS.

Mort lowers the flashlight beam, to the dark something just below the piece of paper.

It's Chico.

30. 07/20/03 {goldenrod)

Mort's dog is lying on its back, pinned to the top of the garbage cabinet with a screwdriver through its neck.

MORT” Oh God! Oh Jesus!

He whirls around suddenly, adrenaline pouring into his bloodstream. He steps on a piece of broken bottle and it cuts into his heel, he CRIES OUT and drops the flashlight. Its beams bounce crazily over the dead dog.

Mort SHOUTS into the darkness.

His head swivels, he looks six directions all at once.

No response. Mort stands there, hands curled into fists, ready for a fight, but the only one willing to engage him is a dog ‘ that BARKS in the distance.

He turns and looks back at Chico. He's alone, all alone, not * even a pet anymore.

He approaches the garbage cabinet, his stomach rolling over on him. Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead as he gets closer. Chico's head is cocked far to the left. His teeth are bared and * his tongue's hanging out. There's a little blood around the

blade of the screwdriver at the point where it was driven into

his ruff. .

: MORT (cont’d) Oh God, Chico... I'm so sorry you... * Oh, Chico. *

Mort crumples up the sheet of paper, stuffs it in his back

pocket, then puts his hand on Chico's chest. The body shifts ae slightly, still hanging on the screwdriver. Mort grimaces,

thinks he might peuk, but needs to finish this.

He closes his other hand around the screwdriver's chipped red handle and pulls it free. He tosses the screwdriver aside and flips open the top of the garbage cabinet. He gently places Chico's body inside, tears rolling down his cheeks. He * whispers.

)

36A

. 31, 06/19/2003 (yellow) CONTINUED: (2) 34A

“ He gently closes ‘the’ garbage cabinet lid and turns around, ‘*

peering out into the night. He's out there somewhere in the dark.

CLICK! The front door locks, deadbolt turns.

SLAM! Mort closes the bedroom window, turns the lock on top of it.

Another CLICK, two of 'em, this time the back door, both locks, and for good measure Mort slides a chair up under the knob. :

Two more windows, the roof access panel, and the housé is secured.

Tilting up from some smeared bloody footprints, Mort stands in the middle of the living room, still barefoot, breathing hard. What was once a refuge doesn't seem so anymore.

Mort is silhouetted against the dawn, digging in the dirt patch behind the house, the one where its old and new sections come together in an L.

He shovels earth back into a small grave. He finishes, tamps it down, and looks out at the lake, into the fiery sun.

He's sweaty and angry, but calm. He looks down at the shovel in his hands, hefts it. Shooter was right, Mort would clock somebody with a shovel if he got the chance, and that somebody is John Shooter.

A tiny town sits at the edge of the lake. We admire it for a moment, then whip to the left to find --

BIA, 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

36A CONTINUED: , a . 360

-- a POLICE STAR, on a car door.

. VOICE (0.S.)

The door slams and we tilt up to find DAVE NEWSOME, mid sixties, wearing jeans and a sheriff's shirt.

Mort stands next to him, he's apparently waited in front of the Sheriff's office.

He gives the note to Newsome, the one that was stuck into the cabinet next to Chico. Dave takes it and reads it as he heads into the office. He shakes his head and TSKS.

Mort follows him inside.

They' re inside the building now, in front of a plate glass window with a big badge painted on it, and the words TASHMORE LAKE SHERIFF'S OFFICE (backwards to us).

Newsome sits behind his desk and picks up what looks. like -- is that needlepoint?

_ Mort sits opposite him.

sae”

32. 05/26/2003 (blue)

CONTINUED :

He slides another piece of paper across the desk to Newsome, doesn't notice, what with the needlepoint and all.

who

33. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) 37 CONTINUED: (2) s 3 37

ae MORT 2 (shrugs) They pop up once in a while. Price of . ‘selling a.few books. .Anyway, here's: that description. on

DAVE NEWSOME

Killing a dog isn't like killing a man, of course. Not sure if it's even a crime, come to think.

Newsome stops his needlepoint and rubs his hands in pain.

DAVE NEWSOME: Needlepoint. Can you believe it? Doc says it's good for the arthritis. I must cut quite an intimidating law enforcement figure, huh?

MORT

Yeah.

Mort looks at him and --

t

Cur TO:

-- there's an unexpected cut, to the skyline of Manhattan. The camera zips over to a desk, we're in an office. KEN KARSCH sits behind the desk, big beefy guy, tattoos under a Brooks Brothers shirt, former NYPD twenty years and a couple million later. Brawn and business together.

Mort is sitting across from him.

a Wiss re a a a nas BT

n

34, . 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED : 38

_ KARSCH * “Kind of an amazing coincidence, don't you think? The stories being so much — alike. . Bn - : ; MORT Well, obviously, the guy copied it from me. Whose side are you on?

KARSCH * Yours. But I still need to know the truth. Which kind of situation is this, is he a regular wacko like you've had before, in which case I can help, or is this something you should be talking to your lawyer about?

Mort ignores the slight blush that rises in his cheeks, looks Ken in the eye.

Ken looks at him for a long moment, deciding whether or not to believe him.

KARSCH * Okay. What do you want me to do?

Karsch talks fast and squeezes a stress ball, the polar opposite * of Dave Newsome.

KARSCH , * He wasn't this crazy. That guy was just an obsessed reader who couldn't tell real life from the crap you make up for a living. No offense. He didn't have a beef like this one. When somebody thinks they've got a legitimate grievance it ups the stakes about a hundred times. This guy Shooter, did he threaten your life?

35. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) 38 CONTINUED: (2) . oS 38

Uh... I'm on a trail-the-tail right now but I think she's onto me, I was gonna hand it off anyway. Christ, I haven't slept in a week. I got a corporate loyalty thing I gotta be back for on Friday, but I could give you a couple days.

He pulls a note pad around and taps a discreet time clock on his desk. Tick tick tick, dollar dollar dollar. He picks up the description Mort has written out and begins to study it.

Mort looks away. Damn, another person I haven't told yet.

MORT

We split up about six months ago. KARSCH

Shit. I'm sorry.

: MORT

So am I. KARSCH

Amicable? MORT

Not at first. Better lately.

36. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

» 38 CONTINUED: (3)

Mort just stares at him levelly. Unamused.

For, the first time in a while, Mort smiles. Feels in good

hands.

At the-door, Mort turns back. MORT

Ken- That other guy, a couple years | ago. How'd you scare him off?

Al

37. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: (4) 38

KARSCH . . * (doesn't look up) . You don't wanna know.

MORT ~*

Come on, I might use it in a book some time. KARSCH *

(laughs, still doesn't look up) You don't wanna know.

Mort drives up the West Side Highway as the sun sets over the Hudson. He sees the exit for Riverdale, just north of the city. He takes a deep breath. Flexes his hands on the wheel as he steers the car off the highway.

The sky is darkening on a street in suburban Riverdale, Amy's neighborhood. Mort's car turns a corner and heads toward us.

Mort reaches out and flicks on the lights. The car creeps to a halt as Mort pulls into the driveway across the street from Amy's house. But Mort doesn't get out.

He sits there, staring. Changing to his point of view, we see what he's staring at -- a black Audi, parked in front of his house. Her house.

Mort stares at the car. Looks up to the house, sees a couple lights*on. One is downstairs, might be the living room. The other is upstairs. Could be the bedroom. A shadow passes behind the window shade in the bedroom. Then another shadow. There's two people up there.

Mort stares. The light in the bedroom window flicks out.

Al

41a

38. ; 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: . 41

Downstairs, one of the lights in the front of the house flicks off. Somebody opens the front door -- it's Ted, ready to leave. He turns, calls back to Amy.

Mort puts his hand on the gear shift, to get out of there. , But then he changes his mind, reaches out and flicks off the headlights instead. Hunkers down a bit in the seat.

Now the other light in the front of the house flicks off and Amy comes out with Ted. She's carrying a light bag over one shoulder.

Mort watches as Ted opens the passenger door for Amy and she gets into his car. Ted comés around to the other side, gets behind the wheel of his black Audi, and drives away with Mort's wife. : oe

Mort lets his head fall forward till it BANGS softly off the steering wheel.

Cur To:

Headlights light the way down the road to Mort's cabin at night. There's thick forest on either side. The lights reach a clearing, we see Mort's house, and another car parked there too.

SLAM! Mort parks in front of the cabin and gets out of his car. It's black-dark, but there's enough of a moon that he can see the other car, it's Ken Karsch's Town Car, waiting in front, just as he said it would be.

Mort walks over to it, feet CRUNCHING on the gravel. As he draws close, he sees Karsch's outline in the driver's seat.

He's upright, but not moving. In fact, he's slumped against the driver's side window.

' Mort misses a step; he's thinking what we're thinking.

He walks closer. Karsch's head is listing at an odd angle.

Mort raises a hand to knock on the window, he reaches out slowly, doesn't really want to know the result, Karsch is either going to turn and look up at him or he's not, and if he doesn't, the Shooter problem is a lot bigger than he thought. His hand draws closer to the window, closer, it's an inch away --

-- and Karsch sits bolt upright and whips his head toward Mort, caught in a catnap.

38A. . 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: 42

_. MORT KARSCH * JESUS! 2. ‘ CHRIST! They both recoil and laugh too hard, breathe deeply as they get over it. ‘ ‘

39. ; 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: (2) : oS , 42

. MORT - Seared the shit out of me...

Karsch gets out of the car, stretches. --A-little embarrassed..

Mort looks over at the house. Looks awfully dark and spooky from here. He looks back at Ken.

MORT © (reluctant) I'm sure it's fine.

. KARSCH Let's take one more look.

Mort stands in the middie of the living room, looking around. The front door hangs open, all the lights are on in the place.

Ken's VOICE comes from upstairs, a loft-like area that takes up half the house.

He comes out of a hallway and starts down the stairs.

“het

. 43

; 40. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: ; oO 43

KARSCH * Even in your toy chest. I'll be back in the morning, start asking around in town. Find out who else saw your nutyjob.

He reaches the bottom, takes his jacket off the banister.

MORT

Start by asking Tom Greenleaf, he lives in town. I was talking to Shooter yesterday on Lake Drive, about half a mile north of my place. Tom came by in his Scout. He waved at us when he went by, and both of us waved back. Tom must have gotten a good look at him.

- KARSCH Tom Greenleaf. How do I get a hold of him? MORT

Drop by Bowie's Store around nine, that's when he gets his coffee.

Got it. Don't worry. Once I find out where this Shooter's staying, I'll stop in for a little freak-me-out chat. Use the word we a lot. "We know what you're doing." "We want it to stop.” “We're watching you." Trust me, he'll hit the road so hard it'll hit back.

Some motel out by Route 9. Irv's Lakesider, I think it's called?

. AOA... _ 07/20/03 (goldenroed) 43 CONTINUED: (2) : 43

O£ course, Mort is familiar with that motel. He laughs without humor. - . “f MORE

Yeah. I know the place.

wale

Al

Al. ‘ 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

Karsch gets back in his car and SLAMS the door.

’

Mort closes the front door and hangs his car keys on a hook, old habit. Tosses his jacket over a chair. Alone now, he turns and looks into the cabin.

He walks further into the living room, under its cathedral ceiling, toward the window-wall facing the lake. He can't see

anything in the window except himself, the light from the lamp makes it a mirror.

He looks at himself for a moment, sees how scared he looks. He sees the reflection of the second floor --

-- and sees movement up there.

Or was it a bat flying past the window outside?

Mort spins around and looks up to the loft.

Karsch's engine ROARS to life, his headlights flick on.

Mort, standing in the middle of the living room, licks his lips, his mouth gone dry. He's staring up at the loft. Because of its shade, the lamp down here throws most of its light upwards, the vertical bars in the railing upstairs throw exaggerated shadows on the wall and ceiling, they look like bars of a jail cell.

Mort speaks; it comes out in a soft croak.

Tires spin on gravel as Karsch turns his car around and heads down the driveway.

Mort is still staring up at the loft.

os

49B

42. ; 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED ; 49

No response --. except for a soft SCRATCHING sound from up there.

Mort, turns quickly, sees Ken' s -headlights flash past his kitchen windows and disappear-up the driveway. Ken's gone. Mort's , alone.

He thinks -- am I being ridiculous? Maybe, but why take chances? He walks softly over to the fireplace, not sure why he's tiptoeing, but moving stealthily. He reaches out and gently lifts the ash-shovel from a rack of fireplace tools, considers it, then puts it down and takes the poker instead.

He turns toward the upstairs, brandishing the poker, but uncomfortable with it. He walks to the stairs.

And begins to climb them. Slowly. Deliberately.

He reaches the second floor landing and pauses, his heart pumping in his chest, trying to breathe silently. Nobody up here, it seems. He fumbles for his glasses on the upstairs desk, puts them on and squints through them. He turns to face the door to the guest bedroom. He pulls it open slowly with the poker and heads inside.

Mort steps into the guest room and fumbles for a Light switch. He stands stock still, poker held aloft, sweat running out of his hair and down his cheeks. On his left, he sees an open closet door, darkness visible inside. To his right, the bathroom door is also ajar, also leading to darkness.

He swallows, working up the nerve to open one of those doors, but which one, which one has the prize, or does either one, and he's just about to go back downstairs --

-- when he hears it again. Louder this time. A definite SCRATCHING sound from the bathroom.

His eyes widen. He turns his head ever so slightly toward it, takes about ten seconds to turn six inches.

The SCRATCHING comes again... then silence. MORT

(suddenly quite loud) I know you're in there, Shithead!

42a, — 07/20/03 (gdoidenrod) -A9B CONTINUED: oe ; A49B

Si

No answer. Mort wipes sweat off the back of his neck with his free hand. ‘ .

He takes a step forward. From his. new angle, he can just see: through the open bathroom door --

-- and he sees Shooter.

a,

Nssane

43. 05/26/2003 (blue) CONTINUED: (2) , : i 49B

Well, he sees a figure. Okay, it's impossible to say whether it's Shooter or not, but there's a silhouette in there, there's

_ somebody in there, and who the hell else would it be? The

figure is in the bathroom, just past the sink, pressed into the far corner, and he too is holding a weapon aloft, something long and hard in his hand, just waiting to clock Mort over the head with it.

But Mort has an advantage, Shooter apparently hasn't seen him.

No answer: No movement.

Mort looks back to the closet. Then back to the bathroom door. He sees Shooter still hiding in there, nearly the same position.

Mort thinks. Speaks calmly, but the shake in his voice betrays" MORT (cont! d) I know you're in the bedroom!

He takes a step toward the bedroom door, but his eyes are darting like crazy to the bathroom.

He takes another step toward the bedroom, now presenting his back to the bathroom door and nervous as hell about it. But the man has a plan.

Sweating profusely, he takes another step to the bedroom door, now fully in front of it, his back completely exposed to the half-open bathroom door.

He closes his fingers lightly around the bedroom doorknob.

49B

44. 05/26/2003 (biue)

CONTINUED: (3) 49B

' He- Lets go of the bedroom door-and suddenly launches himself.

backwards, SLAMMING into the bathroom door with everything he's x got.

IN THE BATHROOM, , 50

the door SLAMS into the wall hard enough to chop through the wallpaper and pop the door's lower hinge. Mort plows inside fast, straight toward Shooter, poker held aloft, ROARING with rage, and Shooter's coming right back at him, also with a raised weapon, eyes wide and insane, utterly insane, his teeth bared in a killer's grin.

Mort brings the poker down in a whistling overhand blow and has just enough time to wince as he realizes that Shooter is also swinging a poker, and to realize it isn't Shooter swinging at all but it's him.

_— It's just his reflection. F : Too late to stop, he SMASHES the poker into the bathroom mirrdr.

The silver-backed glass sprays every which-way, twinkling in the gloom, and the medicine cabinet falls into the sink, its bent door swung open like a gaping mouth, spilling bottles of cough syrup and iodine and Lysterine.

Mort reaches out and flicks on the light, surveys the damage, chest heaving. He laughs suddenly.

He's about to toss the poker aside when he hears that SCRATCHING sound again and something moves in the tub behind him. He whirls around and slashes sideways with the poker, tearing a jagged gash through the corrugated plastic shower door and knocking it off its tracks.

He raises the poker over his shoulder, steps forward, and peers into the shower.

A fieldmouse scurries frantically in the tub, desperately trying to claw its way up the smooth porcelain sides.

Mort looks at the poker in his hand. He's gripped it so hard there are traces of blood where his fingernails dug into his palm.

&

45. 05/26/2003 (blue) 50 CONTINUED: ‘ ‘ , 50

Se

He reaches out with his other hand, pries his own fingers off the handle, and tosses the pokes aside with a CLANG.

He takes a hand towel from the rack, bends over the tub,.-and in one quick gesture scoops the mouse into it, pinching the towel together at the top.

He turns and walks out of the bathroom, past the leaning door with its popped hinge, his shoes gritting on broken mirror

glass. 51 OMITTED 51 *

Showing more purpose than we've seen in a while, Mort comes back * into the open part of the loft and goes straight to his desk. * He BANGS on a light and searches the desk with one hand, the * other still holding the towel with the SQUEAKING mouse inside, it. .

¥ Mort finds what he was looking for -- the ancient pack of LEM"'s, now down to just two half-flattened cigarettes.

Mort scoops up a box of fireplace matches from the hearth and heads for the side door. *

Mort comes out the side door of the cabin and stares out at the * wine-dark lake, glinting under a half moon. He bends down and opens the towel, letting the mouse scurry off into the safety of the darkness.

Mort stands up, shoves the L&M between his lips, ‘raises a match to the scratchy side of the box and gives it a long SCRAPE --

-- which illuminates John Shooter (really this time), standing right beside him.

Miraculously, Mort manages to hold the scream of sheer terror inside his throat, the only physical evidence of his shock is the hesitation in his match hand, which quivers a few inches from the end of his unlit cigarette.

Niall

46. . 07/28/03 (salmon) CONTINUED : 54

Somehow, he manages to “resume lighting the butt, shakes ont the match, and tosses it away. He takes a deep drag. It seems to calm him. He speaks levelly, but it's a spitless voice, smoke choking his: Lungs. ae ge OF

Mort exhales a cloud of smoke.

Mort's eyes are searching, looking for some kind of weapon, anything, ; SHOOTER

I'm-a country fair. But I don't think

you're really all that well. Ss

from another man, that don't seem to

have ever bothered you none. Heing *

caught up on, though... that's given *

you the pute miseries.

Mort's eyes dart ~- a lawn chair, a stack of firewood, a shovel stuck in the dirt. A shovel!

You're following me. e

™

ae”

ene?

“54

CONTINUED: (2)

a7. 07/28/03 (saimon) a 5A

SHOOTER ; Why didn't you go inside? ‘Stead of just sittin in your car like a dam

Shit. He followed me. Shit. Mort tries to keep his voice level as he starts to walk casually toward the shovel. Shooter Moves with him, staying just barely in the light.

Mort reaches blocking its

There isn't any magazine with that story in it, Mr. Rainey. You and me, we know that. Not from 1995, there isn't. How could there be, when my story wasn't there for you to steal until 1997?

the shovel, turns so that he's in front of it, view from Shooter. :

SHOOTER, IT want you to fix it.

SHOOTER

My ending. ‘The one you wrecked. Can't decide what's worse, stealing my story or ruining the ending.

(MORE)

+

eed

‘54

Mort sneaks one hand behind his back, feeling for the shovel

48. me, 07/28/03 (salmon) (3)

, SHOOTER (cont’ d) Most important part of a story, the ending. Mine was perfect, it was a real ending, not that phony crap you (reciting with contempt) — "He looked in her ayes and fell to the ground and into her embrace, down in the dirt, down in the place where new things grow.“ You have got to be Mr. Rainey. Put it back tha way it ought to be.

SHOOTER

Oh, I bet you did. It's hard to forget.

(reciting from memory) "IZ know I can do it,” Todd Downey said, helping himself to another ear of corn from tha steaming bowl. "I'm sure that in time her death will be a mystery even to me." That's how the story ends, Pilgrim. It's the only ending. You're gonna write it for ma and get it published. And it's gonna have my name en it. Right has got to be pnt right,

handle. He speaks, his voice thick with rage.

tong pause.

Shooter eyes him. Sees where Mort's hand is going.

Mort's fingers close around the shovel handle.

. 49. : 07/28/03 (salmon) CONTINUED: (4) 54

Mort yanks the shovel from the dirt and swings it around by the handle, straight toward Shooter's head.

Shooter stops it with one hand, lays his other on it and shoves back. Mort stumbles over the pile of dirt and lands on his back, the wind OOFING out of him. Shooter falls on him, holds the shovel with both hands, presses it down on Mort's Adam's apple. Mort chokes, Shooter spits words at him.

SHOOTER (cont’ d)

chainsaw you keep out in the shed?!

Mort summons his strength, which is considerable, and greater than Shooter's, and hurls the man off him. Shooter lands on his feet as Mort rolls over to his hands and knees, gagging and

He bends down and picks up his hat, dusts it off and sets it back on his head.

On the ground, coughing up spit and bleed, Mort watches as Shooter walks away across the yard.

cur To:

The shattered chunks of mirror are stjll on the floor of the bathroom upstairs. Looking at twenty-six shards, we see twenty- six Mort Raineys coming at us. His hand grows huge as he reaches down and picks up the largest shard.

sae”

50. 07/28/03 (salmon) CONTINUED : S5

' Mert tucks the shard into a corner of the daor of the broken

medicine cabinet, shegee the Whole Sning back oes its hole in the wall. -

He leans forward, leoking at his reflection in the denal Ha touches his neck gingerly, runs his fingertips over the distinctive red line left where the shovel handle nearly choked him to death.

cur TO:

Mort lies in bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. Right, like he's gonna be able to fall asleep tonight.

Still night. Mort sits down at his desk and lights the final * L&M, crumples the empty pack. * He inhales deeply, savers it. ‘Looks almost... contented fora * moment. * Ha sings. * MORT * Chico... don't be discouraged... The , * man, he- *

He turns, smiling and looks at the leather chair Chico always Es sits in, but of course the chair's empty tonight. Forgot for a second. .

Mort. stares at the empty chair for a long moet. Then turns back to his same

He ‘breaks ubim and sobs.

ERF AMY'S HOUSE = NIGHT 58 Joy's House. Wighttima. Mostly dark, but there’s a light on in

one corner of the house, and as we creep closer to that light, we sea a ————

Jerking around, really, and as we get even closer we hear CRASBING, breaking sounds. We draw closer and closer still, the curtains in the room are parted, wa can see between them. ‘The room uast be Mort's old office, the walls are lined with books and bound pericdiesls, Like the lake house, but many, Many Wore,

a

wom,

we Mae

Sl... 04/10/2003

CONTINUED : 58

The figure.inside is the familiar form of Shooter, capped by that creepy hat, which.throws..a crazy shadow on the far wall.

He upends the desk, then picks something up off the floor, a bottle, looks like champagne, that's funny, and ‘heads for the door, stuffing something in the neck of the bottle, looks like a rag.

He pauses in the doorway, SCRAPES a Zippo and touches the rag, which immediately starts on fire. He tosses the bottle right at us. It lands on the floor and smashes.

The room EXPLODES into flame, that weren't no champagne in the bottle, that was gasoline, and the window we've crept up to SHATTERS in our face.

From the street, we see the ball of fire rise up from the corner of the dry old Victorian, taking half the roof with it. ‘This baby's gonna burn like cordwood.

CUT TO; *”

Daytime now. The unplugged phone cord lies on the floor in Mort's cabin, still a few feat from the phone it should be attached to,

On the couch, the pillow is empty, the indentation is still there, but no head. Where's Mort?

Moving left, wa find Mort sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead, still in the clothes he fell asleep in, bed head. No telling how long he's been awake, it looks like he swung his legs over the edge of the couch and just stopped in that position. He looks awful. That red line is still across his throat.

He notices the phone in front of him. Looks to ‘the floor, sees the unplugged cord. Mustering all the ambition he has at the moment, he bends over and picks up the cord.

He looks at the little clip thing on its end, looks at the phone, debating the merits of plugging it in.

Deciding what the hell, he reaches over and jams the cord into the back of the phone --

-- which RINGS immediately. Mort twitches. He's jumpy anyway, but you know, you hate it when that happens. .

52. 04/10/2003

59 CONTINUED: © 59

He's relieved, at least it isn't Shooter.

MORT

Yeah, Amy, Jesus, not so loud. What is it?

ee

Someone peunnaal dae our house! That's what happened! cur TO:

Mort stands in front of the smoking hulk that was once the green

Victorian he and Amy shared at 92 Kansas Street in Riverdale. He just stares at it, his face slack with shock and loss.

‘\

53.0 7 06/19/2003 (yellow)

60 CONTINUED : 60 The site -is cordoned off by police tape, there are a four ~ COPS and two FIRE INSPECTORS picking carefully through the remains. Mort looks at what used .to be the house, we peer closely at him, then when we see his point of view again --

-~ the house is back the way it used to be, same angle from the sidewalk, but the house is freshly painted and clean on a summer's day. Amy comes out of the house in a business suit, putting shoes on as she hurries to her car, late for a meeting. Mort comes to the door in his boxers and SHOUTS after her.

(embarrassed but laughing) Shut up! MORT (big) Whaaaat?!

62-640MITTED 62-64

Back outside in real time as the old house dissolves away and the smoking hulk is all that remains. Mort is moved, a wistful smile on his face.

-- and this one isn't nearly so pleasant. It's Mort's point of view of the ugly scenes we saw in the opening. He storms into the hotel room, Amy and Ted struggle to cover their naked bodies, they all scream at each other -- ;

ee

at

54. . 06/19/2003 (yellow)

-- and the wistful smile disappears from Mort's face, turning inta something hard and hurt by the time they reach him. -

He hugs her, she hugs him back hard. Over her shoulder, he makes brief eye contact with Ted, who forces a semi-polite grimace.

(fuck you, Ted) Thank you, Ted.

Amy retreats to Ted's side. WICKERSHAM, the fire chief, is over in the rubble with a police detective, BRADLEY. He calls to them.

Three responses, all at once:

TED

Wickersham looks back and forth, confused. Amy takes a step toward Mort's side. i :

67 CONTINUED :

55. . 06/19/2003 (yellow)

Bradley gives Wickersham a look -- figure it out, idiot. Mort

helps him as

He holds up the charred neck of a champagne bottle, held at the -

they approach the rubble. ; . * , " MORT Were Mr. and Mrs. Rainey. Are the owners. * WICKERSHAM Ah. BRADLEY

I'm Steven Bradley, I'ma dateceive with the Riverdale P.D., this is Fire Chief Wickersham. We won't keep you long, the insurance investigator needs to see you in the city at three,

end of a stick in his gloved hand. * WICKERSHAM (cont'd) * The fire was started by an incendiary iW

Ted holds up

Amy looks at

device made from a champagne bottle and a couple quarts of plain old gasoline.

Okay with you if I answer these, Ted? his hands, okay, okay. Mort turns to Bradley.

him. Bradley pulls out his notebook.

SSA. 2°.” ‘06/19/2003 (yellow)

Back in the city, back in anothér office with a great view, this * time at a conference table. Bradley is on one side, Amy, Mort, and Ted are on the other. Amy sits between her two men. This must be fun.

;

_ 68

56. 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED : 68 FRAN EVANS, an insurance investigator in her fifties, comes into

the room carrying a stack of files. She's running late today, talks fast.

a8 os EVANS -"’ ag I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet you this morning, I spent most of last night poking through the site with a flashlight and a Polaroid.

(stops herself)

Sorry. Broke one of my own rules. I don't like to call it "the site." It wasn't a site. It was a house. Your house, and I'm very sorry for your loss.

He glances at the business card she's just given him.

These meetings are difficult. People in your situation are already upset, and quite often they take the presence of an investigator as an accusation that they torched their own property.

Ted nods, so violently that his head might have been on a string. Mort notices, just stares at him. All Ted has to do is breathe to irritate Mort.

She puts the file on the table in front of them delicately.

) 06/19/2003 (yellow)

68 CONTINUED: (2)

Ted looks at

my Amy looks down at it.

And Ted leans in over her right shoulder.

EVANS (cont’d)

It's a list of your claimed insurable property. You look it over, then sign an affidavit swearing that the items listed still belong to you, and that they were still in the house when the fire occurred. Anything that wasn't there, put a check. I'm told there was a =

(tiny pause) -- separation of residence recently, so that last bit may be particularly important.

Mort.

EVANS .

Been down that road.

(stage whisper) It sucks.

(back to normal) These things just have to follow their natural course. Things wrap up when everybody's. ready for that to happen.

Amy) : That's been my feeling.

the file in his direction so they can all see it.

Mort leans in over her left shoulder.

Amy notices and tips

Xe eH

_ And Ted leans in over her right shoulder. Amy notices and tips

the file just a little bit in his direction so they can all see

sor gl

58... : 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: (3) 68

Mort is furious, but holds it in. He reaches out and tips the file back in his own direction. P ue”

Mort... MORT

(to Ted, softly livid) Do you actually intend to rubberneck?

, The tension in the room is thick as cake frosting. For a moment

no one says a word. Detective Bradley's eyes move alertly back

and forth between the three of them. Finally: * TED (through clenched teeth) I hardly think my concern can fairly be * construed as- * MORT

I'm not going to freak out about this. But this was our stuff, Amy. Ours.

No, he's right, Ted.

Amy switches her unhappy look of appeal from Mort to Ted. Ted stares at Mort evenly, then then turns to speak to Amy, ignoring * everyone else.

cur TO:

59. 04/10/2003

The meeting over, Mort, Amy, Fran Evans, and Bradley walk down the hallway to the elevators... Evans and ‘Bradley are talking.to one another in the rear, Mort and Amy are in front.

Amy puts a hand on Mort's arm and pulls closer to him.

Mort sees that she means it and musters up some kindness.

She laughs dryly and nods. They reach the elevators.

cenempy oy!

She looks over at Evans and Bradley, who are right behind then, but Evans catches the look and she and Bradley retreat a few steps down the hallway and turn away politely.

Mort looks at Amy, warms to her, is even concerned about her.

Amy turns back to Mort, leans in closer and lowers her voice confidentially. He puts his hand on hers.

AMY

This guy Shooter. His story, I mean. Mort, is this situation... is it like the other time?

Mort's warmth cools. He withdraws his hand. He's furious.

- 69 CONTINUED ;

The elevator

60. 07/20/03 (goldenred)

MORT

‘Look. That was the only time I ever

did anything remotely like that, it never happened before: or -since.

MORT

You and me and the lawyers are the only ones who know about it. Right?

BINGS, the doors open, and guess who steps off.

Another awkward silence, which Ted has had just about enough of.

CONTINUED :

60A. .

(2)

We're going to talk.

(to Amy) . fom

07/20/03 (goldenrod)

We'll meet you in front in ten minutes.

61. . 06/19/2003 (yellow) CONTINUED: (2) . 69

He starts to reach for Mort's arm, thinks better of it, and nods sharply toward the elevator. . Mort looks at the others.

MORT Fe Excuse me, I'm in trouble.

Mort and Ted come out of.the insurance building, which is on a busy avenue in midtown. Ted is pissed off. This is not a side of him he shows when he's with Amy. Mort comes out first, Ted * pursues him down the block. *

(grabs his arm and stops him at * the curb) * Guess what, I don't want you in mine sa

either. ° As he speaks, he moves closer to Mort, who has his back to the street. Mort takes a step back, Ted's too much in his face. * TED (cont’d) *

But until your divorce is done there's not much we can do about it.

He is still moving forward, and Mort is at the edge of the * sidewalk. Up the avenue, a bus is coming. Mort doesn't see it. *

61a. —~ . 06/19/2003 (yellow)

~ TED (cont’ d) I just want you to know I decided a

. long time ago that I will not let you upset Amy any more than you already have. I am not prepared to let that happen.

The bus ROARS past, just inches behind Mort, who is startled. He looks back at Ted -- did you just almost push me in front of

a bus?

"nace!

62, _ 07/20/03 (goldenred)

- 69K CONTINUED: (2) sO 69a

; TED (cont’d) ~ So let's just wrap this up and get out of each other's lives, permanent. (a toothy, weird smile) ~~ : . Okay? Are we gettin' the message I'm sendin'?

Ted's Southern accent is a bit stronger on that last line. Mort looks at him, noticing it.

MORT ; Really. I thought maybe Mississippi.

Mort furrows his brow. Did he hear what he thought he heard?

Mort drives back upstate (he's on the Taconic) with his hands clamped to the steering wheel, his spine as straight as a ruler and his eyes fixed firmly on the road. He has the radio on, blasting, trying to stave off thought.

Doesn't work. He SNAPS the radio off, highly agitated. For the first time, we hear his thoughts. (A note about that -- Mort's thoughts don't come through clearly, like voice over. They swirl and overlap, the way your thoughts do, some just whispers, some louder than that, and some fragments spoken out loud.)

He rubs his head, thinking, thinking.

74A

. _ 63... | 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: 70

He flicks the radio back on, even louder.

Cur To:

Headlights splash down the driveway of Mort's cabin as a car pulls in. The headlights stop, shining right on the cabin from about twenty yards away.

Mort sits in the car, engine idling, looking around the property. No sign of another car.

Five hundred a day and where the hell are you when I need you?

He takes one more look around, drops the car in gear, and pulls right up to the front porch, just a few feet from the first step. He puts it in park, kills the lights, and gets out.

He climbs the steps quickly, keys the front door, and goes inside.

Mort flicks on a light and hangs the keys on the hook by the front door, SLAMMING and locking the door behind him.

The phone RINGS.

He reaches for it.

We hear phone rings on the other end of a phone line as we come down off the red "MOTEL" sign we saw at the beginning --

gy

63A. |, 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

744A CONTINUED: T4A _- MORT (0.S.) Hello? -- and peer through a window into one of ‘the rooms. “We see a pair of bare feet at the end of a bed, Ken Karsch's feet. * KARSCH (0.S.) *

Where the hell you been all day?

ee

76:

64, 07/20/03 (goldenrad)

Mort!s standing in the living room, phone in hand,

’

Karsch is sprawled out on the bright orange bedspread in the A couple mini-bar bottles are open on the bedside table next to him, he's drinking bourbon and water out of a

motel room.

plastic bathroom cup. The Cheetos look good too.

Moving in closer to Karsch from above:

ra

, 65, 07/20/03 (goldenrod) 79 CONTINUED : 79

Good. Because I-called your agent when I heard about the house, I figured he'd have a copy of the magazine. He sent an original by UPS overnight today, you can pick it up tomorrow after three.

Lake Road.

MORT Yeah?

Karsch consults his notepad.

Mort sits down on the coffee table.

in, town. Looked strong as an ox.

MORT

Doesn't mean his memory's good.

. 66. _ 07/20/03 (goldenrod) “ 82 CONTINUED: 82

KARSCH + : Don't be naive. The guy was scared MORT Come on, why would Shooter possibly care if Tom Greenleaf knows he's here?

KARSCH (0.S.) *

On what he plans to do to you. I'm revising my opinion, Mort. I don't think Shooter's just some nut, intimidation of witnesses speaks to a thought-out plan.

Karsch speaks carefully. Doesn't want to be too alarming -- * which of course he is.

KARSCH * We need to consider the possibility that he was hired to do this. Somebody with a grudge against you, hires a tough guy to rattle you, scare you to death. But he hires the wrong guy. i Things get out of control. They go further than they're supposed to... dead dogs, burned-down houses. Now he can't call him off.

. Mort speaks quietly.

yo 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

84 CONTINUED : 84 - MORT Amy's... the guy Amy left me for. er : .Maybe that's why.the guy calls himself Shooter, Ted wants me to know it's him. Trying to intimidate me, send me a message. KARSCH (0.S.) * Why? What does he want? MORT I don't know. KARSCH *

Did you piss him off? Give hima reason to hate you?

Mort thinks about that, closes his eyes. A flash of something crosses the screen, very fast, it could have been the motel room

from the opening, probably was, it's hard to tell. Mort snaps his eyes open.

KARSCH * Okay, here's what we do. What other proof do you have that Shooter was here? Other than the manuscript. Physical evidence, I'm talking about.

Mort strains to think, a hand to the side of his head. Remembering something:

He drops the receiver and shoves his sleeves up as far as they'll go and holds out his arms. At first he sees nothing, then he rotates them outward -- there are two yellowing bruises

on the inside of each arm, just above the elbow. Marks made by Shooter's thumbs.

MORT (cont’d)

Bruises. On my arms, where he grabbed me.

85-86 OMITTED 85-86

68. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

Not very concrete, but it's emotional, ~~ “ts it might get to him.

He gets up, folding his pants and hanging them and his suitcoat on a hanger while he talks.

He hangs the hanger on the back of the bathroom door. We linger on the hanger.

Karsch hangs drapes something else over the hanger -- a shoulder * holster with a particularly nasty handgun in it.

~ . Mort, who was about to hang up, freezes at that last word. KARSCH (0.S.) (CONT’D) * (no response) You still there?

69. 05/26/2003 (blue) CONTINUED: — 3 88

He hangs up quickly. Sits there staring at the phone for a long .

* moment, hunched over it.

-- CUT.TO:

Mort's in bed. Wide awake. He looks up at the ceiling. Flips over. Flops the other way. He bolts out of bed, dragging the blankets with him and heads --

-- into the darkened living room, straight for the couch. Except this time we don't even see Mort, we are Mort, drifting toward the couch, sucked in by it, down into its pillow, between its cushions, into its inky recesses.

We roll over, face up at the ceiling. The entire room recedes from us, as if we're falling into a deep deep hole, but we don't even mind that much, at least it's quiet, and we know we'll s

nothing in that hole that frightens us because at its bottom : there is only ‘ ;

Just as we went into the hole, we rise slowly out of it, out of the black toward a pinprick of light in the distance. We're pulled toward the light the way we were sucked into the black, but this hurts more, it's that bright.

We come up out of the couch into the living room, wicked bright with morning sunlight.

Mort winces from it, his head still deep in the pillow. He sits up, swings his legs off the couch --

-- and GROANS in pain, a groan so loud it's almost a muted scream. His hands dart up, he tries to hold his back, his knees, and his right arm all at the same time.

He rubs his right shoulder, tries to massage some life into it.

70. 06/30/2003 (green) CONTINUED : “ - 91

He squints across the room, to a clock on the far wall. It's a quarter after ten.

He gets to his feet, painfully, and whips on a tee shirt. He's still wearing his pants.

Feet step into shoes and he heads for the door. He reaches up to snatch his car keys from the hook --

~~ but they're not there. He looks. That's weird. Thought he left them there last night.

He pats his pockets. Nope. Turns and looks around the room. Huh uh.

Mort's car keys are sitting on the counter in the kitchen. He comes through the swinging door, looks around the room, spots

them.

He comes over and picks them up, bounces them thoughtfully on the palm of his hand.

OMITTED 93 *

Mort opens the front door and stops in his tracks. *

Shooter's hat is lying on the porch in front of the door.

The distinctive black hat with the round crown. Mort stands there looking at it, his heart beating in his ears (and ours).

, 94

“96

71. 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED: 94

Mort steps down off the porch, cutting a wide semi-circle around ..

the hat, and stands where his car ought to be, just to the left of the porch, where he left it last night. He looks around, sees it parked over next to the shed; -a hundred feet away.

He looks down at the keys in his hand, turns and looks back at the hat on the porch.

Mort rips open the door of the car and slides behind the wheel.

His eye is caught by the ashtray, which is hanging open, four cigarette butts in it.

He reaches down and pulls one out, pinching it between his fingernails. He holds it up to look at it. Unfiltered Pall Mall. Mort chucks it back into the ashtray as if it were radioactive.

Mort is carrying a white kitchen trash bag. Using a stick so as not to touch it, he picks up Shooter's hat with the same distaste he showed the cigarette butt, drops it into the bag, and carries it away off the porch.

The trash bag with the hat in it lands on the passenger seat and Mort gets in the car.

The car sprays gravel out of the driveway.

The door to Bowie's Store BANGS shut behind Mort,’ who winces at the noise as half a dozen heads turn from the counter.

He's still carrying that white trash bag with the hat in it. GRETA BOWIE, late fifties and one. too many cigarettes for her own good, is serving breakfast to a bunch of LOCALS. The store part of Bowie's is in the back, the front is a coffee shop.

ee

TIAL 06/30/2003 (green)

98 CONTINUED : 98

a oo, MORT a eel - Not much.

si . GRETA : oF How about one of those omelettes you like?

mn

72. | -- 07/20/03 (goldenrad) CONTINUED: (2) 98

Mort looks around the place for Karsch, who isn't there. Damn it, missed him. Mort takes-a seat at the far end of the counter,-a few stools away from everybody else.

The other men at the counter, Public Works guys in green coveralls, turn and look at him. They find him odd, always have, and they're not too shy to stare. Mort looks away.

To his left, a BUSBOY is stocking the cigarette rack next to the cash register. He has a carton of Pall Malls and is taking the packs out one at a time, loading them into the rack. Mort stares at the brand. The Busboy notices and looks back at him.

He holds one of the red packs out to Mort enticingly.

Mort turns the other way, where one of the PW guys is still staring at him.

He just stares. This is traditionally the point where someone adds "I'm sorry" or something like that, but no such luck.

Greta appears and hits him in the head.

She flips Mort's coffee cup over and pours him some.

73. 06/05/2003 (pink) 98 CONTINUED: (3) ot ;

Ne ; . GRETA ; . ‘Are you taking care of yourself? Workin' on it. GRETA Why don't you let me throw some groceries in a bag for you while you're~ MORT (cutting her off) Did a guy come in here this morning looking for me? Around nine o'clock? GRETA No. : MORT Big guy, very New York cop? * GRETA F- ‘ No. No, doesn't ring a bell. tO MORT Sl Nine o'clock? I was supposed to meet him but I overslept. GRETA Maybe he did too, ‘cause he wasn't in here. cur To:

Mort parks his car on the side of the road near a small bandstand, one side of which is covered in scaffolding. In front there's an old pickup with a camper shell on the back and a sign reading SONNY TROTTS PAINTING - CARETAKING - CARPENTRY on each of the doors. ,

eal

ms

74. ; 06/30/2003 (green) CONTINUED : , , , 99

Still carrying the hat in the trash bag, Mort gets out of his car and walks over to the base of the scaffolding. He calls up to SONNY TROTTS, fortyish, slapping paint onto the bandstand.

Sonny goes on painting, can't hear Mort over the country music playing on his boom box.

Sonny jerks. White paint flies from the end of his brush and for a moment it looks like he might fall, but he grabs onto one of the ropes and steadies himself. He looks down.

You seen him today? Tom?

Cur TO:

Mort drives out of town on the main road, headed back to his

house. As he passes a gas station he does a double take, catching sight of a car parked at the pumps.

TB. 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED : 100

It's a black Audi.

A guy is standing near the rear of the car, at the gas tank, facing the road. He looks awfully. familiar. .He -should, it's Ted. i

Mort stomps on the brakes, amazement replaced by anger. He SLAMS the car into reverse and backs up --

-- hauling it into the gas station parking lot right up beside Ted's car. Mort gets out of the car coolly and saunters over to Ted, who's screwing the gas cap back on.

Ted stares at Mort. His tone is vague and threatening, he's choosing his words very carefully.

He swallows, and we detect something else in him. Ted is nervous. Or is he scared? He's hard to read.

101 CONTINUED:

~ So you admit it?

76. . 07/22/03 (buff) . 101

MORT

I sort of got this ball rolling, and the truth is now I'm afraid we won't be able to stop it.

Mort stares him down. A quiet rage is brewing inside him.

Ted reaches into his car and pulls out a thick sheaf of legal- looking papers.

Mort just stares at him, aghast.

TED ‘ She did. He said you haven't returned his phone calls for weeks.

101 CONTINUED: (2)

ee _ 07/22/03 (buff)

No, it's about getting this done. I'd. hate to see where things could end up if we let this go on. I think you know what I mean.

He gives Ted a hard shove in the shoulder, halfway between a punch and a push.

MORT

I buried my dog, mister! This whole thing is out of your control now. You know it and I know it. You started this shit, I'm gonna finish it. Do me a favor and tell --

(a hard finger in Ted's chest) -- that to your filthy little friend.

Suddenly enraged, Ted lashes out, unleashing a hard right cross that's headed straight at Mort's jaw. Mort bobs to the right, fast reflexes, just missing the punch, which lands ~-

-- on the driver's window of Ted's car. There's a sharp CRACK, but the glass is intact, so it wasn't the window. It was two bones in Ted's hand.

Ted CRIES OUT in pain and crumples to his knees. Mort looks down at him.

cur To:

xe eH

Pia

78, 06/30/2003 (green)

Back home. Mort dumps Shooter's hat out of the Sneak bag, it lands on the coffee table, covering the phone.

Immediately, the hat RINGS, at about four thousand decibles.

Mort jumps a foot, as suddenly awakened. But of course it's the

phone that's ringing, under the hat.

Mort freezes, recognizing Shooter's voice.

But there's only a dead line. MORT (cont’d) (a whisper) What in God's name did you do?

ang

79. — . 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

Mort scrambles up. the hillside on the path by the lake, through | the beaten-down bushes on either side. He's breathing hard, sweating, stumbling, he must have run ali the way from his house.

He reaches the top of the hill, comes out into the clearing at the edge of Lake Drive, and sees it.

Tom Greenleaf's Scout, the same car that drove past the other day when Greenleaf saw Mort and Shooter talking by the side of the road.

Two men are inside the car, one in the driver's seat, the other in back. Neither one is moving.

Mort edges closer, starting to hyperventilate. Tom Greenleaf is behind the wheel with his head thrown back --

-- and a screwdriver buried to the hilt in his forehead, above his right eye.

Mort's eyes lock onto the screwdriver handle. It's distinctive, a badly chipped red plastic handle, the same screwdriver Mort pulled out of Chico.

It's Mort's.

Mort's head snaps to get the bad news from the back seat. Ken Karsch is back there, his throat cut wide and a bloody hatchet planted in the seat back next to him. His eyes are open but he's long dead.

Mort stands completely still, not even breathing. The world swims around him, it slows to a near stop, most sound drains away, and the sounds that don't become unnaturally loud.

. 80. 05/26/2003 (blue) CONTINUED: — , 103

There is a rustling sound behind Mort. He wheels around.so fast he almost falls -- would have fallen, if he hadn't had the Scout to lean against..

It's a squirrel. It looks down at Mort with bright hate from

where it's frozen halfway up the trunk of a maple tree. *

Mort stares at the squirrel for a long moment. The squirrel stares back. Sweat runs down Mort's cheek. He's still not breathing. He tries to GASP, nothing comes in, his lungs are clenched and empty.

FROM MORT'S POINT OF VIEW,

the world divides into dozens of neat rectangular boxes, dozens of identical images of the squirrel on the tree, then the images start to move, to tilt up, it's sky, then it's the Scout, then it's the ground, we realize Mort is falling --

BACK BY THE PATH, ‘a

-- and his face SMACKS into the dirt as he loses consciousnesd. . cur To: *

Mort opens his eyes. He's still lying next to the Scout, but the sun has shifted quite a bit. He sits up groggily and turns his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes are too blurry from sleep, he squints and pulls the watch closer.

Mort looks up. Shooter is standing over him, silhouetted by the sun, which is directly behind his head.

Mort tries to get up, but his right leg is dead weight under him, it buckles and he collapses again.

ae,

81. 08/27/03 (cafe au lait) CONTINUED : , uo . 104

Mort drags himself back against the Scout, lifts his right leg over his left, and starts pounding on it with his fists, trying

‘to get some blood back into it.

Mort is frantically hammering on his leg, trying to get it to function again.

Mort starts dragging himself away from Shooter, across the dirt and to the head of the path. Shooter follows lazily.

Mort gets up and begins limping away.

Mort keeps walking.

SHOOTER (cont’d)

Whose screwdriver you think is in that fella's head?

(Mort stops) : If you leave 'em here and I disappear, you gonna find yourself standin with your head in a noose and your feet in Crisco.

Mort turns back, looks at his tormentor, at the end of his rope.

e+ + + Fe

i

ee ee HH HH *

+

ze)

82. 08/27/03 (cafe au lait)

104 CONTINUED: (2) : : 104

MORT “* . What do you want from me? * . "SHOOTER me

The response

(almost kindly) Why, I told you that already, Mr. Rainey. I want you to fix my story. The one you stole. Or ain't you ready to admit it yet?

to this is no response.

an

Te

83. 08/27/03 (cafe .au lait)

He stands up

MORT

“I would have! I was gonna pick it up

at three o'clock! **.

MORT ; What do you want? Do you want to kill me? Why haven't you done it yet?

SHOOTER

No, sir! These others here were going to get in the way of our business. I couldn't have that.

(checks his watch) You bring me that story. Your house in two hours.

(jerks a thumb at the Scout) You got some heavy lifting here first. I'd get to it if I were you.

to go.

“ 104

. 84. |. | 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: (4) 104

Then I turn myself in. But I'll take’. care of myself before:a trial, Mr. Rainey. Because if things turn out that way, then I suppose I am crazy. And that kind of crazy man... that kind of crazy man has no excuse or reason to live.

He starts to walk away, then turns back with one last thought.

And he disappears down the lake path.

Mort turns, shaking, and looks at the Scout and the dead men in it. From down the road, he hears the HUM of a car engine, sees sunlight glinting off the windshield of an approaching car.

He slithers back onto the incline, out of sight except for his eyes. ,

The car ZIPS past, takes no notice of the Scout and its lifeless occupants. Mort takes a deep breath.

A MOMENT LATER (PATH BY THE LAKE), 105

we're looking at the door handle of the Scout. Mort's trembling hand, wrapped in his shirt tail, reaches out and opens it slowly, revealing Tom Greenleaf's corpse in the front seat.

Mort stands there, breathing hard. First things first, that screwdriver's gotta come out of his head.

Mort tries to get himself between Tom and the steering wheel, but there isn't room. He reaches down, to the electric seat adjustor, and pushes it toward the back.

The seat HUMS back, sliding Tom along with it. In back, Ken Karsch shifts, turning toward Mort abruptly. Mort SHOUTS and jumps back, he's still alive!

But Karsch stops, and Mort takes another look. No way he's alive with that gash in his throat -- nasty but mostly covered by the odd angle his head is tilted at, like a puppet with a broken string. Mort pushes the seat lever back again and Karsch shifts again -- the driver's seat is pushing up against his dead legs.

cy

; 85. 06/05/2003 (pink) CONTINUED : a 105

Now there's room for Mort to get between Greenleaf and.the steering wheel. He wedges himself in, lays a forearm against Greenleaf 's chest, closes his free hand around the screwdriver -- MORT I'm sorry, Tom.

-- and gives it an almighty yank. Just as the screwdriver starts to slide out with a WET CRUNCH --

The bloody screwdriver and the axe, both with dried human matter dulling their blades, lie on the ground, removed from their victims.

Mort stands beside the Scout now, its driver's door closed. We're in a different location, also abandoned. The Scout is , running and Mort is reaching through the driver's window, E- putting his hands on the wheel. He hears a sound behind him and whirls. ; . A big red dump truck is visible in the distance, dumping a load of cracked old cement pipes into a hole in the ground. Where exactly is he?

Mort crouches, waits for the truck to finish and pull away. Then turns back to the Scout.

Straining, he reaches over and puts the thing in drive. The car's parked on a slight hillside and it starts to roll. Mort walks alongside, keeping up with it, steering it straight ahead.

It picks up speed and Mort has to jog --

-- toward the edge of a sheer rock face. The sparkling waters of an abandoned quarry are visible far below.

The Scout moves faster still, it'll make it over the edge on its own and Mort is just about to pull himself out when the car goes over a bump and Tom Greenleaf's body pitches forward over the wheel. Tom's a heavy guy, and his weight and awkward posture pin Mort's arms where they are.

The HORN begins to blare.

The Scout moves faster now, Mort is running to keep up with the rolling, bumping, HONKING thing. Mort yanks his arms as hard as he can and manages to shove Greenleaf's body back off him, but the opan part o£ the cuff of Mort's overshirt slips over the gear shift lever. |

+ %

Pen

85A. ; 06/05/2003 (pink)

Mort is running as fast as he can, struggling like hell to free his arm, now stuck by his shirt to the gear shift. The car's bouncing along fast, Mort's feet lift off the ground, he's

running out of real estate fast, he's gdéing over with ‘the God damn thing.

| r

106A

86. 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED: (2) 106

He gives his arm one vicious pull, half the threads in the button-at the end of his sleeve RIP out, the other half stay put, the Scout's front tires are Ange a few — away — the edge of the rock face --

-- Mort HAULS his arm back as hard as he can -- -- the final threads RIP free, the button pops off --

-- but so does Mort's wristwatch, which falls to the floor of the Scout --

-- and Mort stops abruptly, windmilling his arms at the very edge of the earth as the Scout tips over the edge and plummets two hundred feet, SPLASHING into the water.

Mort watches as the Scout bubbles and begins to sink into the deep-bottomed black quarry waters below.

As the Scout fills with water, we drop down toward the floor, underwater now, where we see Mort's wristwatch, the engraved words "I LOVE you, AMY" glittering in the feeble sunlight that penetrates the water. The car sinks into the gloom.

The clock on the mantel in Mort's cabin -~- it's ten to three.

On the coffee table, the phone RINGS. It's in the foreground, big. After three rings, Mort bursts through the door in the background, dumps his shirt, grabs his wallet, his car keys from the hook (they're there this time) and heads back for the door.

But through it all, the phone keeps RINGING. In the doorway in the background, Mort stops, thinks. sl

RING. RING. RING. Somebody sure is insistent. Mort turns, is it him? He CURSES and edges over to the phone.

Hi.

ops

87. 05/26/2003 (blue)

Amy is sitting on the edge-of a.bed in a man's bedroom, a room we: haven't seen before. She's been-crying, still is. She

speaks softly, casts the occasional look to the bedroom door, which is closed.

AMY

Mort, I... I've been so worried about you.

Mort rolls his eyes, looks over at the clock on the wall.

a an

He glances at his wrist to check the time, but his watch is gone. He's puzzled, but doesn't have time to think about it, as Amy starts to cry. Mort sighs and sits on the edge of the coffee table. Please God, let me out of this conversation,

More crying.

Sniffling.

88, _, 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

- 108 CONTINUED: 108 AMY Yes. MORT, (knows he shouldn't, can't help it) How do you feel about him, these days? AMY I don't know, I guess I love him. MORT Right. Amy

I didn't go with other men. I've always wanted to tell you that. I didn't go with other men. Only Ted. And only the last few months, when you and me were... when it was over already.

. — 88. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: (2) 108 AMY (cont/’d)

I'll never forget the look on your face when...

Mort wiaeas his eyes to try to hold off the memory , but good luck with that --

,

We're back in that motel room we saw at the beginning, bursting through the door, first person Mort. We see Amy and Ted in bed, fumbling for the sheets, but this time we see a little bit more, we spin around and see Mort's face, and it's twisted and pained and angry, really angry, but it's just a flash and then we're --

-- back in the living room, where Mort forces his eyes open, wiping out the unpleasant memory-movie playing on his eyelids.

Can I come up there?

You still haven't signed the papers, Mort. I know you don't want to deal with it, I didn't want to either, but come on. Everything's been negotiated, we don't disagree about a thing, I don't understand why you're refusing to sign. Don't you want it over with?

Mort shakes his head -- so that's why the phone call.

1i1

INT

CONTINUED :

90. ; 05/26/2003 (blue)

_ MORT You're "worried about me." And I believe you. What an idiot,

MORT

I guess you shouldn't have fucked hin, then.

He BANGS the phone down.

Amy sits with her hand on the phone, staring at it. decision, she gets up and goes to the dresser. sheaf of divorce papers into her purse and turns toward the

door. Ted is standing in the doorway.

She leaves the room. He follows. - TED'S - LIVING ROOM DAY

Amy scoops her car keys off a table near the front door.

He ‘goes to get his jacket and we notice his right hand is heavily bandaged.

TED

ili *

Making a+, She shoves the

?

112 *

. 112

; ; 91. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED : ot ‘ 112

; AMY “You threw a punch at him, Yed. You went up to get a simple signature and came back with a broken hand! If you walk through his door with me, just the sight of you is gonna send him off.

“ed can see the truth in that. She puts a hand on his cheek.

And she's gone. Ted tosses his coat over a chair and stares at the closed door, thinking.

COL TO;

A big brown UPS truck ROARS past, revealing Mort's car, parked outside the post office. Mort is inside it, staring at the departing truck.

He looks at the post office. Doesn't want to goin. Is desperate to go in.

ON THE STREET,

Mort's car door slams. As he starts across the street toward the building, a VOICE ealls to him.

He turns. Down the block, he sees Dave Newsome, the Sheriff he spoke to earlier, gesturing to him from the front porch of Bowie's.

Mort looks around, not now, Dave. Is Shooter watching him?

He waves back to Newsome and keeps walking, pretending he doesn't hear the Sheriff's "hold up a sec."

He hurries up the steps of the building.

- wf A14

92. 06/30/2003 (green)

The post office is nearly empty, but an innocuous government building never seemed so menacing: At the far end,-there's-a .. single clerk behind the counter, JULIET STOKER, nineteen or so,

oe in, bred in, and will do anything to get out of Tashmore Lake.

She looks right at us, smiles as we float up to her counter. She says something to us, but we don't hear it, just see her

lips move. She furrows her brow, worried about us. She speaks again, this time we hear her:

Mort clears his throat, collects himself. MORT Sorry, Juliet. My throat kind of ; double-clutched on me for a second.

‘She frowns, not sure what to do with him, as if he's a slightly

irritating child prodigy who needs special care and feeding. Mort steadies himself, gripping the counter.

MORT

Something I ate last night, I guess.

Did UPS leave anything for -me? * JULIET

No, not a thing. Mort's fingers squeeze the counter ferociously, turning white.

She ‘pulls a package off the back rack and slides it across the counter to him. . *

ann,

93. 06/30/2003 (qreen)

CONTINUED : 114

He picks up the package and resists the urge to eer it open on the spot.

Mort forces a smile and a grisly wink.

Mort turns and heads for the door.

Mort comes out of the post office and stops. He flips the package over to open it but stops, noticing TWO WOMEN staring at him. One of them whispers something to the other, the second one laughs, the first one SHUSHES her.

Mort hurries toward his car.

Mort slides behind the wheel of his car, SLAMS the door. Once again he's about to open the package --

94, 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED : 116

-~ when there's a KNOCK at his passenger door. He leaps a foot, looks over,.sees Dave Newsome smiling at him, bent down, looking through the passenger window.

Mort tosses the still-unopened UPS package on the passenger seat as if it were communicable.

Dave Newsome straightens, watching Mort's car drive away.

Ted is sitting in a chair in his apartment, anxious as hell. Making a decision, he bolts to his feet, grabs his jacket off

the chair and his car keys off a desk, and races out the same door Amy went out.

Mort's car skids and CRUNCHES to a stop in the gravel driveway of his cabin.

Finally, a moment of peace. Mort picks up the package and holds it in his hands, determined to open it this time.

But as he starts to turn it over, there's an odd cut, a j

cut, the same angle, but one second Mort was looking to the left and the next he's looking to the right.

That's odd.

Okay, no more bullshit. Mort flips the UPS envelope over in his hands, reaches for the tear strip --

-~ and finds it half pulled off.

95. 05/26/2003 (blue)

CONTINUED : 120

The package has already been opened.

-MORT +... the hell... ? - He rips the tear strip the rest of the way off. He turns the envelope upside down and a magazine drops into his lap. Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, the logo says in bright red letters. Beneath that, in much smaller type, June, 1995. *

Allowing himself a grim smile, he flips it open, looking for the contents page.

He flips back and forth, can't find it. He goes back to the , beginning, where the page ought to be, and finds a thin strip pt paper in the magazine's gutter. He thinks he knows what that: means. With growing alarm, he thumbs frantically through the « magazine, dropping it once and picking it up with a little cry of desperation.

.

On the second pass through he looks more carefully.

He flips to the next page, sees the number on it,

He goes back a page. 82 again. And in the margin is the sliced off evidence that pages 83 to 97 have been cut out.

He BANGS his fist down on the steering wheel, again and again and again.

Mort hears a voice from inside the car, a familiar voice. His own voice.

96. 0 04/10/2003 CONTINUED: (2)

3 INNER VOICE (0.S.) “ How would he do that? . MORT = I don't know. He did it though. INNER VOICE (0.S.) Okay. (pause) How? MORT I DON'T KNOW!

The car door opens and Mort climbs out, stepping on a bundle of white printed pages right beneath the driver's window. He stalks across the driveway toward the house. The voice follows INNER VOICE (0.S.) : i It doesn't make sense. ks MORT Shut up.

He winces as an image flickers through his mind: MORT'S MENTAL IMAGE (MOTEL ROOM) 122

is that same scene from the motel room, the one we've seen twice before, his point of view as he races in on Amy and Ted, then the camera whips around, sees Mort's face, and it's fierce with anger. We see for the first time he's holding something in one hand. But before we can see what it is --

Mort BANGS through the door and drops onto the couch, center cushion, arms folded across his chest. Yet again, he finds himself face to face with --

-- Shooter's hat. Still sitting on his coffee table. Waiting for him. . :

Mort sits forward. This time he picks it up. He looks at it carefully. And then, for no reason whatsoever and without a moment's thought -~-

-- he puts itoon. He shudders once, the way you do at a mouthful of strong liquer. But that passes. He smooths the brim. It fits quite well, actually.

123 CONTINUED:

97, 0 04/10/2003

ACROSS. THE ROOM,

the mirror over the entry table fills with Mort as he stands up, hat on his head, and walks forward. He positions Himself in’ front of the mirror. The hat completely covers his hair and just touches the tops of his ears.

Mort's Inner Voice speaks up again -- quiet, gently prodding.

At this moment, we're looking at Mort straight on. We start to

move, to creep around him to his right side. OO MORT F

Why would he want ma to put on his hat? y INNER VOICE (0.S.)

Maybe he wants you to...

No answer. We settle into a full profile. Mort turns and looks directly at us for the first time.

A face moves in slowly from the side of the frame and whispers in Mort's ear ~- it's Mort's face. Mort's Inner Voice has been given body, Mort's body. Same guy, same clothes. Two Morts, side by sida. Talk about talking to yourself...

’ MORT I'm already confused, Pilgrim.

No sooner is that last word out of his mouth than he wishes he could snatch it back out of the air. He whisks Shooter's hat off his head and tosses it into a corner. . .

; 98. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

Rather than answer, Mort turns and stalks out of the room. We go with him (same shot) as he passes the staircase, where his Inner Voice is now leaning against the railing.

Mort reaches the kitchen door but stops, as his Inner Voice is already leaning against it.

Mort just stares at him, breathing hard. The Voice takes a step forward. They are nose to nose, both suddenly quite calm.

i MORT (cont’d) Aren't I?

Mort rips his shirt off angrily, rotates his arms out, goes to the exact spot where the bruises were yesterday.

But now they're not there.

He searches, paws his flesh.

123 CONTINUED: (3)

99. 04/10/2003 , 123

Actually, no, Mort would rather not. He turns and heads for the door, reaches for the keys on the hook --

-~- but the Inner Voice is there ahead of him, leaning against the wall next to the hook.

. INNER VOICE (cont’d) Call the police.

Mort turns to tha front door but it BANGS shut ahead of him, his Inner Voice is leaning against it.

.

Ce | oy!

He turns away, but the Inner Voice is right behind him.

He turns again ~- Inner Voice is there too. All around him now, wherever he turns before he even turns there. :

But suddenly the Inner Voice is gone, and Mort is standing alone in the empty living room, chest heaving, screaming at the walls. He holds his head in pain, because here comes another mental image, and this one's a doozy:

MORT'S MENTAL IMAGE (MOTEL ROOM) 124

is that shot in the motel room, the startled lovers, the enraged husband, Mort holding something, and for the first time we see what it is.

A gun.

CONTINUED :

100. 05/26/2003 (blue)

Held in front of him in a shaking hand, and now we understand

‘ why Amy:-and Ted weren't just shocked and embarrassed and upset,

they were terrified, because Mort is SCREAMING at them, RAVING like a lunatic, waving that gun around, shoving..it between Ted's

teeth, snarling and spitting and completely out of control.

Mort shakes his head to chase away the memory.

The Inner Voice is in his ear, it circles him now, walking

around and around him in ever-tightening circles, always in his ear, inches away no matter where Mort turns.

INNER VOICE

Was it really unloaded?

; INNER VOICE You still want to.

101. 05/26/2003 (blue) 125 CONTINUED: ot ,

INNER VOICE * Listen to me. Because this is how it * happens. This is how it happens to * ne _ ‘people; =m 2 ee * MORT * Shut up! INNER VOICE There is no John Shooter. MORT No! INNER VOICE There never has been. MORT I do not accept that! INNER VOICE Ey You invented him. :

He picks up a heavy ashtray -- a dog standing over a large marble basin that's supposed to be for the cigarette butts, go figure -- and hurls it at the Inner Voice as hard as he can.

But of course the Inner Voice is gone before Mort’ even releases and the ashtray SMASHES into the wall just over the entry table. It puts a large dent in the plaster and opens up a crack.

It's a small crack that originates in the middle of the crease made by the ashtray. But as Mort watches --

-- the crack grows. It creeps all the way up the wall, CRUNCHING the plaster apart as it grows. Before Mort's wondering eyes, the crack creeps across the ceiling over his head, zig-zagging its lightning bolt way right down the center of the room, directly above Mort, and finally crawling down the far wall, ending in the corner where he has thrown Shooter's

By hat, now resting cock-eyed against the wall.

101A. 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED: (2) 125

Mort turns away from the hat, horrified, catches sight of himself‘in the mirror, and GASPS in horror.

Horror because he-sees himself in the mirror, all right; but-he sees his back, he's facing away from himself. He walks slowly toward the mirror, what the hell is going on here, and as he

approaches, his. back approaches as well, as if he's backing toward himself.

Mort turns around, deeply confused. His mirror image turns around too, now we're looking at two Morts, both from the front.

Mort GASPS and turns, looks up to the top of the stairs. Shooter is standing there, twirling his hat and smoking a cigarette.

102. 06/30/2003 (green)

CONTINUED: (3) 125

; MORT You don't exist.

Mort backs away. Shooter starts down the stairs.

Mort is horrified, holding his head as the truth pours into his consciousness. We see flashes of his thoughts as Shooter talks:

(This image and all the flashback images that follow fly by fast, fractured and jarring.)

We're looking through the window of Mort's study again, the one at the house in Riverdale, before it burned down. We see Shooter's shadow on the wall, that crazy hat. But we're closer this time, and in a flash of light we see Shooter's face below the hat, but of course it isn't Shooter's face at all but Mort's face, Mort burned down the house.

Shooter is drawing closer.

103. 07/20/03 (goldenrod)

A shot we haven't seen before, it's morning on Main Street, and Ken Karsch is walking toward the front door of Bowie's Store when Mort steps out from a doorway and intercepts him.

Shooter's closer still. SHOOTER Didn't have the stomach to do it yourself. But you knew I did.

Tom Greenleaf, alive again, is driving his Scout, Ken Karsch is in back, Mort is in the passenger seat.

I know, Mort, I saw you. I didn't want t to say it in front of him -- (jerks a thumb back at Karsch) -- but you were alone.

From Tom's point of view, we're driving down Lake Drive on that sunny day. We see a figure up ahead, standing by the side of the road -- it's Mort, standing there by himself. Tom waves to him, Mort tips a finger back at him in that practiced, country way.

INE _. TOM'S CAR DAY . 132 Mort laughs disarmingly at Tom's nervousness.

x £32

. 104. 07/20/03 (goldenrod) CONTINUED: ‘ , 132

As Greenleaf turns the wheel, we drop down next to Mort's leg and see his fingers close around the handie of the hatchet, the one that.will soon be buried in Ken Karsch's head.

Shooter is right in our face.

Outside the Scout now, we see Mort whip around from the front seat and SMACK the hatchet into Ken Karsch's neck. We hear Tom Greenleaf's horrified SHRIEK, but it's abruptly cut off as Mort turns to him a split-second later and drives the screwdriver home in the middle of his forehead.

OMITTED 135

Mort awakens, stretches, grabs his arms and back, can't believe how unbelievably sore he is. Now we know why.

Shooter smiles. He is nose to nose with Mort:

$ MORT I don't know!

105. ; 05/26/2003 (blue)

CONTINUED: =” 137 MORT Fix your story. z weg SHOOTER: - That's right, MORT

Fix the ending.

Outside, they hear the sound of tires on gravel. They both turn in time --

~- to see Amy's car drive past the kitchen windows.

They look at each other.

Mort takes a step straight forward, but that's where Shooter is standing, so when he moves ahead -~

~- he passes right through Shooter, whose image falls all to Pieces, but they're sticky pieces, and they dissolve and cling to Mort at the same time, it's like walking through a spiderweb.

Shooter is gone. Or maybe Shooter was right, and Mort's the one who's gone. Because when Mort finishes Shooter's quotation, he is speaking with Shooter's voice and moving with his mannerisms.

He is Shooter.

He turns and looks at the mirror again, and from this angle he can see the driveway, and Amy's car parked in it. We move toward the mirror, fast, then we go through the mirror and zoom in on Amy and in that same shot we find ourselves --

-- out in the driveway as Amy SLAMS the door of her car. She

takes one step and stops, her attention caught by something in the driveway.

106. 07/20/03 (goldenred) CONTINUED: ; _ 138

It's a sock. Part of it is a rusty red color. Odd. She looks up from it.

a AMY Mort?

No answer. She starts walking toward the cabin. Up ahead, some white pages are fluttering on the driveway next to Mort's car.

She stoops down, picks one up. It's page 83 of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, lying right where Mort dumped it after he cut it out of his own magazine. It's a short story:

Secret Window short fiction by Morton Rainey

That's weird. Amy doesn't like it. She lets go of the page, it flaps away in the light breeze.

Now she really takes in the view of the cabin, and there are a few more details that aren't quite the way we've been seeing them. The screen door, for example, which is hanging from one broken hinge. And a single shoe sitting on the front step of the cabin, must go with the sock in the driveway.

Amy passes the garbage cabinet and hears flies BUZZING. She looks over at the spot where Chico had been pinned to the wood.

No Chico, of course, Mort did bury him, but the wood is stained and there are a few flies swarming around it. She opens the lid to toss the sock and shoe in the trash and many more flies swarm out. With growing alarm, Amy steps up to the screen door and peers through. : 7

Still no answer. She puts a hand on the door ~-

-~ and steps inside. She stops, looking around the room in shock. . :

The outside of the house was a mess, but inside is a disaster. Half-eaten "meals" are on plates around the room, the flies are feasting on those too. The ashtray with the dog on it is buried in the wall, where it has started a small crack, about a foot long. The trash can is full and has overflowed onto the floor. Paper is littered everywhere.

106. _, 06/19/2003 (yellow) CONTINUED : 138

It's a sock. Part of it is a rusty red color. Odd. She looks up from it.

No answer. She starts walking toward the cabin. Up ahead, some white pages are fluttering on the driveway next to Mort's car.

She stoops down, picks one up. It's page 83 of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, lying right where Mort dumped it after he cut it out of his own magazine. It's a short story:

Secret Window short fiction by Morton Rainey

That's weird. Amy doesn't like it. She lets go of the page, it flaps away in the light breeze.

Now she really takes in the view of the cabin, and there are a few more details that aren't quite the way we've been seeing | them. The screen door, for example, which is hanging from one broken hinge. And a single shoe sitting on the front step: of the cabin, must go with the sock in the driveway.

Amy passes the garbage cabinet and hears flies BUZZING. She looks over at the spot where Bump had been pinned to the wood.

No Bump, of course, Mort did bury him, but the wood is stained and there are a few flies swarming around it. She opens the lid to toss the sock and shoe in the trash and many more flies swarm out. With growing alarm, Amy steps up to the screen door and peers through.

Still no answer. She puts a hand on the door --

-- and steps inside. She stops, looking around the room in shock.

The outside of the house was a mess, but inside is a disaster. Half-eaten "meals" are on plates around the room, the flies are feasting on those too. The ashtray with the dog on it is buried in the wall, where it has started a small crack, about a- foot long. The trash can is full and has overflowed onto the floor. Paper is littered everywhere.

' CONTINUED :

107. ; 06/30/2003 (green) , ‘ ; 139

Tt looks as if Mort has exhumed every copy of every manuscript he had in the place and strewn the pages around the room.

In short, the room looks nothing like it did two minutes ago, when. we were looking at’ it through Mort's eyes, But as’ we now know, those are very unreliable eyes indeed. ;

She looks at the front windows. A word has been written there in white foam, but the letters are runny and she's too close to read them. She looks down -- there's an empty shaving cream can on the floor.

She sees the ashtray, buried in the wall over the fireplace, but only a short crack where it hit. Mort imagined the rest.

On the coffee table, she sees a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniel's. She shakes her head. AMY" (to herself) That explains a lot.

Amy hears a sound. She turns, looks up to the loft. It's quiet again. She goes to the stairs, looks up there.

Starts walking up. On the sixth stair, she steps on the issue of Ellery Queen. She doasn't notice.

Amy reaches the top of the stairs and comes into the loft. The first thing she notices is the desk -~- it's completely clean, except for a typewritten manuscript sitting in the middle of it.

She takes a quick look around the room and walks toward it.

_ 108. exyaey ants (blue)

CONTINUED : 140

She comes around behind it, peering down at the manuscript. The title page is. on top:

. Sowing .Sdason -- by John Shooter

Amy stares at it, puzzled.

Now she looks downstairs and can read the runny letters on the window that she couldn't read before. "SHOOTER," they spell.

She looks at the coffee table, and we spin down to see it -- "SHOOTER" is carved into the cherry wood in great jagged letters three feet high. The screwdriver he used to do the carving is lying on the tabletop. It's a familiar-looking screwdriver, with a red chipped handle, and dried red stuff on its steel shaft. We've seen this screwdriver before. Twice.

pe Ui ong.

Shocked, Amy looks up and sees "Shooter" is also written on the | walls of this room, across the walls in a nearly straight line. She follows the line, but as she nears the end of it, the last one doesn't say "Shooter" anymore, there's just a part s of it, the first part, the word "SHOOT."

Suddenly the door SLAMS, revealing Mort, who was standing behind it, hands folded primly behind his back, Shooter's hat perched atop his head.

With the door closed we see a word carved on the back of it, the word is "HER," and taken with that other fragment it reads

He doesn't reply, just stares at her. She looks at the hat. AMY (cont'd)

Where'd you find that old thing? The attic?

* *

ee

108A. 05/26/2003 (blue)

140 CONTINUED: (2) 7 . a 140

He still doesn't answer, but his face twitches, and as it twitches,. we See a thought that flashes through his mind:

“141. ExT RUMMAGE SALE 9-DAY © ss 141

Mort, younger, is at a rummage sale in the country with Amy. He puts the hat on, turns around to face her, smiling. He affects a Southern accent, sounds just like Shooter.

The flinch goes away as Mort banishes the memory. He smiles. A Shooter smile. He speaks softly, as Shooter.

: AMY F

Mort? What's wrong? What's-

He

Amy looks around the room. One door, and Mort's standing right next to it.

ee

i

%

109. ; 05/26/2003 (blue)

ain't deaf, are you? He's dead. He killed himself.

He takes his hands out from behind his back. In one of them he’ holds a pair of scissors. hag

an seni

; MORT (cont’d) (walking toward her) You won't be scared long.

we

She stays still for a moment, in total disbelief, but then snaps out of it. She bolts for the stairs.

Mort lunges toward her, bringing the scissors down in a silver arc.

On the stairs, Amy's head snaps back, but she keeps going.

Mort looks at the scissors -- strands of blonde hair with red tips are stuck between its blades.

He chases her down the stairs, nearly catches her, but he steps on the copy of Ellery Queen on the sixth step and falls, head over heels. He CRASHES to the floor of --

ah

~~

“~

he

1424

110. 05/26/2003 (biue)

-- the living room and the blades stab into the hardwood floor.

Mort's mouth BANGS off the floor and sprays blood. A half- smoked package of Pall Malis shoots out of his shirt pocket and slides across the wooden floor.

Mort yanks the scissors from the floor and gets up on his knees, smiling and snarling through the blood running over his lips and teeth.

Amy runs out the door of the cabin. Mort checks the scissors, sees their blunted tips, and tosses them impatiently aside as he gets to his feet.

MORT (cont'd)

I got a place for you! TI got it all F

picked out! : He walks out the door after her. :

Amy xaces down the front steps of the cabin and to her car. She throws open the door and leaps inside, SLAMMING down the locks.

Through the passenger window, we see Mort walk calmly out of the

house after her. She fumbles for her keys, pawing for the right one.

Mort walks toward the car, bending down when he gets near it, just out of our sight, below the window line.

Amy jams the key in the ignition -- -- Mort stands up next to the passenger window -- -- Amy turns the key and the engine ROARS to life --

-- and Mort SMASHES the boulder he picked up through the passenger window.

To Amy's credit, she doesn't scream, doesn't let herself get distracted. She reaches over for the gear shift (it's a stick shift) and starts to jam it into reverse.

But Mort lunges through the window and grabs hold of that hand, gets hex hard by the wrist. Amy fights him, shoves the car inte reverse anyway.

Sea”

iit. 04/10/2003

CONTINUED : 143

The car starts to move, but Mort's half in it, and he's got both hands on her now.

Amy’ shoves’ a foot down on the gas, Mort pulls-her. with.all ‘his strength --

-- and hauls her right out through the broken passenger window as the car rolls away.

Now Amy SCREAMS as her legs rake over the jagged broken glass in the window frame. She THUDS to the ground on the gravel driveway as her car rolls in a broad, backward semi-circle, SLAMMING ass-end into a tree and coming to a stop.

Mort BANGS through the screen door of the cabin, dragging Amy behind him, a firm grip on her hair. She's half-crawling, trying to stop him or at least keep up, it hurts like hell.

yO Mort reaches the coffee table and grabs the screwdriver, shear one he used on the dog and Tom Greenleaf.

He knocks her over onto her back, raises the screwdriver, and brings it down. Amy SHRIEKS and rolls away --

~- but the screwdriver buries in her calf. Now she SCREAMS.

He pulls the blade out and she rolls over, crawling away from him fast.

He grabs her by the ankle.

Amy swings her other leg around hard and connects with his nose, breaking it with a wet SNAP.

He turns and looks back at her as blood runs down his lip.

lis

112. 05/26/2003 (blue)

CONTINUED : 144

She drags herself to her feet and races toward the side door, as Mort is blocking the front. Her right loafer, filling with blood, SQUELCHES and SMOOCHES on her foot.

She hits the screen door with both hands ve

-- and staggers out into the back yard. Mort flies out the door behind her and SLAMS into her, a hard tackle. She hits the ground on her stomach, all his weight on her, and the air WHOOSHES out of her.

Mort climbs off of her and flips her over. She's GASPING, the wind knocked out of her, unable to breathe for the moment, certainly unable to stand.

Mort gets up, looks around --

-- and grabs the shovel out of the pile of dirt in the back yard. ,

orn | a

MORT : I am sorry, Missus. None of this was ‘ my idea, It was Mr. Rainey all along.

He comes over and straddles her, holding the shovel in both hands.

. MORT I got a place for you.

He hefts the shovel.

a

aso?!

; 113. 05/26/2003 (blue) CONTINUED : : oo 145

He raises the shovel, over his head, about to bring it down on her. a ,

Mort pauses. (If we're listening carefully at this point, we might have just heard car tires on gravel.)

Mort's brow furrows. The shovel lowers, slightly at first. Amy's tone changes, becomes more soothing, she's trying like hell.

een y!

The shovel lowers even more, Mort's thinking like crazy now, even cocking his head like a dog.

The shovel lowers even more, he's holding it across his waist now. Is this it? Has she done it? Have her words reached him?

At that very moment, we hear THUNDERING FEET on the screen porch, we see the outline of a man racing toward us, he calls out a name, we recognize the voice --

-- and the side screen door BANGS open and Ted comes barreling outside, just in time to meet --

-- MORT'S SHOVEL, which he brings across his chest in a two hundred and seventy degree baseball swing that catches Ted full in the face.

No. Amy's words did not reach Mort.

He was just listening.

Fed flies off his Feet and lands on his back on the stairs, SNAPPING two wertebrae.

145A

: 114. 06/30/2003 (green) CONTINUED: (2) — oe 145

Amy SCREAMS. She watches as, in a flash, Mort is standing over

Ted, raising the shovel again, this time like a long-handled axe over his head, and he brings it clea on Ted's” head.

We aca? t see the death blow, but Ted's head sounds Pantie _— as you'd think it would, like an overripe watermelon.

Amy SCREAMS one more time, for good measure. Mort turns to her,

in no mood to fuck around any longer, he walks toward her and

raises the shovel up over his head and hesitates, just holding

i up there, over his head, deciding whether or not to end this ing.

We're up in the trees above the cabin, where we can't really get a good look at the other side of the house, where the ultra-~ violence is. A crow on a branch SCREECHES in our face before taking wing and flying away.

We hold for a moment on this peaceful setting, and as we watch the leaves on the trees begin to turn color, the green of summer gives way to the bright reds and browns of fall. Three months pass right before our eyes. :

Downtown Tashmore Lake on a lovely fall day. Mort's car parks in front of Bowie's Store.

Mort climbs out and heads into the store, WHISTLING. Two women, the same two women who watched him when he came out of the post office with the UPS package, stop where they are on the _* sidewalk as he approaches.

The Women stare. The First Woman whispers something to the Second Woman. This time, the Second Woman does not laugh. They are afraid of him, he's 0.J. in Brentwood.

' INT’ BOWIE'S STORE DAY g 147 Mort breezes inside. This time he's careful not to slam the * screen door. *

MORT

Hiya, Greta!

Greta doesn't even look at him. The entire place tenses. *

114A. 06/30/2003 (green) 147 CONTINUED: i " 147

“on oo _ Mort heads for the back counter, not the diner part, but the store part... As he passes the usual Department of Public Works guys having their breakfast at the counter, they turn their . heads, one-by one.. After he passes: Not before. There is no eye contact this time.

At the back, Mort cheerily picks a few items off the shelves, brings them over to the counter as Greta meets him reluctantly at the register.

115. 06/05/2003 (pink) 147 CONTINUED: (2) . . : 147

Greta rings up the — There! s bottar: Morton’Salt. A stack of napkins.

Greta never looks at him.

Mort PLUNKS down a ten.

Greta hands him his change, finally looks him in the eye.

GRETA ® Been better. E- La MORT : Ah, it'll pick up. Always does. "To . everything there is a season." Thanks, Greta! He takes his bag and leaves. Greta watches him go.

Mort's cabin. Mort's car parked in front. A police car rolis slowly into the driveway, "Tashmore Lake Sheriff's Department" on the side.

Dave Newsome appears at the screen door and peers inside.

No answer. He opens the door.

3s

150A

116. aoe ee (blue) CONTINUED: — , ": . 149

Still no answer. Dave comes inside. First thing he notices is a bushel of corn by the side door, the one on the lake side.

Ha’ looks to the right, takes a’ step -into the kitchen...

Newsome comes into the kitchen. The place is a foul, fetid mess. There are stacks of rotting corn husks everywhere, a huge pot boiling on the stove.

Newsome looks around, shocked. He looks into the boiling pot. Bright yellow ears of corn bounce on the roiling water.

Two more bushels of freshly picked corn wait their turn on the floor next to the stove.

Newsome: comes up the stairs to the loft.

As

Mort is sitting at his desk, where his computer is open and ttle’ screen is jammed with words, He's typing away. No writer's 1 block today. A plate with three fresh, steaming ears of corn‘is on the desk next to him.

Newsome clears his throat. Mort looks up suddenly.

He pushes back from the desk.

* * * % + *

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117. 05/26/2003 (blue) 150A CONTINUED: , os 150A

- ; - DAVE NEWSOME

. We finally found Tom Greenleaf's car, Mr. Rainey. At the bottom of Dunsmoor ‘Quarry. - Tots *s : +

Mort doesn't reply, just picks an ear of corn and jabs two of those prongy corn-eater things into the ends of the cob.

DAVE NEWSOME (cont’ d)

And Tom was in it, along with another body. That private eye you hired. We found a watch in the car, too. Your watch. You had us running in circles | for a few months, I'll give you that. We may never find what you did with the bodies of your wife and Ted Milner, but we got enough now.

Mort doesn't seem to be listening. He slathers some butter over the hot ear of corn, it melts and drips onto the plate.

—

There's a half dozen fellas from the : FBI on their way up here right now to > ‘ put you under arrest.

oa)

Mort sprinkles salt on the corn.

He looks up at the Sheriff, his face full of the modest pride of craftsmanship.

, DAVE NEWSOME (cont’d) i :

se ee

1is. 05/26/2003 (blue)

150A CONTINUED: (2) . . 150A

He holds the ear of corn up in front of him, studies the ‘shiny yellow kernels, the beautiful oozing butter, the bright white flakes of salt, He recites from memory, in Shooter's voice:

He leans forward to take a bite, clearing our line of vision, and we move past him, across the desk and down to the floor, toward the secret window. As we near the window we notice something waving outside, down in Amy's secret garden. . Corn stalks. We drift out the open window, toward those waving’ green stalks window -- :

~- and into the middle of the garden. Once a bare patch of dirt, it's now full of seven foot corn stalks, their tassels CLICKING against one another in the light breeze.

We keep drifting, but down now, down the lengths of the stalks, down where the irregular shafts of sunlight barely strike, past the base of the stalks, down to the dirt and then into the dirt, still moving, underground now, following the roots of the corn . stalks into the moist black earth.

They go daep, these roots, thick at first, then thinner, thinner still, we're six feet underground now and still following the spidery tendrils of corn root down, all the way down --

-- into the decomposing bodies of Amy Rainey and her lover.

CRUNCH! Mort sinks his teeth into the corn and tears the kernels free, butter running down his chin.

ge ae

Esa

117. 09/11/03 (gray)

Mort picks up an ear of corn and jabs two of those prongy corn- eater things into the end of the cob.

DAVE NEWSOME (cont’d)

And Tom was in it, along with another body. That private eye you hired. We found a watch in the car, too. Your watch. You had us running in circles for a few months, I'll give you that. We may never find what you did with the bodies of your wife and Ted Milner, but we got enough now.

Mort's not listening. He butters his corn.

Mort sprinkles salt on the corn,

+e te

150A CONTINUED: (2)

118. 09/11/03 (gray) 's wd 150A

He holds the ear of corn up in front of him, studies the shiny ¥ yellow kernels,-the beautiful oozing butter, the bright white flakes of salt. . .

toward the secret window. As we near the window we notice something waving outside, down in Amy's secret garden.

Corn stalks. We drift out the open window, toward those waving green stalks window --

-- and into the middle of the garden. Once a bare patch of dirt, it's now full of seven foot corn stalks, their tassels CLICKING against one another in the light breeze.

We keep drifting, but down now, down the lengths of the stalks, down where the irregular shafts of sunlight barely strike, past the base of the stalks, down to the dirt and then into the dirt, still moving, underground now, following the roots of the corn stalks into the moist black earth.

They go deep, these roots, thick at first, then thinner, thinner still, we're six feet underground now and still following the spidery tendrils of corn root down, all the way down --

~- into the decomposing bodies of Amy Rainey and her lover.

CRUNCH! Mort sinks his teeth into the corn and tears the kernels free, butter running down his chin.

“FADE OUT.

SEE NEXT PAGE FOR ALTERNATE VERSION, WHICH BEGINS AS THE TOP OF * PAGE 117: *

119. 09/11/03 (gray) CONTINUED :

ALTERNATE VERSION, BEGINS AS TOP OF PAGE 117:

DAVE NEWSOME” Yeah. Listen, you and I both know what you did. Maybe we don't have enough to bring you in just yet, but eventually we're gonna find those bodies, we're gonna tie 'em to you, and you're going away.

Mort picks an ear of corn and jabs two of those prongy corn- eater things into the ends of the cob. He slathers some butter over the hot ear of corn, it melts and drips onto the plate.

Mort seems genuinely surprised to have given offense.

Newsome nods and starts to go.

He holds the ear of corn up in front of him, studies the shiny yellow kernels, the beautiful oozing butter, the bright white flakes of salt.

He leans forward to take a bite, clearing our line of vision, and we move past him, across the desk and down to the floor, toward the secret window. As we near the window we notice something waving outside, down in Amy's secret garden.

Corn stalks. We drift out the open window, toward those waving green stalks window --

4x ** * eX"

+e

te be OF

eee +

OF

+ ee *

120. 09/11/03 (gray)

-- and into the middle of. the garden. Once a bare patch of dirt, it's now full of.seven foot corn stalks, their tassels CLICKING against one another in the light breeze.

We keep drifting, but down now, down the lengths of the stalks, down where the irregular shafts of sunlight barely strike, past the base of the stalks, down to the dirt and then into the dirt, still moving, underground now, following the roots of the corn stalks into the moist black earth.

They go deep, these roots, thick at first, then thinner, thinner still, we're six feet underground now and still following the spidery tendrils of corn root down, all the way do --

-- into the decomposing bodies of Amy Rainey and her lover.

CRUNCH! Mort sinks his teeth into the corn and tears the kernels free, butter running down his chin.

oe

+ $+ * +

+