Suspect Zero


                              Written by
                               Zak Penn



                                                Revisions - Billy Ray  

                                                    November 30, 2001
                                           Director's Shooting Script

     FADE IN:

     ...on a BLACK WAVE - vast, oceanic, and coming right at us.

     The wave is relentless, huge, menacing. We can't tell if this
     is daytime or night because it simply obscures everything -
     noisily. It sucks, it yawns, it roars.

     Then we realize... this massive wave of darkness is actually
     just a RUN-OFF of dirty black WATER alongside the edge of an
     Interstate. We PULL OUT OF IT now... find concrete, and garbage, and weeds. END TITLES.

1    EXT. DITCH - OFF THE INTERSTATE - 4:30 A.M.                    1

     Amongst the refuse is a discarded MILK CARTON, resting on its
     back. The carton asks "Have You Seen Me?" above a photographed
     face that's been obscured by grime.

     Yellowing newspaper, old Coke cans, Twinkie wrappers... in
     that bed of untended weeds. A hollow Texas wind blows through
     it all. We stay with the carton...

     Then that hollow wind gains speed... and a deep RUMBLE grows
     in the distance, becoming a ROAR. The yellowed newspaper lifts
     off and whips past us. an 18-WHEEL MACK TRUCK blows by, just a blur in the
     corner of our frame, doing 75 in the pre-dawn darkness.

     Then, the truck is gone, and the rush of air dissipates. The
     milk carton, the coke cans... they lie undisturbed.

     A LIGHT RAIN begins to fall... and some of the grime washes
     away from that milk carton, revealing a face. A child. "Have
     You Seen Me?" It's heartbreaking.
     TILT UP... to take in the vast flatness of Texas' I-35:
     concrete forever. In the distance, gray highway yields to
     black STORMCLOUDS gathering silently over endless prairie.

     A vertical vein of LIGHTNING streaks through one of them.

                                                              CUT TO:

     ...a spoon, stirring a cup of coffee.

     (4:30 A.M.)

     HAROLD SPECK sits: mid 40's, pleasant face. A family man.
     Reads "Rod and Reel" magazine. Has a SALESMAN'S CASE by his
     side. Around him is a TRUCK-STOP in twilight:

     Truckers at the counter, Elvis on the wall, a "Drink Bud!"
     mirror. The WORLD SERIES can be heard on a RADIO...

                         DOLLY (O.S.)
               Top that off for ya, Hon?

     That's DOLLY, a waitress, (50, been here too long.) Speck
     looks up, smiles thinly, "No." Dolly heads off. Speck returns
     to his article, underlining a particular passage.

     ...until a MAN seats himself, suddenly, in the seat opposite
     Speck's. Speck reacts, startled.


     The MAN's name is O'RYAN. We only see PIECES of him: his eyes,
     his hands, a stain on his parka...

               What's in the case?

               I'm sorry?

               You're always lugging that case around.
               I'm curious.

     Speck looks around: there are plenty of empty tables in here.
     So why is this guy bothering me???

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               What do you sell?

               I'm... in restaurant supplies. I didn't
               get your name?

               Must travel a lot, huh?

     Speck is looking for Dolly, a Manager, anyone...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Whole country, or just hereabouts?

               I don't mean to be rude but--

               How's your wife feel about it?

     That spun things a bit. Speck pauses.


               She must get lonely, with you gone all
               the time. Does she?

               Look, I...

               Do you get lonely?

     Speck's so thrown now he can't answer.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Ya miss fucking her, Harold?

               Listen, I don't know who you are but you

     O'Ryan silences him... by holding up a piece of paper. On it
     is a DRAWING. The image faces away from us. But Speck can see
     it in rich detail. And his eyes go wide.

     We catch GLIMPSES: The color of flesh. A body-part. Looks like
     a rendering of a young, naked WOMAN.

     And, just like that, Speck finds himself STARING. Glued.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Did it myself. It's sort of a hobby.
                    (no reply)
               I've got more. Would you like to see

     O'Ryan lowers it and slides a SECOND DRAWING over... Speck is
     speechless, transfixed. Can't look away.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Tell me: those jokes about the traveling
               salesman and the farmer's daughter - are
               they true?
                    (Speck remains silent)
               Here. This one's my favorite.

     O'Ryan slides over DRAWING #3. Again, we don't get to see it.
     And we still haven't seen all of O'Ryan's face.

     But we can see Speck, and his reaction. Utter horror. In fact
     he recoils so violently that his coffee spills.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Really says it all, wouldn't you agree?

               You're a... You're sick.

               That's a matter of opinion.

               You're sick!

     He rises, leaving the drawings behind. We STAY WITH HIM as he
     crosses the diner - deeply unsettled. He reaches the Manager,
     (MEL, balding, 50, in no mood) at the register.


               I'm having a problem - with another
               customer. I'd like you to ask him to
               leave, please.

               What kind of problem?


     He turns, to point out O'Ryan.

     ...but the booth, suddenly, is empty. The guy has simply
     disappeared, taking those drawings with him.

     Speck tightens. Mel eyes him, annoyed.

                                                              CUT TO:


     Speck hurries out to his Buick, checking over his shoulder
     repeatedly. Gets to the car, fumbles with his keys. They fall
     to the asphalt. He grabs them, opens the door.

                                                              CUT TO:

4    INT. SPECK'S CAR - DRIVING - MOMENTS LATER                     4

     Speck guns the Buick. Interstate 35 flies by. The farther he
     gets away from that Diner, the happier he'll be.

     ...until a strange SOUND gets his attention: it's WIND, as if
     whistling through a ghost town. Hollow, varied - building then
     falling off again. Wind.

     Trouble is, the windows in this Buick are up.

     Yet there it is again: a thin, hollow GHOST-TOWN WIND,
     whistling over his shoulder. He's heard it before - in every
     Western he ever watched as a kid.

     But this wind is coming from his back-seat.

     The blood drains right out of Speck's face. Doesn't know if he
     should jam on the brakes or drive faster.

     He looks in his rear-view, catches a glimpse of a LATEX GLOVE
     snapping onto a hand. Dear God: O'Ryan is back there, making
     that odd Ghost-Town wind sound. Whistling.

                    (sheer terror)
               What-do-you-want?! What-do-you-want-with-

     No reply. Instead, another gift appears from the back: a
     FOURTH DRAWING, tossed from the darkness into Speck's lap.

     He looks down, registers the image... and SHRIEKS.

                         O'RYAN (O.S.)
               There's a rest stop, next off-ramp. Pull
               into it.

               I have some money. It's not a lot but--

               Nobody wants your money, Harold. Just
               pull in.


     O'Ryan rises into frame now, like Nosferatu...

               Because I don't wanna do this at 70 miles
               an hour. It could be dangerous.

     Speck finds the off-ramp. His breaths are shallow now.

               Please, Mister - what do you want from

     O'Ryan's face: a knowing grin fans across it...

                                                              CUT TO:

     ...the face of VIRGIL RAY STARKEY, on a bulletin board.


     We're looking at the F.B.I.'s "Ten Most-Wanted List." Starkey
     is #7 on it. He's 40, white. His crime are listed as rape,
     murder, kidnapping.

     THOMAS MACKELWAY stares at Starkey's image. At the eyes...

     Mackelway is 34, bred for success - bred for stardom in fact,
     a whiz at everything he's ever attempted.

     So what the hell is he doing in Wichita Falls, Texas...?

     EIGHT AGENTS, in cubicles, with a ring of outer offices. Quiet
     phones, lousy take-out options, hardly a dream gig.

                         CHARLTON (O.S.)
               Got a spot set up for you, Tom.

     That's RICK CHARLTON: late 40's, thinning hair, friendly.
     Charlton heads around a corner. Mackelway follows.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               Ms. Potter's the nice girl you met at the
               desk. She puts a package together for all
               the new agents, things to know about the
               area, help with finding apartments and
               such. This one's yours:

     Charlton stops at a CUBICLE: Carpeted walls, formica desk. A
     corner of dull Hell. Mackelway eyes it, fighting dread.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               Not so different from Dallas, is it?

                    (fuck yes)
               No, Sir.


     An abandoned SPORTS PAGE tells us about that World Series, so
     we must be mid-October. Charlton heads out. Mackelway throws a
     briefcase on to the desk, setting up his world:

     A framed picture of himself and his BROTHER, ages 10 and 15,
     on a childhood camping trip. Address book, coffee-warmer,
     calendar, a baseball covered with autographs.

     He opens up a drawer, and casually tosses two bottles of
     BUFFERIN into the back of it.

     ...but first grabs four tablets from one of the bottles,
     and throws them down his throat, as:

                         GRIEVES (O.S.)
               Ya like Frito Pies?

     Mackelway turns. BILL GRIEVES stands here, holding a white
     grease-stained paper-bag. Grieves is Mackelway's age, not
     quite as ambitious. But solid, decent.

               I dunno. What are they?

     Grieves pulls out a greasy concoction that's wrapped up like a
     semi-burrito. Pure Texas. Tosses it to Mackelway:

               Welcome to the minors.

     Grieves passes by with a faint smile, handing out lunch to a
     few other agents. Mackelway eyes the still-wrapped Frito Pie.
     God, get me outta here...

                                                              CUT TO:

6    INT. WICHITA FALLS F.B.I. OFFICE - LATER                       6

     A BRIEF MONTAGE: Mackelway, in his cubicle, watching as THOSE
     OTHER AGENTS take calls, strap on guns, head out on
     assignment. Men in motion.

     But Mackelway's land-locked, writing up an Auto-Theft report.
     It's drudgery, but he's meticulous about it, deleting the word
     "beige" and replacing it with "tan."

     His head is throbbing - not an unusual circumstance for him.
     But after lingering for a half-second on that "Most-Wanted
     List" again? Starkey? It's a wound...


     Mackelway struggles with a COFFEE MACHINE that's unfamiliar to
     him. Filter, water, grounds, etc.

                         KATIE (O.S.)
               Here. Lemme do that.

     He turns. This is KATIE POTTER. She's 25, friendly, under-
     challenged by her job. Been here two years. In two seconds
     she's got the thing percolating. Of course.

                         KATIE (CONT'D)
               It takes some experience.

     He shrugs, not feeling too smooth.

                         KATIE (CONT'D)
               You're Mackelway, right?


               Fax came in for you. It's the room next

               Oh. Thanks.

     He rises, heads for the "fax room"...

8    INT. "FAX ROOM" - CONTINUING                                   8

     A former closet, converted into useful space. FIVE FAX
     MACHINES sit on stands, sharing a surge protector. One fax
     machine is printing. Mackelway approaches it.

     Six pieces of paper await him. The first is a TOP-SHEET,
     written by hand: "Attention: Agent Thomas Mackelway, FBI
     Resident Agency - Wichita Falls." No sender named.

     He looks beneath the top sheet - at Page One of the fax.

     A young BOY stares back at him, his face photostatically
     copied. Across the top, also-handwritten: "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"
     At the bottom of the sheet, typed, we read:

     "Jason Corey, Age 14. Ht. 5'1", Wt. 130, Eyes Brn, Hair Brn.
     Last Seen: Riverside, Ca. Date of Disappearance: 10-16-99."

     Mackelway eyes the face, then the vitals. No idea why this was
     sent to him. Then he looks at Page Two.

     A young WOMAN stares back at him this time. Another faxed
     photo. Another "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" scrawled across the top of
     it. And, at the bottom of the sheet:

     "Anna Casitas, Age 22. Ht. 5'6", Wt. 125, Eyes Brn, Hair Blk.
     Last Seen: Macon, Ga. Date of Disappearance: 5-6-00."

     The other three faxes are more of the same: Pictures and
     vitals. Faces. Facts. "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"

     He looks at the bottom of the transmissions, finds the fax
     number of the sender. Dials it. All he hears back is the loud
     grainy shriek of a dedicated fax line.

     He eyes the faxes again. It's not alarming, but it's odd. Then
     Charlton emerges from his office, shouting:

               Mackelway! You gonna sit on your ass all
               day, or do you wanna do something?

     Mackelway's out of this room in an instant.

                                                              CUT TO:

9    EXT. REST STOP - OFF THE INTERSTATE - DAY                      9

     Your standard roadside rest-stop: a parking lot with weeds
     poking through it and bathrooms you wouldn't go near. Those
     STORMCLOUDS we saw earlier are CLOSER now...

     Charlton's FBI SEDAN pulls up. He and Mackelway get out.

     Two men approach: SHERIFF HARRY DYLAN, 50; and his deputy, BUD
     GRANGER, a gangly, baby-faced pup.

               Afternoon, Rick.
                    (Charlton nods)
               Looks like a robbery/homicide. Body's
               over that way.

     He gestures toward a ravine, where a TOW TRUCK is currently
     lowering a winch toward an abandoned vehicle.

     It is Harold Speck's Buick, nose-down in the ravine, teetering
     on a rock, like the balanced scales of justice.

               Ya run the plates?

     Charlton eyes Mackelway: "Easy, Hot-shot." Mackelway nods,
     reminding himself to remember his new rank. Dylan hands a
     preliminary report to Charlton.

               Fella's name is Harold Speck. Traveling
               salesman, from Abilene.

     Charlton eyes the report, then hands it to Mackelway. The
     hierarchy is being made clear. Very.

     Mackelway turns: this ravine runs right up against a SIGN that
     reads "Welcome to Texas" on one side and "You are now leaving
     Oklahoma" on the other.

     A vehicle, left right on the state-line. Odd...

     Then, a NOISE: that Tow-Truck WINCH, grinding badly. It's just
     about to yank the Buick out of this ditch.

                    (it blurts out)

     Before Charlton can react, Mackelway is running across this
     weed-choked lot, zeroing in on the TOW-TRUCK DRIVER.

10   EXT. ATOP THE RAVINE - CONTINUING                             10

     The Driver, JUMBO, is operating the winch from a hydraulic
     handle on the back of the truck. Mackelway barrels in:

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               What the fuck're you doing?!

               What's it look like, Bud?

     Mackelway reaches past Jumbo and hits the "Stop" button
     himself. The winch shuts down. Mackelway turns. A handful of
     LOCAL COPS stand atop this ravine, watching.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               You guys ever heard of evidentiary

     No one replies. Charlton approaches. Mackelway tightens,
     expecting a reprimand for overstepping his bounds.

                         MACKWELWAY (CONT'D)
               Sorry, Sir. There wasn't time.

     Charlton eyes the car. Then Mackelway.

               Did the right thing, Agent Mackelway.
               Let's have a look.

     Charlton starts down the embankment. Mackelway doesn't,
     hanging back as he eyes the TRACKS this Buick made before
     tumbling. Something about them...

     He pulls a small CAMERA from his pocket, a Minox. Snaps off a
     few photos of the scene - the Buick, the ravine, those tracks,
     some FOOTPRINTS alongside them.

     Then he heads down the 15-foot embankment.

11   EXT. RAVINE - CONTINUING                                      11

     It's an ugly sight. Speck is inches from us, but his head is
     facing in the other direction, twisted unnaturally.

     Mackelway kneels beside the open window, pulls out some
     gloves, puts them on. He will not lean on the car, or even
     breathe on it, his caution around evidence obvious.

                         CHARLTON (O.S.)
               What's that?

     Charlton is opposite him, outside the passenger-side window,
     pointing at the DRAWING that O'Ryan had tossed onto Speck's
     lap. It lies face down on the seat.

     But something's been FINGER-PAINTED on the back of it: A
     RED CIRCLE, with a SLASH through it.

     Charlton begins to reach for it, when:

                    (to stop him)

     Charlton stops. Mackelway indicates: "Gloves."

     Charlton eyes him. It's irritating being corrected by a guy
     you outrank, especially when he's right.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Sort of a... stickler for procedure.

               I imagine you would be.

     That was a jab, but we don't know it yet. Charlton puts on his
     gloves. Mackelway snaps off a few more shots with that Minox,
     looking over the rest of this car, as:

               Hey Jumbo. Toss me down a crowbar.

     Granger's by the trunk. Before Mackelway can comment, Jumbo
     has tossed a CROWBAR down from the top of the embankment: a
     ten-pound hunk of iron, flying right at us.

     Everybody ducks... as it CLANGS on the roof of the Buick.
     Jumbo shrugs.

               You said toss it.

     Mackelway shakes his head. "Shitkicker." Granger grabs the
     crowbar. He's just about to open the trunk as:

               Hold it a second.

     Granger pauses. Mackelway crosses to the trunk, and snaps off
     a few shots with the Minox.

     Something catches his eye, along the line of the TRUNK. He
     kneels closer... An odd RESIDUE, crusty and hard, has formed a
     thin line on top of the paint in a single post.

     He takes out a VIAL, and scrapes some of the residue into it.
     Then he sniffs it. Pauses...

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Smells like... clove.

     He looks to Granger: now you can open the trunk.

                    (re: Mackelway)
               Where the hell'd you find this guy?

               Field Office. Dallas.

               Well now...
                    (Charlton shrugs)
               So what the hell's he doin' here?

     That one is left unanswered. Granger opens the trunk.
     Mackelway and the others look inside...

     There, they find restaurant supplies: napkin dispensers, salt-
     shakers, ketchup dispensers, a short-order wheel... And a
     fishing reel, tackle-box, a kid's bicycle helmet.

     Mackelway eyes it all, but his instincts tell him there's
     nothing significant here. So he returns to Speck's body.

     He leans in, lifts Speck's head a few inches away from the
     steering wheel. Gently.

     ...which is when we learn that Speck's EYELIDS have been torn
     off. It's gruesome, but Mackelway notes it calmly. Charlton
     leans in, gets a look.


     Mackelway is expressionless. But something about these LIDLESS
     EYES draws him closer. He leans in, then BAM! We are rocketed
     into a series of dark, disjointed images:

12   EXT. A WHEAT FIELD - NIGHT                                    12

     Seems like we're standing in a field of TALL WHEAT; we can't
     say for sure. Everything's wet, wind-whipped.

     A MUZZLE FLASH... Someone just fired a gun. We slump hard to
     the ground. Then we look up.

     Mackelway stands over us, his face wet with rain. Then, just
     as quickly, those IMAGES VANISH and we are:


     We start on the EYES OF O'RYAN. Cross-Dissolve to a pad of
     paper, on a DESK. Scrawled on the pad is a WAVY LINE. He holds
     the tip of that pen upon it, for a few seconds, as if
     expecting to get some kind of pulse from it.

     Here come those IMAGES again: wet wheat, a muzzle flash,
     Mackelway. Choppy, disjointed, dark. Then they cease...

     ...and O'Ryan begins to DRAW, hurriedly. Only half of his face
     is visible to us, but we can tell that his concentration is

     His pen continues its furious work, a spasm of activity, as
     the SOUNDS of that vision bleed in: the gun-shot, the rain,
     the wind. They're all alive in O'Ryan's mind...

     And that DRAWING takes shape quickly: The wheat field, the
     gun, Mackelway.

     Then, the pen is set down. The drawing is complete.

     O'Ryan eyes it calmly, then checks his watch, jotting down the
     exact time and date on to the drawing. Then he slips it into a
     folder marked, "MACKELWAY."

                                                              CUT TO:

14   EXT. SPECK'S HOME - ABILENE, TEXAS - ESTAB. DAY               14

     Picket fence, a swing on the porch, a lawn that needs mowing.
     A LINE OF PEOPLE file in, each bringing food... and tissues to
     cry into.


     Shocked faces. Food on unmatching trays. Speck's wife - JAN,
     40 and frayed - sits in a chair, immobile. FRIENDS and FAMILY
     mill about, tending to her.

     KIDS hover. Two of them, a 4-YEAR-OLD BOY and an 8-YEAR-OLD
     GIRL, sniff back tears as people offer condolences.

     But the focus here is Jan - her grief. She's shaking...

                         O'RYAN (O.S.)
               Mrs. Speck?

     She looks up. O'Ryan crouches down, to eye-level, one of fifty
     faces in here. Jan half-nods.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Just wanted to offer my condolences.
                    (takes her hand)
               I didn't know him well but... I think
               Harold was a much more complex man than
               people realized.

     Jan is so raw that anything about Speck touches her now.

                    (through tears)
               He was, wasn't he?

               I'm very sorry for your loss, ma'am.

     She sniffs back a tear, thanks him with a smile. O'Ryan
     extends his hand to her. She takes it. He moves off.

     Beside her is a FRAMED PORTRAIT of Speck. We blow past it, and
     into the BLACK CREPE that is adorning the corner of the
     portrait's FRAME, and:

     BAM! We're rocketed back into a set of odd IMAGES again:

16   EXT. DARKNESS - UNIDENTIFIED TIME                             16

     This time, everything before us is a blur of gray. We hear
     that wet wind. We hear our own heavy BREATHING, as if we were
     running somewhere... a VOICE, rising above the wind, seems to
     be saying:


     The sound echoes oddly, as if bouncing off a satellite
     somewhere, or a distance of time and space.

     Then the sound and the soupy grayness VANISH. This vision just
     ended. When we pop back out of it, we're TIGHT on Mackelway...

                                                              CUT TO:


     Mackelway sits behind the wheel of his Chevy Yukon, parked
     between two big-rigs in the lot of the "All-American Diner."
     Sky looks black tonight. It rumbles...

     And that soupy gray vision we just heard and saw... It was all

     He pulls four more Bufferins out of a bottle in his pocket.
     Slugs them down. This headache is a constant. Then he gets out
     of the Yukon...


     Mackelway enters, spots Charlton at a booth - sitting opposite
     a WOMAN, her back to us.

19   INT. BOOTH - CONTINUING                                       19

     Mackelway approaches. The Woman doesn't turn.

               Agent Mackelway. I was 'bout to introduce
               you, but I understand that won't be

     Mackelway doesn't get it... until the WOMAN turns. She is
     AGENT FRAN KULOK. 35, sharp, pretty when she allows herself to
     be. But with a guard that never comes down.

     Mackelway has some history with her, so he tries not to react.
     It takes some effort.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               Seems your former office has decided we
               might need some help on this one. So they
               sent out Agent Kulok.



     That was terse, from both of them. Charlton takes note.

               I guess we're skipping the tearful
               reunion. Have a seat, Tom.

     Mackelway sits opposite Fran. She folds her hands.

               How's things back at the ranch?

               Movin' right along.

     That might've been a dig; Charlton can't tell.

               Okay. Whadda we know?

               Picked up a foot-print in the back seat
               of Speck's car, size-and-a-half bigger
               than Speck's.

     Just like that, Fran is piping up. Mackelway's unoffended.


               Wounds on Speck's throat indicate that he
               was strangled from behind... I think our
               guy waited for him in the backseat,
               sprung this on him once the car was

     She slides that FOURTH DRAWING to Charlton - giving us our
     first look at it.


     ...a STEAMER-TRUNK, lined with plastic. Inside it are large
     ZIPLOC BAGS. Inside the bags are BODY PARTS.

     It's realized so accurately that it looks more like a
     photograph. No wonder it horrified Speck so deeply.


     Charlton eyes it without reaction.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)
               Lab picked up talcum traces on the edges
               of the paper, consistent with powdered
                    (Charlton nods)
               So he gets the dropped in his lap, it
               spooks him, and the car winds up in the

     Plausible enough, until:

               I don't think so, no. I think it was

               How ya figure?

               The look of the tracks. Foot-prints near
               the embankment.

     Without embellishing any further, he slides over the
     PHOTOGRAPHS that he took this morning with the Minox: tire-
     tracks, foot-prints. She eyes them.

     Then she eyes Mackelway. Charlton notes the tension.

               Okay. So our guy likes to draw pictures
               of body parts and then spring 'em on
               people. What's that get us?
                    (they're silent)
               That's what I thought.

     There is plenty going unsaid here between Mackelway and Fran.
     Charlton has no time for it.

               Oh. 'Fore I forget. This came in for you:

     He tosses a 9-by-12 ENVELOPE at Mackelway, who opens it. Six
     sheets of paper slide out.

     First one we see is the TOP SHEET of a FAX: same hand-written
     inscription as the last one: "Attention, Agent Thomas
     Mackelway, FBI Resident Agency, Wichita Falls."

     Okay. This is twice now. He knows what will be under this top
     sheet without even looking. But here's Page One:

     A photo of a middle-aged African-American WOMAN. Across the
     top of the photo, in hand-writing: "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"

     And typed on the bottom: "Tanya Green. Age 42. Ht. 5'9", Wt.
     165, Eyes Blk, Hair Blk. Last Seen: Ames, Iowa. Date of
     Disappearance: 3-22-97."

     The following four sheets bring four more faces: men, women,
     young, old. Four more HAVE YOU SEEN ME's.

     But before he can think it through, he hears:

                         MANAGER (O.S.)
               It's about time.

     They turn. That came from the NIGHT MANAGER: a humorless guy
     named LES. He's looking at the front door, through which Dolly
     has just entered. Pink cowboy boots tonight.

               Don't start in on me, Les. I couldn't get
               the pickup started and Harlan took the

     The Manager now throws a glance at the three feds in the
     booth. Dolly stops short, taken aback.

                         DOLLY (CONT'D)
               Holy Hell. My one shot at winding up on
               "Cops" and I'm in my weekday boots!

                                                              CUT TO:

20   INT. DINER - BOOTH - LATER                                    20

     Dolly and Mel sit opposite Mackelway and Fran.

               He was a quiet guy. Normal. Liked to read
               fishing magazines. Not much of a tipper.
               Is that a lousy thing to say?

               It's fine.

     Mel rolls his eyes.

               What can you tell us about the other man?

               Like I said, I never really saw him.
               Harold came up, complainin' about the guy
               - but time I turned, he was gone.

                    (at Dolly:) (at Dolly:)
               Could you de--Did you get a--

     They each stop short, waiting for the other to yield. Finally
     Mackelway nods, "Go ahead."

               Can you describe him, Ma'am?

               Sure. He was...

     Dolly pauses, her face scrunching a bit. Troubled...

                         DOLLY (CONT'D)
               That's weird. Guy was in here better part
               of an hour. We had a real pleasant
               chat... But I can't remember a thing
               about him. For the life of me. Couldn't
               even tell you what color his eyes were.

     She shrugs apologetically.

               Happen to see what he was driving?

               That one's easy. It's still in the lot.
                    (they perk up)
               The Bonneville out there with the awful
               paint job.

     She gestures to the lot, where an old PONTIAC BONNEVILLE sits,
     its paint stripped down to the primer. Bingo.

     Fran and Mackelway eye it, then one another.

                                                              CUT TO:

21   EXT. DINER - PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER                      21

     Fran and Mackelway emerge, heading for the Bonneville.

               We ought to work out some kind of

               For what?

               Interviews. Witnesses. Looks pretty
               silly, our talking over one another.

               Fine. I'll handle them from now on.

     He doesn't argue. They come to a stop at that Bonneville,
     stripped down to its primer. Time to work...

     Two agents, all instinct. We see them study things, details,
     their minds always churning... Mackelway pulls out his Minox,
     snaps off a few more shots. Then:

               Trunk's ajar.

     She turns. Sure enough, the Bonneville's trunk is ajar.
     Mackelway approaches, cautiously.

     He doesn't have gloves on him, so he uses his jacket pocket to
     protect against prints. He opens the trunk.

     First thing he sees is that SYMBOL again: a circle-with-a-
     slash-through-it... staring right at him.

     But this time, it's been carved into somebody's back.

     Mackelway stares. So does Fran. Before them lies a body,
     stripped to the waist: a chunky middle-aged MAN. Dead.

     Mackelway sighs. Things just got tougher...

                                                              CUT TO:

22   INT. ARCHER COUNTY MORGUE - DAY                               22

     Harold Speck lies on a table. A BESPECTACLED CORONER examines
     him. Victim #2, BARNEY FULCHER, lies on another, his ample
     frame yet to be examined.

     The lights are out, but that Coroner wears a FLUORESCENT HALO,
     with a MICROPHONE pinned to his gown. He speaks into it with a
     quiet monotone: anatomical terms, etc.

     Mackelway and Fran are here... watching. Mackelway is
     particularly focused on Fulcher's face. His EYELIDS, we now
     see, have also been torn off. Hmmmm...

               Why eyelids?


               No other signs of torture here. Why take
               somebody's eyelids off?

               So they can't blink.

     She sighs, aloud: "I know that already, Asshole." Coroner
     keeps his head down, speaking into that microphone.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               It's a metaphor - to make certain the
               victim sees... or to make certain that we
               see something.
                    (she's silent)
               Or maybe it's just a fuck-you.

     Coroner continues his monotone narration... then crosses to
     the sink.

     That puts him out of earshot. So:

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
                    (to Fran, quietly)
               I'm sorry about Don.


               You're not wearing your ring anymore.

     That was an attempt at kindness. She knows that. Still, she
     eyes her left hand, self-consciously, while Mackelway loses
     himself in those lidless eyes of Fulcher's...


     They turn. Charlton stands on the other side of a GLASS
     WINDOW, in a VIEWING ROOM adjacent to this Morgue. He presses
     a piece of paper up against the glass.

     On it, in typed bold letters at the top, we read: "MATCHES
     ONE OF ONE." Below that we see that Circle-with-the-slash-

     This is a FAX, which Charlton's just received. He points
     further down on the fax at what look like little squiggles at
     first, until we move in to discover it is a hand drawn street

     The ink bleeds a bit due to a poor fax transmission. Those
     scrawled lines take us to "The Hope House," in Oklahoma City.
     At the bottom a scribbled name, "David Dyson," and a contact

     Moving closer to the glass, Mackelway nods. He just got a

                                                              CUT TO:


     A CHOIR of FIRST AND SECOND GRADERS stands before a school
     assembly. The rest of Boulder Elementary's student body fills
     the seats in here, along with FACULTY MEMBERS.

     Everybody's weeping. A framed picture of Barney Fulcher sits
     on a stand, with candles around it:

                         SINGING FIRST AND SECOND GRADERS
               A-may-zing Grace, How sweet the sound--

     In the back, some of the TOWNSFOLK have gathered for this
     assembly, touched. O'Ryan stands among them. No expression on
     his face at all...

                                                              CUT TO:

24   EXT. "HOPE HOUSE" - OKLAHOMA CITY - NIGHT                     24

     A three-story Victorian residence in decay, next door to a
     CHURCH/SOUP KITCHEN in the middle of Oklahoma City's Skid Row.
     Rain falls. The street is still.

     Mackelway approaches this halfway-house. A few lights shine
     within, and the blue glow of a tv. Upstairs can be heard the
     strident, off-key voice of somebody singing.

25   EXT./INT. HOPE HOUSE - DOORWAY - CONTINUING                   25

     The front door is open. Through a SCREEN DOOR, Mackelway can
     see an old-fashioned "foyer." He knocks. Waits.

     Two sounds dominate: the buzz from that tv, and the strident
     singing, which we realize is an a capela version of "La Vida
     Loca" audible through an open bedroom window.

     But no one's coming to answer the door, and it's wide open
     anyway... So Mackelway enters.


26   INT. HOPE HOUSE - ENTRY - CONTINUING                          26

     TV room is to his left. There, a single 35 year-old DRUNK/
     TRANSIENT (we'll call him "PIPER") sits, watching "Behind the
     Music" on VH1. Tonight's subject? Leif Garret...

     Piper doesn't look up, or acknowledge Mackelway at all. Rather
     he INCREASES THE TV VOLUME to drown out the singing upstairs,
     which seems to be intentionally off-key.

     Torn couches, stained carpet, cracked window. Posters and
     fliers on the walls. 10 BEDROOMS upstairs.

                         DYSON (O.S.)
               Agent Mackelway?

     Mackelway turns. Descending a creaking stairway is DAVID
     DYSON: 50, lean, with a friendly smile.

                                                              CUT TO:

27   INT. HOPE HOUSE - BASEMENT - MOMENTS LATER                    27

     We are staring at a BASEMENT WALL that has been covered, floor
     to ceiling, with 1,000 identical renderings of that same

     1,000 of them, in bright red paint, against pitch black
     enamel. Only a machine could have achieved this kind of
     repetition. Or a maniac.

     This basement is leaky, drafty, poorly lit. But it's also
     quiet: the sound of that awful singing upstairs has been MUTED
     by the basement door and the rain itself.

               Benjamin spent hours down here.

     Mackelway takes it all in, every corner of this basement. He
     notes a row of standing GYM LOCKERS.

                    (re: lockers)
               Did he have access to those?

               No. They're staff-only.

               Would you mind opening them for me?

     Dyson shrugs; he thinks it's a waste of time - but he'll do
     it. Mackelway follows him across the dank room.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               He was here... seven years you said?

               Off and on. It's not uncommon for our
               guests to vanish for months at a time.

     Dyson works a combination lock on the first locker.

               I ran the name through our database, just
               to be sure. There's never been an Agent
               Benjamin O'Ryan in the Bureau.

               No... but as elaborate fantasies go, it
               was one of my favorites.
               And he always seemed so sincere about it.

     Dyson half-chuckles; he always liked the guy... He throws open
     the locker. Inside, nothing. Mackelway indicates the next
     locker. Dyson works the combination.

               Is that what you called him? Benjamin?

               It's what he wished to be called.

     Locker #2 is opened - also empty. Only one locker left.

                         DYSON (CONT'D)
                    (re: locker #3)
               That one's mine.

     Mackelway shrugs: "Sorry, it has to be opened." Dyson sighs,
     then works the combination. Mackelway waits.

     Locker #3 is opened. Inside, nothing incriminating: a sweater,
     some old junk, two trophies. Dyson eyes him: "See?" Mackelway
     nods. Dyson shuts the locker.

     Mackelway looks to that wall: 1,000 copies of the circle-with-
     a-slash-through-it. No idea what they signify...

                         DYSON (CONT'D)
               He painted one of the walls in his room,

               Can I see it?

               We've painted it over.

               Still, might be helpful.

     Dyson heads for the stairs. They're wooden slats with more
     basement-junk stored below: old sporting equipment, an old
     vaccuum cleaner, broken chairs, rusted patio furniture.

     Mackelway follows. They climb...

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)

     They stop. Something just caught Mackelway's eye, visible
     beneath these stairs: a BOX, with a bucket of PAINT sticking
     out of it...


     Mackelway climbs under the stairs, crouching down, pushing
     aside all of the aforementioned junk. He grabs the box.

     Sure enough, that bucket once held red paint - same color
     O'Ryan used to cover that wall. There's also a bucket of BLACK
     PAINT here. And some used brushes.

     Mackelway brings the box into the meager light. We get a look
     INSIDE IT now. So does Dyson.

     Inside, beneath the paint-buckets, we see a few TV GUIDES, a
     yo-yo, a football. Then a BOOK on TRIBAL RITUAL AND TRANCE.
     Mackelway grabs it, eyes it.

     He flips through a few pages - odd images: a TRIBESMAN with
     eyes rolling back in his head, strange rites, etc.

     Mackelway sets the book down. Then, amidst the other materials
     in this box, he spots a large folded MAP.

     He grabs it, begins to unfold it. We see that this map's been
     written on, in pen. Cities on it have been CIRCLED.

     But before we can get a good look at it, Mackelway spots
     something else, at the bottom of this box, a shocker:

     A photograph of himself.

     It takes him a second to realize what he's looking at. But
     there it is, a NEWSPAPER PHOTO, of Agent Thomas Mackelway.

     It is part of a FRONT-PAGE STORY, dated July of this year,
     concerning the trial and release...of Virgil Ray Starkey. #7
     on the F.B.I.'s Most-Wanted List...

     Dyson can't help but notice the picture of Mackelway.

     Mackelway stares. Suddenly we JUMP BACK IN TIME, NINE MONTHS,
     for a brief, choppy FLASHBACK.

     We're RUNNING, dashing between two buildings of chipped-adobe,
     hearing nothing but the sound of our own breathing and the
     thuds of our own heavy feet.

     This is Matamoros, Mexico, a shit-hole of a border town.
     Squalor and sin. We find a DRUNK MEXICAN TEEN. He nods: "This
     is the place," and sticks out his palm.

30   INT. HOPE HOUSE - BASEMENT - RESUMING                         30

     Mackelway stares at that newspaper: Starkey - rapist,
     murderer, whose case was just thrown out of court - a stunning
     failure for all involved. we RESUME MACKELWAY'S FLASHBACK - Matamoros again...

31   INT. "CLUB" - BACKSTAGE - RESUMING FLASHBACK                  31

     Bad-lighting, drunk patrons in a CIRCLE, and a DONKEY-SHOW
     taking place on a bare stage. Feels like we've stepped into
     some kind of evil carnival. It's dizzying.

     Among the crowd: Virgil Starkey, in an ugly drunken binge, the
     only guy in here who isn't cheering or laughing.

     Suddenly our GUN is pointed right at his head.

     Starkey freezes, caught. Some of the PATRONS around him find
     somewhere else to stand... But the show goes on.

32   INT. HOPE HOUSE - BASEMENT - RESUMING                         32

     That ARTICLE gives us more detail now, the reason Starkey's
     case was thrown out of court. It is this:

     The F.B.I. Agent on the case had made a mistake in
     "evidentiary procedure." Hence, Mackelway's picture.

     On his face, we GO BACK TO ANOTHER MEMORY: six months ago.


     Three months have passed since the arrest in Matamoros. Now
     Mackelway sits in this courthouse ANTEROOM, adjacent to a
     courtroom. Four sour PROSECUTORS surround him.

                         PROSECUTOR #1
               D'you understand how fucked we are?

               Yes, Sir.

                         PROSECUTOR #1
               Leaving a tissue sample in the care of a
               Mexican lab? Are you fucking kidding me?

               They assured me that they understood

                         PROSECUTOR #1
               Well guess what? They didn't. And this
               prick's gonna walk, ten murders or not.

     That registered.

34   INT. HOPE HOUSE - BASEMENT - RESUMING                         34

     Beneath this newspaper article are OTHER ARTICLES, all
     concerning Starkey: his crimes, his capture, all of it.

     Mackelway's memory just got stoked again:


     Mackelway emerges from that courthouse anteroom, whipped.

     The hall's busy with MEDIA and other traffic. First face he
     sees is Fran, who sits on a bench, (wedding ring ON). Her eyes
     say how lousy she feels for him. It almost helps.


     The door bursts open and Mackelway storms in. No need to look
     composed now; he's alone in here. He crosses to a paper-towel
     dispenser, SLUGS IT. Stares in the mirror.

     He's livid, embarrassed, frustrated - can barely look at his
     own reflection.

     Then he hears LAUGHTER, behind him. He turns.

     Out of the darkness of a badly-lit STALL, Virgil Starkey
     emerges, coming into view under a single light.

     Beside him is a GRIM COP, his chaperone. Starkey passes by
     Mackelway, almost snickering. Then he's gone. Mackelway shuts
     his eyes tight. His head is pounding. END FLASHBACK.

37   INT. HOPE HOUSE - BASEMENT - RESUMING                         37

     Mackelway stares... at a record of his deepest wound. But what
     the hell is it doing in the locker of a transient?

                                                              CUT TO:

38   INT. HOPE HOUSE - "O'RYAN'S ROOM" - MOMENTS LATER             38

     Mackelway leans in, looking around. A bed. A small end-table.
     Bathroom. A window without bars.

     From down the hall we hear the sound of a PHONE RINGING, then
     a FAX transmission. An old fax machine begins to whine
     noisily, creaking. It's a distraction.

     But Mackelway's focus is in this room. The walls have been newly
     painted. But there's a hint of barely-perceptible color
     beneath one of them. Rain from a LEAKY ROOF is causing some of
     the new paint to peel a bit.

     A BUCKET collects drops in the center of the room. The feeling
     in here is damp, mildewy, creepy. Mackelway remains in the
     doorway... then backs out.

                         DYSON (O.S.)
               I guess you fellas're never unaccounted
               for, huh?

39   INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUING                                     39

     Mackelway turns, a bit startled. Dyson is approaching, FAX in


     Dyson extends six pages. On the TOP-SHEET, written by hand,
     are the words: "Agent Thomas Mackelway, C/O Mr. David Dyson,
     Hope House" with a street address.

     And under that top sheet? Five more pages.

     Mackelway sighs, takes them from Dyson. Sure enough, he's
     staring at five more faces, five more fact sheets. Five more

     But how would anyone know to send them here?

               Anything urgent?

                    (doesn't look up)

     Dyson is glad to hear it.

                                                              CUT TO:

40   INT. HOPE HOUSE - FOYER - MOMENTS LATER                       40

     Mackelway descends, having had quite enough of this place.
     Piper is where we left him, watching VH1 in the TV Room.

     Mackelway passes, eyeing those newly-faxed pages: five more
     HAVE YOU SEEN ME'S... He reaches the door.

               Ever seen a fifty-foot shark?

     Mackelway stops, turns.

               I'm sorry?

               Fifty-foot shark. Ever seen one?


               Doesn't mean there aren't any.

     Great. Mackelway reaches for the front door again. Then he
     halts. Maybe this guy can be helpful. Mackelway turns:

               Did you know him?
                    (Piper's silent)
               The guy who used to stay upstairs.
               "O'Ryan." Did you know him?

               Why? Is he dead?

               I don't...

               You said "Did." Is he dead?

               Oh. I mis-spoke. No, he's not dead...
                    (a beat)
               You know him?

     Piper nods.

     Mackelway eyes him, then approaches, holding up a copy of that
     image: the circle-with-slash-through-it.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               He ever talk about this? A circle with a
               slash through it?

     Piper rises, crosses to us... leaning in unnecessarily close.
     It's unsettling.

               That's not a circle. It's a zero.

               Oh. How do you know?

     Piper doesn't answer. Instead he simply starts whistling.

     But it's not a tune coming out of his mouth. It's that same
     sound that O'Ryan made: A WHISTLING WIND, blowing through a
     ghost town... Building, then falling again.

     Piper smiles, backing away, enjoying the theatricality of it,
     stifling a giggle...

     Then, suddenly, everything turns GRAINY, CHOPPY...

     We've jumped into a distorted, REMOTE POV of this same scene -
     as if watching it through a crystal ball, or a broken lens, or
     a distance of time and space...

     We see images, fragments: Piper, the tv, the sofa, Mackelway's
     face. Then all sound breaks up, and we are...


     Start on O'Ryan's EYES. Then a pad of paper. The spasm of a
     pen, scrawling a LIST on to it: "Piper. TV. Whistling." We're
     in another non-descript MOTEL ROOM. $29 a night.

     He holds down the point of his pen on a wavy line beside that
     list of words, keeping it there for a few seconds, as if
     expecting to receive some kind of pulse from it.

     No more pulse. He has lost the "connection" that had somehow
     transported him. He notes his watch. Jots down the exact time.
     Slips the pad into that FOLDER: "Mackelway."

     Then he starts to DRAW - a hurried but accurate sketch of
     Mackelway and Piper, just as they stood during that
     conversation. The geography is fairly accurate.

     O'Ryan continues to draw. We CRANE OUT of this motel room, to
     find, on the street below:

42   EXT. A BAR - SLEEPER, MISSOURI - CONTINUING                   42

     A typical honky-tonk in a town called Sleeper, Missouri. Just
     across the street from O'Ryan's cheap motel...

43   INT. BAR - SLEEPER, MISSOURI - CONTINUING                     43

     Low-lights, dust on the floor. Pool tables.

     LORETTA is a pretty 19-year-old who stands at the jukebox,
     weighing her choices. She's got a thick curtain of hair, which
     she wrangles with a CHIP-CLIP. It's a habit.

     She chooses a country-rock tune, then heads for the bar,
     walking to the beat. It's fun being 19 and beautiful.

44   AT THE BAR - CONTINUING                                       44

     The BARTENDER'S a stocky guy with a broad smile.

                    (re: song)
               How's that?

               Little cute for my taste, but I can stand
               three minutes of it.

               I'll have a seven and seven, please.

               Seven and seven. Got some i.d.?

     She half-laughs, as if she hasn't been carded in a decade, and
     throws that curtain of hair from one side to the other, re-
     fastening that chip-clip. It's her best move.

               It's in the car. No one's asked me for it
               for a couple years now.

               If ya hurry, you'll still catch the end
               of the song.

     She eyes him: are you really carding me? He smiles: nothing
     personal, Sugar. So she heads for the door.

     ...on her way, she passes a booth. In it we find a familiar
     face - Virgil Ray Starkey...

     He remains still, as if he hadn't noticed her. But behind
     his eyes, something primal just took place. He rises, heads
     for the door.

45   EXT. BAR - MOMENTS LATER                                      45

     Loretta walks to her VW Bug. Starkey exits the bar. She
     doesn't notice. We TILT UP: the lights are off in O'Ryan's
     motel room...

46   EXT. AT LORETTA'S CAR - MOMENTS LATER                         46

     It all happens pretty fast: That chip-clip hits the ground
     beside the open VW door. A battered PICK-UP speeds away,
     kicking up gravel.

                                                              CUT TO:

     ...Loretta's eyes, wide with terror and dread.

47   INT. STARKEY'S PICK-UP - MINUTES LATER                        47

     We're off-road. Missouri's woods can be seen through the
     windshield. And Starkey is staring at us. Pawing at us...

               Please, Mister...

     Starkey's hand shoots out, banging Loretta's head against the
     window, hard. That makes things start to swim. Starkey tears
     at her clothes, lowers himself on to her.

     She whimpers. WE CARRY THE SOUND OF IT INTO:

48   INT. MACKELWAY'S APARTMENT - SAME                             48

     This is where you go when you've just moved to Wichita Falls
     and money's tight: spotty shag carpet, chipped Formica kitchen
     table, scuffed blinds.

     ...and one sleepless agent, having one lousy night.

     Mackelway sits on the edge of his bed, almost able to hear
     Loretta's helpless cries. Some nights are like this. His head
     is POUNDING again. Down go four more Bufferin.

     Above him, covering the bedroom mirror, is the MAP he took
     from that Hope House basement. O'Ryan's map, UNFOLDED.

     It's HUGE: 6-feet-wide, 4-feet-tall, obscuring the mirror.

     As we glimpsed while still in that basement, this map his been
     written on, in pen. O'Ryan's notations cover it:
     Over a THUSAND CITIES on it have been CIRCLED, by hand, in
     RED. Each of those circled cities has a DATE written beside
     it, also in red: ("4/6," "5/19," "10-26," etc.)

     Mackelway studies it, his face working. Another of those
     WHIMPERS from Loretta seems to hang, suspended. Mackelway
     shakes it off, certain that he's imagining it.

     He won't sleep a wink tonight. We LEAVE HIM, returning to:

49   INT. STARKEY'S PICK-UP - RESUMING                             49

     The attack continues, its terror unimaginable. Loretta sobs.
     It hurts. Starkey's too powerful to fight off. We stay on her
     face: dazed, her mind simply checking out.

     ...until a look of cognizance comes over her, brought on by a
     SHADOW that just passed by.

     Then the window behind Starkey simply EXPLODES.

     Glass flies everywhere, and TWO ARMS reach into the pick-up.
     They grab Starkey by the neck and yank him out of the pick-up,
     his back sliced open by shards. He screams.

     She can't resist coming to the window, where she sees:

50   EXT. WOODS - STARKEY'S PICK-UP - CONTINUING                   50

     Starkey lies, face up. Shocked. Squirming. Bleeding. Standing
     over him, looming large as a Grizzly... is O'Ryan. A long
     HUNTING KNIFE extends from his hand.

     But his tone, to our great surprise, is conversational:

               Hey, listen, I'm sorta new in town. Ya
               know where I can find a good donkey show?

     Starkey has no idea how to respond to this maniac:


               Oh. Forgot. Wrong country... In America
               animals have rights.
               Don't they, Virgil?

               How the fuck should I know?

     O'Ryan half-smiles, then kicks Starkey right in the head.
     Loretta's eyes go wide. Another kick follows, to the ribs.
     Then one to the groin. Then:

                    (at Loretta)
               Turn around.

     He said that without looking at her. But he can tell that she
     hasn't moved - too frightened. So he eyes her.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Turn around!

     She turns away, lying face down on the seat, covering her
     head. No idea what kind of terror is to come next. We STAY
     WITH HER... able only to hear what follows:

     The sound is animal, awful - like a pig being gutted - a
     horrible SQUEAL, covering the GRUNTS coming from O'Ryan.

     In goes the knife again, prompting another agonized cry from
     Starkey. Loretta's crying too: from fear, shock... She keeps
     her face buried, shutting her eyes tight. The sounds of
     savagery fill the night.

     Then, one last gasp from Starkey... followed by an awful
     silence... and the assault is over.

     Loretta's too afraid to look up - certain that the maniac with
     the knife will be coming after her next.

     But then she hears FOOTSTEPS, trailing away. So she rises,
     peeking over the edge of the window. WE STAY ON HER FACE, as
     she sees what's become of her attacker.

     Her horrified SCREAM fills the woods...


     Mackelway STARES out the window; seems like he just HEARD that
     scream. Of course, that'd be impossible. He looks to that map.
     His PHONE RINGS. He eyes it, unsurprised...

                                                              CUT TO:

52   EXT. WOODS OUTSIDE SLEEPER, MO. - LATER                       52

     Law enforcement VEHICLES surround the site. COPS, Grieves,
     CORONER'S GUYS taking pictures. Loretta is sitting on the back
     of an ambulance, being tended to.

     A COMPOSITE ARTIST sits beside her, trying.

               I don't think the eyes are right.

                         COMPOSITE ARTIST

               No, they were... I don't really know.

     Composite Artist keeps trying, but his attempt doesn't look
     anything like the face of O'Ryan.

     Charlton, meanwhile, stands over the body, mind racing.

     A Missouri Highway Patrol car pulls up. Mackelway steps out of
     it. We follow him as he takes in the scene.

     A FLASHBULB illuminates Starkey's CHEST; is got a zero-with-
     a-slash-through-it. But Mackelway hasn't seen the guy's face

                    (Charlton turns)
               We got an i.d. yet?

                    (Mackelway waits)
               Might wanna find yourself a fender.
               You're gonna need to sit down.
                    (Mackelway's still waiting)
               It's Virgil Ray Starkey.

     Mackelway pales.

     We stay on him for a moment as it registers. The man he
     caught, and then lost, has killed again. No. God, no.

                    (struggling for composure:)
               Starkey did this?
               No. Starkey's the one on the ground.

     Mackelway pauses, thinks he must've heard wrong. But he turns
     toward the face, as ANOTHER FLASHBULB illuminates it, searing
     the image into the darkness. Starkey. Dead. His eyelids ripped

     Mackelway stares, stunned. Can't fucking believe it.

               My God...

     It's like looking at a ghost - a spectre that's been haunting
     him, dead now... Mackelway pulls out his Minox, starts
     photographing, moving in on those LIDLESS EYES...

               Gonna make a wallet-size of that one?

               Give him a break, Grieves.

     Mackelway doesn't comment. Just keeps snapping shots...

                                                              CUT TO:


     The number of HAVE YOU SEEN ME's has now grown, quite a bit.
     45 PAGES sit stacked on Mackelway's desk. 45 victims. He grabs
     the stack, rises.

     Heading for the Conference Room, he nearly bumps into Katie,
     the Receptionist, rounding a corner.

               Scuse me.

     She smiles. He carries the HAVE YOU SEEN ME's into:


     A room has been dedicated solely to those three murders. On an
     erasure board are the words: The "O'Ryan" Room.

     On one wall is the MAP Mackelway took from Hope House: over a
     thousand CITIES circled by O'Ryan himself.

     Mackelway puts down the stack of HAVE YOU SEEN ME's. Picks up
     a box of YELLOW STICK-PINS, affixing them to the map - one for
     every faxed face.

     Here's "Jason Corey, Age 14." Last seen in "Riverside, Ca." on

     Sure enough, O'Ryan had circled "Riverside, Ca." on this map.
     Next to it he'd written "10-16."

     Mackelway sticks a yellow pin in Riverside.

     Next, the fax concerning "Anna Casitas, Age 22." Last Seen?
     "Macon, Ga." on "5-6-00."

     Of course, O'Ryan had circled "Macon" too. Beside it he'd
     written "5-6." So Macon gets a yellow pin.

     Mackelway continues, as:

                         FRAN (O.S.)
               Got nothing on the last fax.

     Mackelway turns. In comes Fran.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)
               Came from a business center at a Mariott
               in Dallas. Nobody saw who sent it.

     Mackelway nods. Then they both turn... Charlton enters the

               Whadda we know about the map?

               It matches the faxes, Sir. Almost

     Charlton approaches the map: 1,242 cities, circled in red.
     Mackelway continues with the yellow pins: one for every HAVE
     YOU SEEN ME? (45 of them so far.)

     Charlton eyes the stack. 45 HAVE YOU SEEN ME's... Then the
     map: 1,242 cities. Each with a DATE beside it.

               Why's Greenville in blue?

     (Mackelway has put a yellow pin beside a dozen cities... but
     tiny Greenville, Texas has a BLUE PIN beside it.)

               Only city where the date on the fax and
               the date on the map didn't correspond.

     He pulls out a fax from the stack: a Korean boy named "Steven
     Kim. Age 16. Last Seen: Greenville, Tx. Date of Disappearance:

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Fax lists the date of disappearance as
               August 7. On the map he's written "10-

     The DATE on O'Ryan's map reads "10-26" beside Greenville, Tx.
     So Greenville gets the only blue pin on this map.

     Charlton notes today's date: October 17...

               Any of these bodies been recovered?

               Two so far. Female, disappeared from
               Dayton, Ohio on April 12. And a male,
               Trenton, New Jersey, January 5th.

     On the MAP, Dayton's got "4/12" written beside it. Trenton has
     "1/5." Both have yellow pins in them.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               But both bodies were found over a
               thousand miles from where they'd last
               been seen. One in Montana, the other in
               Oregon. Got autopsy reports on both.

     Charlton looks to the table, where AUTOPSY REPORTS and AUTOPSY
     PHOTOS sit - two victims we've never seen before.

     We see the VICTIMS photographed face up, face down, waist and
     above, waist and below. Charlton gives the photos a cursory
     glance, nothing more.

     But we notice something, on one of the bodies: the male from
     Trenton - an odd BURN MARK on his lower left calf.

     Looks almost symmetrical, horizontal across the calf...

               Either of the bodies have the zero on

               No, Sir.

     Charlton, frustrated, SHOVES THOSE AUTOPSY PHOTOS ASIDE. We
     look to that MAP, a handful of yellow pins in it...

                                                         DISSOLVE TO:

     ...that same map, over a HUNDRED YELLOW PINS in it now.

55   INT. FBI OFFICE - "O'RYAN ROOM" - NIGHT                       55

     It's 8:30 at night. Mackelway is alone in here - staring at
     the map. He's been doing a lot of that lately.

     The stack of HAVE YOU SEEN ME's has grown as well. Every one
     of them corresponds to a yellow pin on the map.

     (Some of the HAVE YOU SEEN ME's have arrived via U.S. MAIL. We
     see a stack of ENVELOPES in a box, each sealed in PLASTIC,
     each stamped and addressed to Mackelway.)

     Mackelway eyes the map, puzzling. Fran's right beside him.
     Assorted papers and leads fill this room, including photos he
     took himself with that Minox.

               Why you?


               He could be sending these to any agent in
               any office in the country... But he's
               sending them to you. Why?

     Mackelway's been asking himself that same question lately.

               I don't know.

     PHONE RINGS. She grabs it.

                         FRAN (INTO PHONE)
               This is Agent Kulok.
                    (a beat)
               Who's calling?

     She hears the answer, then covers the phone.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)
                    (to Mackelway:)
               Do you know a professor named Daitz? Says
               he's from Tulane.

               Yeah. Criminal Psych. I've been trading e-
               mails with him.

                         FRAN (INTO PHONE)
               One moment, please...

     She hands him the phone...

                                                              CUT TO:


     A beautiful campus, quiet tonight. In its center lies a vast,
     expensive structure - the Behavioral Sciences Building. The
     place goes on forever.


     Mackelway exits an elevator on the "B-1 Level." Corridors
     octopus their way from these elevators, confusing us...

58   INT. BUILDING CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER                        58

     Every door looks the same. Mackelway follows the numbers -
     can't believe how long these hallways are. Turns a corner.

     Air can be heard, moving through the corridor. But he has
     found the right number, at last.

     A tiny CARD fastened to a wall reads, "Dr. Emile Daitz,
     Professor Emeritus, Criminal Psychology." It also lists his
     office hours. Mackelway knocks at a door.

               Professor Daitz?

                         O'RYAN (O.S.)

     Mackelway opens the door. Looks inside.

     Here sits O'Ryan, looking as much like a tweedy professor as
     he can look. He rises, smiles warmly.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Agent Mackelway. Come in...

                                                              CUT TO:

59   INT. DAITZ' OFFICE - LATER NIGHT                              59

     A tiny, cramped hovel. Books, papers, and all of it jammed to
     overflowing. Mackelway sits across from O'Ryan...

                    (as "Daitz:")
               ...The name of this theory was "Suspect
                    (Mackelway nods)
               The idea of Suspect Zero posits that if a
               serial killer were diabolical enough, he
               could traverse the country without ever
               being caught, killing randomly.

     There's a COLLECTION here in a glass case: ANCIENT WEAPONS -
     crude knives, swords, blow-darts. Mackelway notes them.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Tell me, what makes a killer catchable?

               Patterns, repetition of behavior.

               Now imagine a killer with no patterns, no
               tell-tale fetishes, no rituals, no hidden
               desire to be caught. A perfect vessel of
               evil, killing without ever leaving a
               single meaningful clue in his wake...
               He'd be immune to capture, wouldn't he?
               Your task forces, your forensics teams -
               they'd be helpless.

     Mackelway looks over Daitz' bookshelf: volume after volume
     about evil, the devil, the minds of sociopaths, the history of
     serial-killers, ritual killers, tribal rites...

               Is that something you believe in,
               Professor? Evil?

               As a citizen of the world, it's hard not
               to. Wouldn't you say?
                    (Mackelway can't argue)
               Evil is all around us, I think - a part
               of the natural order of things. Like
               gravity. Like wind. A vast black wave,
               corrupting everything it touches. A virus
               invades a cell, causing it to
               dysfunction. Perfectly logical. But did
               it ever occur to you that something may
               have invaded that virus, something
               capable of using it to mutate so

     Mackelway pauses, considering that.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Just because something's invisible to us
               doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

     Mackelway is silent: Something's off here. But he can't say
     for sure just yet what it is...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Have you ever seen a fifty-foot shark?

     That wasn't just the echo of a question he's heard before; it
     was a red flag. A big one. Mackelway tightens.

               I'm sorry?

               A shark, as we know, will only attack
               humans if he runs out of food. But
               biologists have theorized that for a
               shark of fifty feet the ocean would be an
               endless buffet. He'd never run out of
               food, so he'd have no need to come to the
               surface. Consequently, we would never see
               him. Do you follow?
                    (Mackelway doesn't)
               We'll never see one. But that doesn't
               mean they don't exist. Hence Suspect

     Mackelway eyes those books on evil, then those ancient
     weapons... Casually, almost imperceptibly, he reaches for his
     sidearm, as O'Ryan continues:

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Some of my colleagues think I'm
               fascinated with evil. I think the truth
               is just the opposite: evil is fascinated
               with us. What better vehicle could there
               be for creating havoc in the world - what
               better instrument - than Man? We're vain,
               we're stubborn, we're deceitful, we have
               an imagination that is limitless in its
               perversions. Of course Evil keeps trying
               to harness us. Wouldn't you?

     The more he talks, the closer Mackelway comes to extracting
     that gun...

     Then, disturbing the silence, a KNOCK at the door.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Excuse me.

     O'Ryan rises, goes to the door... as Mackelway unholsters his
     gun. O'Ryan opens the door. Standing here is a COED, with a
     backpack. She looks confused.

               Oh. I'm sorry. I was looking for

     Just like that, O'Ryan has bolted past the Coed, literally
     tossing her onto Mackelway, exploding into the hall.

     She screams. Mackelway grabs her, moves her aside as gently as
     time allows, then blows out of the room...


     O'Ryan turns a corner, vanishing. Mackelway follows.


     Mackelway finds himself facing another endless corridor: One
     door after another, for what seems like a mile. But no O'Ryan.
     Then Mackelway spots an EXIT SIGN. A stairwell...

62   INT. STAIRWELL - CONTINUING                                   62

     Mackelway enters. The stairs go six stories UP from here...
     and one story DOWN. A sub-basement.

     It's a guess. He descends, gun drawn.

63   INT. SUB-BASEMENT - CONTINUING                                63

     Mackelway emerges. "B-2" looks a lot like B-1: long and
     endless. We hear air moving around us, pipes carrying water,
     the wheezing of an old generator...

     And, on all sides of us, DOOES, a mile of them: maintenance
     offices, supply rooms, labs. He opens one - a janitor's
     supply. No one in here.

     Tries another door. Locked. A second. Locked. A third. Locked.
     Air sucks through a corridor around us. He thinks he hears
     footsteps around a corner. Runs at them.

64   INT. SUB-BASEMENT - CORNER - CONTINUING                       64

     Nothing. No one. Just another vast corridor. More doors.

     Then, a sound. GLASS, shattering on the floor. He runs down
     the corridor, passing a long metal CAGE that houses this
     building's FIVE FURNACES. They're old and wheezy.

     It's dark behind them, shadowy. Not a bad place to hide.

     Farther down the corridor is another door - made of frosted
     glass. A sign on it reads "Neuropsychiatric Lab." That's where
     the sound came from... he thinks.

65   INT. SUB-BASEMENT - LAB - CONTINUING                          65

     Mackelway enters. The lab is dark. He throws on every light
     switch within reach... and finds himself standing over the
     shards of what used to be a GLASS BEAKER.

     So he's in the right place. He scans it: five rows of work-
     stations, ten microscopes per row, each with a sink beside it.
     Lining the walls are wide CABINETS.

     But there's also a MINI-LIBRARY down here: Four rows of
     BOOKSHELVES, housing medical journals. These are the "stacks" -
     perfect for hiding behind.

     He plunges in. Row #1. Doesn't see anyone. Then Row #2, Row
     #3, Row #4. Okay, the stacks check out...

     He walks along the rows of work-stations, scanning, crouching,
     nudging open cabinets. One has been opened:

     Bottles of SOLUTIONS sit inside it. And a JAR that's been
     unsealed: It's got GAUZE PADS in it...

     In the back of the room, an INSTRUCTOR'S DESK awaits. It's
     tall enough to hide beneath. Mackelway slinks around it.
     Kneels down, looking into darkness...

     Then, a NOISE. The FRONT DOOR of this lab just swung open...
     And O'Ryan just bolted out. Fuck.

66   INT. SUB-BASEMENT - CORRIDOR - CONTINUING                     66

     Mackelway emerges from the lab. Those furnaces whine beside
     him on the other side of that cage. But a GATE on that cage
     has been left ajar...

67   INT. "FURNACE ROOM" - CONTINUING                              67

     Five furnaces, separated from the sub-basement corridor by
     steel mesh. Mackelway enters. A few meager BULBS burn.

     He moves amidst shadow and noise: the chugging of engines, the
     humming, the wheezing, a slight vibration to the floor beneath
     us. He walks along the edge of Furnace #1...

     ...and is assaulted, from above.

     O'Ryan falls on him, knocking Mackelway hard into the sharp
     CORNER of that furnace, then down to the ground. Mackelway's
     gun skids across the floor.

     And his mouth, suddenly, has been covered with gauze.

     He wants to fight back... but suddenly he finds that his head
     is swimming. Something's on that gauze. The room is getting

     We see the belly of a furnace - flames, heat. Then our own
     BLOOD... (Mackelway's CHEST was torn open by the corner of
     that furnace.) Wait. Did we just see the glint of a KNIFE?

     O'Ryan is leaning over us, in utter control.

     Then O'Ryan's head turns, abruptly - at the sound of
     FOOTSTEPS. And we hear:

                         MALE VOICE (O.S.)
               Hey! You! What're you doing down here!

     We turn, groggily. TWO JANITORS rush toward us, keys jangling.
     It's all foggy, wavy, distorted.

     We see O'Ryan RISE. Then everything goes black...

                                                              CUT TO:

68   INT. A HOSPITAL ROOM - MORNING                                68

     Mackelway's head is ringing. Feels like he can hear
     electricity in the walls around him. Slowly, he awakens. Above
     him are fluorescent lights. Monitors blink...

     Fran is here. So's Charlton. Mackelway tries to sit up. The
     shock of pain from his chest stops him.

               How ya doin'?

     Mackelway half-nods. His chest is bandaged.

               We're gonna need everything you can
               remember about this guy, Tom. Physical
               description, any kind of distinguishing

     That was terse. Charlton looks pretty pissed-off.

               Where is he?

               The suspect fled. Couple janitors walked
               in on it.
                    (before Mack can ask:)
               They're fine. But the description they
               gave of him wasn't worth a damn.

     Mackelway nods.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               Case you're curious the real Professor
               Daitz is on sabbatical, out of the
               country. We can't find him.
                    (Mackelway nods)
               Whose idea was it to meet there?

               His, Sir.

               Uh-huh. Did he ask you to come alone?

               No, Sir.

               But you figured you'd get a bigger pat on
               the head if you wrapped this whole thing
               up without any help - is that it?

     The truth? Charlton has him pegged. But:

               Sir, I'm the one who took the call. Agent
               Mackelway was acting under the assumption
               that I'd already checked the guy out.
               We're both to blame.

     Hold it. That was a major exaggeration, if not an outright
     lie. Mackelway eyes her, thrown. She's poker-faced.

     Charlton, however, seems unmoved...

               Did Agent Mackelway attend the interview

               Yes, Sir.

               Then whose fuck-up is it?

     Mackelway eyes her: "Thanks for trying." She nods.

                    (at Charlton)
               It was... poor judgment, Sir.

               You wanna work alone, start your own

     Mackelway can do nothing but nod. Then, bailing him out,
     another COMPOSITE ARTIST enters, tools in hand. Charlton
     sighs, frustrated.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
                    (re: Composite Artist)
               Let's get you two started.

     Composite Artist is ready to begin...

                                                              CUT TO:

69   INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - DAY                                     69

     A lively Sunday Service. Lots of Baptists, singing a rousing
     spiritual. Music and praise filling the room.

     We move along the pews, until we came to the very back row...
     There, one man sits. Alone. Quiet. O'Ryan.

     Odd expression on his face - it's as if he can't hear this
     rousing music, or feel the power of this place. People in the
     next row are stomping their feet. Music soars.

     But O'Ryan just drops his head, slowly... and begins to WEEP
     in the middle of this boisterous congregation.

     Outside, an 18-WHEEL TRUCK can be heard, rumbling by with
     great force. No one else in here seems to hear it.

     But O'Ryan shuts his eyes tight, grieving, sobbing...


     That TRUCK has just thundered by, leaving a swirl of debris in
     its wake. We TILT UP from it... to find that those STORMCLOUDS
     once in the distance are upon us now.

     And they are pulsing with menace. Rain, wind, lightning,
     thunder. Like a black wave, about to descend...


     One of those five FAX MACHINES begins to ring. Then it begins
     to PRINT.

     It's a Sunday. No one's here... but we get a look at what's
     coming in. Same TOP-SHEET again: "Attention Agent Thomas
     Mackelway" etc.

     CONTINUE INTERCUT: this incoming fax, set against a few
     tableaus of Americana. Innocence...

72   EXT. HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL STADIUM - SAME                      72

     A high school MARCHING BAND is out here, practicing.
     Cheerleaders work on their routines nearby.

     Then a LOUD WHISTLE SOUNDS. It's the BAND-LEADER, who is
     taking note of the weather gathering overhead. The music from
     the band ceases.

               Everybody into the gym!

     The band-members start to move. LIGHTNING erupts overhead.

73   EXT. UNIDENTIFIED HOME - BACKYARD - SAME                      73

     An unnamed MOTHER emerges onto her back-porch, where her FIVE-
     YEAR OLD DAUGHTER is having a playdate with a FRIEND.

     This house borders a wooded area. That wind is starting to
     make the trees swirl.

               Girls, I want you to come in now.
               Startin' to rain.

     The girls sigh, disappointed, deciding instead to hide
     themselves inside the TENT they've erected out here.

     They giggle. The mother doesn't. CONTINUE INTERCUT:

74   INT. FBI OFFICE - "FAX ROOM" - RESUMING                       74

     That fax is now printing page after page. Photos with HAVE YOU
     SEEN ME? across the top and vitals across the bottom.

     But this time the transmission isn't stopping at five. There
     are at least TEN sitting in the tray. Maybe twenty. Faces.
     Eyes. Stats. Locations. Innocence violated...

75   EXT. PARK - SAME                                              75

     A SOCCER GAME's been called in the middle of the Second Half.
     PARENTS and their uniformed 12 YEAR-OLDS scatter.

     RAIN is pouring down now, blown sideways by that wind.

76   INT. THE 18-WHEELER - SAME                                    76

     That massive, gleaming beast that rumbled past the church now
     rolls right by this park - as all of those kids and their
     parents scramble for the shelter of their cars.

     The windshield wipers on this truck push water away, giving us
     a clear look at the wet suburban chaos.

77   INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - RESUMING                                77

     The faithful in here keep singing, their voices full with
     praise - despite the heavy weather outside. They feel safe in
     here. We move along the PEWS...

     ...until we find O'Ryan's. He's not here anymore.

78   EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - SAME                                    78

     O'Ryan leans against the door of the church, pelted by that
     heavy rain.

     BAM! Here comes those IMAGES AGAIN:

79   EXT. WHEAT FIELD - NIGHT - RESUMING                           79

     Tall wheat, whipped by wind and rain. A muzzle-flash. The
     sound of a body slumping hard to the ground.

     ...and Mackelway, looking over us. Then:

80   EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - RESUMING                                80

     We're back with O'Ryan. He leans against the door, his
     torment constant.

     He walks away from the church, into that heavy rain.

81   INT. FBI OFFICE - "FAX ROOM" - RESUMING                       81

     The fax tray has overflown onto the floor - 200 more photos,
     200 more HAVE YOU SEEN ME's. Forgotten victims. We hear a last
     rumble from that 18-WHEELER. END INTERCUT...

                                                              CUT TO:

82   INT. FBI OFFICE - "O'RYAN ROOM" - LATE NIGHT                  82

     Now there are 800 YELLOW PINS stuck in this map - one for
     every single FAX or LETTER that's been received in the past

     800 faces. 800 HAVE YOU SEEN ME's, represented by 800 pins in
     800 cities. It's like a national plague.

     Mackelway sits, examining it soberly. His chest-wound is
     killing him. (We see a thick bandage beneath his shirt.)

     In his pocket now is a bottle of PRESCRIPTION PILLS. Percodan.
     He slugs one down without water, his eyes never straying from
     that map.

     Beside it is a COMPOSITE DRAWING from O'Ryan, taken from
     Mackelway's description. It's dead-on...

                                                              CUT TO:


     This is the lone source of light on an otherwise dark stretch
     of road. Mackelway's Yukon pulls up.


     Hardly a sound in here. Mackelway stands at the register,
     paying for his TAKE-OUT. Another night with nothing but his
     thoughts for company. Great. Then:

                         A YOUNG WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
               Agent Mackelway?

     It's Katie, the receptionist from his office - sitting by
     herself in a nearby booth. Mackelway smiles.

                         KATIE (CONT'D)

                                                              CUT TO:


     Inexpensive, but furnished with all the touches that
     Mackelway's apartment lacks: flea-market stuff, lace, antique
     books, photos from other eras. Character.

     And candles. Lots of candles. They throw SHADOWS of Mackelway
     and Katie all over the walls.

     An odd MUSIC fills the room, coming from a BOOM-BOX on the
     floor. It's a rhythmic Navajo CHANT, with Native-American
     drums providing the pulse.

     It's eery, tuneless, but awfully authentic... and it fits the
     intensity of the moment: Mackelway and Katie, coupling madly,
     their eyes locked. She's breathless.

     First time we've seen him shirtless since his injury in that
     furnace room. A FAT BANDAGE covers a quarter of his chest.
     Dried blood can be seen beneath it.

     There's an intensity in his eyes. The chanting, the candles,
     Katie's body, his wound... they've conspired to bring an
     intensity into his eyes. It's dark, primal.

     And he's been expressing it for an hour without relent...
     which is why Katie gasps one last gasp, then rolls to the edge
     of the bed, exhausted.

     She reaches for that boom-box, lowers the volume. The chanting
     dies down into silence. She catches her breath.

               I can't anymore.

     Mackelway eyes her, then reaches past her, and turns the
     VOLUME on that boom-box back UP. The chanting fills the room

     And just like that, he has pulled her back onto him, urgently.
     That primal side hasn't been sated yet...

                                                              CUT TO:

86   INT. KATIE'S APT. - BATHROOM - LATER NIGHT                    86

     Mackelway stands at the mirror, changing the dressing on that
     wound across his chest. He unwraps the gauze over that fat
     bandage soaked through with blood.

     He pulls the bandage off, giving us a better look at the deep
     gash. Dried blood, torn skin, bruising. Looks like hell. But
     Mackelway eyes it calmly.

     He slugs down some beer from a nearby bottle, then cleans the
     wound with some Hydrogen Peroxide... as Katie appears in the
     doorway. She eyes him.

               Can't sleep?

     He shrugs, turns.

               What was that music?

               It's Navajo. A song for dead warriors. I
               never played it for anybody before.
                    (a beat)
               Just had a feeling you'd like it.


               I dunno. The way you stare when you think
               nobody's looking.

     She shrugs. Silence hovers...

                                                              CUT TO:

87   INT. KATIE'S APT. - BEDROOM - PRE-DAWN                        87

     4:30 a.m. Rain pounds the window and roof, a real storm out
     there. The boom box is still. The candles are down to their
     nubs. Katie continues to sleep. Mackelway too.

     Then his eyes SNAP OPEN.

     Something just hit him, something huge. One of those 4:30-in-
     the-morning ideas that has to be expressed. Now.

                                                              CUT TO:

88   INT. HOTEL HALLWAY - 5 A.M.                                   88

     Mackelway stands outside Room 217 at a Mariott. He's just
     knocked on the door.

     Fran opens it, in a robe. Very confused. He looks manic.

               What're you--

               I can't get a read on this guy.

     Two minutes ago, she was sound asleep.


               Why is he sending us all this shit? I've
               got 800 pins in that map, 800 missing
               people. What's he telling us?

     She gets it now: he's on a combination of painkillers and lack
     of sleep. Or maybe she can sense where he's been...

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               He kills a travelling salesman, then a
               school-teacher. Then Starkey? It doesn't

               You're a mess...

               I'm fine. I'm clear. I just didn't think
               this could wait. Fran, this guy is trying
               to point us at something. Starkey's part
               of it. But the other two don't connect.

               Did you drive here?

               I'm fine! I just need somebody to think
               this through with me! He wanted to meet
               me. It's like he was interviewing me
               somehow. What is that? Then he kills
               Starkey. So what was he doing with Speck
               and Fulcher?

               You wanna come in?

               No. No. You come out. Get dressed.

               Out where?

               I dunno. Somewhere. We're right on the
               edge of this thing.

     She studies him. A long beat.

               I'm going back to bed. You're welcome to
               the couch if you want. I think you could
               do with some sleep.

     He sags a bit. She reaches for his hand.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)

     Just like that, there is contact. Their hands. It surprises
     them both.

     He appreciates it, but now's not the time. So he smiles
     thinly, turns, and goes.

     She watches him vanish around a corner.

                                                              CUT TO:

89   EXT. HAROLD SPECK'S HOUSE - 6:00 A.M.                         89

     We've been to this house before. Suburbia.

     Mackelway sits in his car, at the curb, studying the place.
     Rain falls in sheets, wind blows. And there he is, all alone,
     six in the morning, staring at a house.

     That idea - the thought that snapped his eyes open - it's
     still working on him. Beside him is the DRAWING that was found
     in Speck's car:

     The rendering of a steamer-trunk, lined with plastic,
     containing body parts in plastic bags... Mackelway seems to be
     fixated on it now.

                                                              CUT TO:

90   EXT. SPECK'S HOUSE - 9:15 A.M.                                90

     A hand knocks on the front door. Jan Speck opens up.

                    (hoping for good news:)
               Agent Mackelway?

     Mackelway stands in the doorway, rain falling behind him.

                    (all business)
               Mrs. Speck. Just had a few more

                                                              CUT TO:


     Mackelway sits at the WINDOW, looking over the backyard.
     Nothing special out here: some trees, a swing, a storm-cellar

     But he's staring at it, intently. We're not sure why.

     Behind him, Jan re-enters, purse over her shoulder, umbrella
     in hand. She grabs his cup of coffee and saucer from the
     coffee table.

               I'm sorry I don't have more time, Agent
               Mackelway. It's my PTA Day.

               It's fine. I should've called.

     She smiles tightly: "I have to go now" and heads for the
     kitchen. Once she's there, Mackelway turns to the BACK DOOR
     and UNLOCKS IT, eyeing that storm-cellar outside...

     She leaves the cup in the sink. He enters the kitchen.

               I hope I was of some help.

               You were. Thanks.

               A friend of mine said I'll feel like this
               one month for every year we were
               together. Sort of a grieving rule-of-
               thumb. Have you ever heard that?

               No. Sorry.

     She half-smiles. He turns to the door. Turns back.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Oh. There was one other thing: Did he
               keep any kind of chemicals around the
               house? Acids, that sort of thing?

               No. Why?

     He shrugs, dismissing it:

               It's nothing. Trace elements we found on
               his trunk. Any interest in chemistry?
               Maybe as a hobby?

     Jan pauses for a moment, as if recovering a faint memory...
     Then she shakes it off. He lets it go.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Anyway, thank you. And thanks for the
               coffee. Next time I'll call first, I

               No trouble at all.

                                                              CUT TO:

92   EXT. SPECK'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER                            92

     Mackelway sits in his car. Through his windshield we see Jan
     as she backs out of the driveway.

     She pulls past us, giving Mackelway as friendly a wave as a
     grieving widow can give. He waves back.

     Then she's gone, disappearing around a corner.

     Mackelway pauses a beat, checking his rear-view mirror to be
     sure. Then he gets out of his car...

                                                              CUT TO:

93   EXT. SPECK'S HOUSE - SIDE GATE - MOMENTS LATER                93

     Mackelway sneaks around the side of the house, pulling on a
     lever to unlatch the side-gate.

94   EXT. SPECK'S HOUSE - BACKYARD - CONTINUING                    94

     He emerges into the tiny backyard, making a bee-line for that
     storm cellar door.

     He knows he shouldn't be doing this. It's beyond risky. But
     here he is, without a warrant.

     There's no lock on the cellar door. He reaches for it. Then he
     stops himself. Just noticed something:
     A NEIGHBOR-LADY, visible just over Speck's backyard fence, is
     looking right at him through her bedroom window.

     Fuck it. He enters the storm cellar.

95   INT. SPECK'S STORM CELLAR - CONTINUING                        95

     Seven steps, leading to a dusty cement floor. Mackelway looks

     Facing him are the things a meticulous man would store in case
     of disaster: Cans of food, sternos, sleeping mats, drums of
     potable water.

     And long FOOT-LOCKERS. Two of them. That's where Mackelway's
     eyes go, instantly. He hurries to them.

     Throws one open. Nothing but sheets and blankets inside. He
     paws through it... finding nothing else.

     He throws the other trunk open. Inside? Pillows. Fuck.

     He slams it shut, looks to those cans of food, stacked on
     shelves. He approaches the shelves, jostling cans from their
     rows, making more noise than he ought to.

     But he finds nothing behind them... except more cans. He
     approaches those two huge drums of water, lugs them aside.
     Behind them is a tall CUPBOARD, locked.

     He pulls at the cupboard door, hard. It splinters.

     Inside, a rifle and some boxes of ammo... same as you'd find
     in every other storm-cellar in Texas.

     He pauses: Am I crazy...?

                                                              CUT TO:

96   EXT. SPECK'S BACKYARD - MOMENTS LATER                         96

     He emerges from the storm-cellar, confused. Shuts the storm-
     cellar door.

     Then he turns. Something else just caught his eye:

     Above Speck's bedroom window is another window, a tiny one. An

     He heads for that UNLOCKED BACK DOOR, and enters...

97   INT. SPECK'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUING                 97

     He hurries toward the stairs, reaches them... then spots
     something through the Entry Hall window:

     On the street outside, pulling up to the curb... is a POLICE
     CAR. Sirens off. That Neighbor-Lady must've placed the call.
     And here's Mackelway, without a warrant. Shit.

     Two ABILENE COPS get out, approaching the house. Mackelway
     climbs the stairs.

98   INT. SPECK'S HOUSE - STAIRS - CONTINUING                      98

     If he stays quiet, he might just pull this off.


     A tiny hallway, with four doors. Up ahead, dangling from the
     ceiling, is a tiny rope which promises a set of hidden fold-
     out stairs... and an attic.

     Mackelway tugs on the rope. The fold-out stairs drop down out
     of the ceiling. Then he hears:

                         NEIGHBOR LADY (O.S.)
               He's inside! He's inside! Went in through
               the back!

     ...which means he has mere seconds before this all blows to
     hell. So he climbs up those fold-out stairs.

     The two ABILENE COPS now circle the house, entering through
     the back-porch door, just as Mackelway did.

     He pulls up the folding stairs. Maybe the guys'll do a half-
     assed search and then leave...

100  INT. SPECK'S HOUSE - ATTIC_- CONTINUING                      100

     Mackelway looks around: lots of dusty junk around here - old
     clothes, mementoes.

     ...and one more trunk. A steamer-trunk. Huge. And locked.
     Looks just like the one in that DRAWING rendered by O'Ryan...

     Mackelway races for it. Takes out his gun, uses the butt-end
     to bust the lock off. Throws it open. we hear the sound of those fold-out steps, being tugged
     down from the second-floor hallway. And:
                         ABILENE COP #1 (O.S.)
               Freeze, Asshole!

     The COP is just ten feet away, most of him still concealed by
     those steps - gun trained right on us.

     But Mackelway seems utterly untroubled.

               It's okay, Fellas. FBI.

                         ABILENE COP #1
               I'll bet.

     Mackelway drops his gun, kicks it toward the cop, who doesn't
     quite know what to make of that.

     Also confusing him is the odd smile playing its way across
     Mackelway's face. But we understand it now:

     The inside of that steamer-trunk is filled with BODY PARTS:
     bagged, stacked, and sealed in Ziplocs...

     Powdered LIME is sprinkled on them.

     Mackelway stares, at once satisfied and sickened. COP #1 can
     be heard, approaching across the attic floor. His gun is

     ...until he too sees what's in there.

                         ABILENE COP #1 (CONT'D)
               Oh Jesus Christ...

                                                              CUT TO:

     ...a Grammar-School CLASS PICTURE: of Barney Fulcher and his
     2nd Graders, sitting on a mantle. We are...


     That picture sits beside other photos, awards, plaques - all
     celebrating Fulcher's career in Colorado education.

     We turn away from that mantle, blowing through this modest
     Living Room, finding an open door - leading down to:

102  INT. FULCHER'S HOME - BASEMENT - CONTINUING                  102

     Down the steps we go, until we hear the HUM of an old FREEZER.
     We turn toward the sound.

     The freezer is open. A team of FORENSICS GUYS study it.

     Inside this freezer, frozen into a block of ice... are six
     female HANDS. No arms, no heads. Just six slender hands, each
     with a wedding band on the ring finger.

     Mackelway stands in the back of this basement, taking it all
     in. He looks to Charlton, who is expressionless.

                                                              CUT TO:

102a EXT. FULCHER'S HOUSE - DUSK                                 102a

     Close on Mackelway as he returns to his Yukon satisfied. He is
     pleased with himself. Out of nowhere, a firm hand grasps his
     right shoulder stopping him.

     Mackelway turns abruptly, finding himself sandwiched between
     his Yukon and Charlton, who is now in his face.

               Listen to me Cowboy. You have any idea
               the kind of favors I had to pull with the
               Abilene cops to cover your ass?!


                    (not allowing him to talk)
               Breaking and ENTERING the Speck house
               without a shred of evidence and NO


                    (not going down without a
               The sample I took from Speck's bumper...
               It's crystallized sulfuric acid mixed with
               oil of Clove, the clove neutralizes the
               odor of the acid.

     Charlton shakes his head, he is not getting through.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               It was SPECK not his killer who was
               hiding something.

               Ever ask yourself why a big shot agent
               from Dallas gets sent down to the
               Wichita Falls Field Office? I'll give
               you TWO WORDS... Hell I'll even write it
               down for ya.

     Charlton leans in to emphasize his point. He pulls out a pad
     and pencil from his breast pocket and writes what he says using
     Mackelway's chest as support. It's humiliating.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
              "EVIDENTIARY PROCEDURE." Don't talk about
               it. Learn it.

     Those words just hang there, haunting Mackelway. Charlton
     tears off the sheet with those two words and stuffs them into
     Mackelway's hand.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               Turns out you were right about this guy.
               You were right about both of them. But
               that doesn't change the fact that you
               went about your business like a rookie.
               Got it?

     Charlton turns, the buzz of a street lamp breaks the silence
     throwing a circle of light around the Yukon. Mackelway watches
     as Charlton puts on his headlights and drives away.

     A sudden gust of wind tears that piece of paper out of
     Mackelway's hand, he stares at it, as it disappears into

103  INT. FBI OFFICE - THE O'RYAN ROOM - EVENING                  103

     Everything yet known about the murders of Speck, Fulcher, and
     Starkey fills the wall space in here:

     We see O'Ryan's MAP: All those yellow pins... and the one blue
     one, (Greenville, Tx.) Also, that DRAWING: of the ghastly
     Ziploc bags inside a steamer trunk. Damn thing seems prescient

     Agents mill about, awaiting a conference.

                    (passing by)
               Nice job, Mack.


     A few OTHER AGENTS also pat him on the back. Fran's proud of
     him too - we can see it. In fact everyone in here seems to be
     giving Mackelway his due. It all feels good.

     Charlton enters.

               Seated please.

     The agents find seats around the table. Charlton takes his
     place at the head of it.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
                    (to the assembled:)
               Okay. We've got a serial killer of serial

     Fran scribbles something on a piece of paper: "What a genius!"
     Slides it over. Mackelway conceals the note, as:

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
                    (still grand-standing)
               He's a transient with a history of mental
               illness. He also happens to think he's a
               former agent of this Bureau. And he is
               pursuing something that he calls "Suspect
               Zero." Anybody got anything intelligent
               to say?

     Nobody's volunteering.   There's just silence.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
                    (familiar refrain)
               That's what I thought...

                                                              CUT TO:

104  OMIT                                                         104


     Mackelway exits the office, heading for his Yukon.

     Then he stops... because Katie is waiting out here, leaning
     against her Toyota Camry.


               Somethin', huh? Guy with a wife and kids
               keepin' bodies in his attic?

     He nods... but what is she doing out here?

                    (a beat)
               You okay?

               Yeah. Just... Wondered if you could do me
               a favor.

     Mackelway waits... as Katie hands over a manila envelope.
     Mackelway opens it.

     Inside, a photo of a heartbreakingly-sweet 22 year-old girl
     named KAREN SUMPTER, with an attached sheet listing her
     vitals: height, weight, age, etc.

     Another face. Another disappearance...

                         KATIE (CONT'D)
               Her name's Karen Sumpter. We were
                    (almost reluctantly)
               She disappeared last year. Nobody knows
               where. She was a little wild, but not
               like that.

     Her sadness is obvious. Mackelway nods.

                         KATIE (CONT'D)
               Anyway, I know you're gonna be in on the
               autopsies - of the girls they found over
               at Speck's. Figured you might see if one
               of 'em was...

     Her voice trails off. This is hard.

                         KATIE (CONT'D)
               If it is, I'd like to be the one to
               notify her folks. Out families've been
               friends for years.

               Sure. Of course.

               Thanks... 'Night.

     Mackelway puts the envelope under his arm. She starts up the
     Camry. The sky rumbles. He eyes her.

     For some reason, she hasn't pulled away yet...

                                                        SMASH CUT TO:

106  INT. KATIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT                                 106

     Candles. Shadows on the wall...and Mackelway and Katie, at it
     again, with the sounds of that eery Navajo CHANTING coming
     from the boom-box.

     Mackelway is studying her, staring into her eyes, her
     breathing. She's beginning to climax now... and those eyes go
     wider. We MOVE INTO THEM, and:

     We are abruptly SLAMMED, again, INTO ANOTHER SET OF THOSE ODD,
     DISJOINTED IMAGES from that unidentified place:

107  EXT. DARKNESS - UNIDENTIFIED TIME - NIGHT                    107

     Wet wind in a blur of gray. The sound of our own heavy
     breathing. A voice rising above the wind, pleading:


108  INT. KATIE'S BEDROOM - RESUMING                              108

     She is utterly lost now. And that CHANTING seems to have
     gotten louder somehow.

     IMAGES FLICK at us now: culled from that BOOK on TRIBAL RITUAL
     AND TRANCE, found at the halfway house: a TRIBESMAN with eyes
     rolling back in his head, foaming at the mouth.

     Mackelway tries to shake it off, tries to keep his focus on
     Katie. He buries his head into her neck, as:

109  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - NIGHT                                     109

     Tall wheat, wet wind. Then a MUZZLE FLASH, and a body slumping
     to the ground. And suddenly we are in:


     O'Ryan, at a desk. He has just "remote viewed" these images
     somehow. And they've left him rattled.

     It's time to get out of this room. Quickly.

                                                              CUT TO:

111  EXT. ROAD - DENTON, TEXAS - SAME (NIGHT)                     111

     A stolen, non-descript CHEVY pulls out of a motel room parking
     lot, on to the street.

112  INT. STOLEN CAR - DRIVING - CONTINUING                       112

     O'Ryan is behind the wheel, driving.


     The radio is BLASTING - anything to shake those images out of
     his head. Driving, unsettled... which may be why he doesn't
     notice that there's a SIREN wailing behind him.

     He looks in the rear-view. A TEXAS STATE TROOPER is on his
     tail. Shit. O'Ryan tightens, pulling over...

114  INT./EXT. STOLEN CAR - ROADSIDE - CONTINUING                 114

     The TROOPER approaches, noting the condition of the vehicle.
     He stands before O'Ryan's window. O'Ryan's face reveals no
     evidence at all of anxiety.


               Evening, Officer.

               See your license, Sir?

               'Course. Is there a problem?

     O'Ryan reaches into his back pocket, produces an I.D. Hands it

     Trooper eyes it. According to this i.d., we are now staring at
     "James Garvey" from Littleton, Colorado. But the Trooper
     doesn't seem too convinced.

               See your registration, please?


     O'Ryan opens up the glove compartment, starts searching
     through it. But it's a stall, that's obvious.

               Mind stepping out of the car, please?

     O'Ryan pauses. There is no way in hell he's going to let
     himself get deterred by a State Trooper. But he gets out.

115  EXT. ROADSIDE - CONTINUING                                   115

     Trooper eyes him with caution. O'Ryan holds his hands in front
     of his chest, keeping them visible to the guy.

               Officer, I am carrying something that
               could be construed as a weapon. I'd like
               to hand it over, voluntarily, so you
               won't think I'm trying to conceal
               anything. Would that be all right?

               What kind of weapon, Sir?

               It's a hunting knife, right here on my

     Trooper notes the shape of that large, sheathed KNIFE - the
     one O'Ryan butchered Starkey with - visible beneath O'Ryan's

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               I was on my way to the woods. My gear's
               in the trunk.
                    (Trooper doubts it)
               Would you like me to hand it to you? I
               don't know what the procedure is for
               something like this.

               Take the weapon off your hip, place it on
               the ground, and kick it toward me.

               Happy to.

     O'Ryan takes the knife off his hip. The size of it gets some
     attention from the Trooper.

               What exactly were you planning on
               hunting, Sir?

               A fifty-foot shark.

     No reply. O'Ryan drops the menacing knife to the ground and
     kicks it toward the Trooper.

     Trooper, slowly, kneels down to get it - never taking his eyes
     off O'Ryan.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Ya know, I used to be in law enforcement

               That right?

               Mmm-hmmm. FBI. 'Course this was some
               years ago.

     Trooper grabs the knife, straightens. Examines it.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Psy Ops. Classified.

               Had anything to drink tonight, Sir? Under
               medication of any kind?

     An 18-WHEEL TRUCK rumbles by, distracting O'Ryan... rendering
     him immobile for a moment.

                         TROOPER (CONT'D)

               Oh. Sorry. Just found myself wondering
               what was inside that truck.

               Sir, I'm going to ask you to hand me the
               keys to your vehicle, please.

               Of course.

     O'Ryan opens the car door. We steal a look INSIDE.

     ...he's got a GUN under the front seat.

     In a flash, that gun is in his hands and pointing right at the
     forehead of that Trooper.

     Trooper knows he's been had. And he knows that he's about to

                                                              CUT TO:

116  OMIT                                                         116


     Mackelway approaches, carrying a greasy bag: another Frito Pie
     and a soda. Fumbles with his keys... Then he notices
     something, waiting on his doorstep.

     It's a thick FILE, roughly 150 pages, in a FOLDER. The word
     "MACKELWAY" is written across the front.

     He leans down, opens the folder. The light is spotty out
     here... but it's just strong enough to show us the expression
     on his face: a look of pure awe.


     The door bursts open. The greasy bag and the soda fall to the
     floor. Mackelway hurries to a phone, clutching that file. He
     dials hurriedly.

119  INTERCUT WITH/INT. FRAN'S CAR - SAME                         119

     We're in a PARKING LOT outside a WAL-MART. Fran's just thrown
     a bag into her Ford Taurus. Her CEL-PHONE RINGS. She grabs it.

                         FRAN (INTO CEL)

                         MACKELWAY (INTO PHONE)
               He really was FBI.


               O'Ryan. He left his file on my doorstep.
               Fran, he was FBI.

     He can barely believe it himself, but we get a look at what
     was in that file now; PAGES are splayed across Mackelway's
     coffee table:

     A copy of an FBI I.D. BADGE, xeroxed memoes, test scores,
     citations, evaluations, reports. The entire career of Special
     Agent Benjamin O'Ryan... in black and white.

               That's impossible.

               I'm look at his whole history!
               Citations, letters of commendation, even
               his fucking test scores from Quantico.
               The guy was an agent.

               I don't believe it.

               Listen to me--

     Then we hear a BEEP. Call-Waiting. Great.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Shit! Hold on.

     That irritated her. Mackelway clicks over.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)

                         O'RYAN (THRU PHONE)
               Read anything interesting lately?

     Mackelway's eyes go wide.

               Where are you?

     CLICK. O'Ryan's just hung up.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)

     He stares at the phone, then clicks over again, re-connecting
     to Fran.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               That was him.

               He called you at home?


     BEEP. Call-Waiting again.

               Jesus. Call me back.

     Mackelway clicks over again without saying goodbye.

                         MACKELWAY (INTO PHONE)

                         O'RYAN (THRU PHONE)
               I've found him, you know.



               Zero's a myth. You made him up.

               Myths don't kidnap little boys. Do they?

               Do you?

     Sounds like O'Ryan just laughed... Then, another curve:

               Was she pretty?


               I could hear her moaning, right under the
               Navajo chanting. Whole thing was
               downright tribal. What's she look like?

     That was unsettling. Very. Mackelway looks around feeling
     violated, feeling "watched." He draws the blinds. Double bolts
     the front door. Runs his hand under the window frame for any
     kind of wire tapping.

     But Mackelway won't allow himself to over-react. Not now, with
     O'Ryan on the phone.

               You tell me.

     O'Ryan laughs. He liked that.

               Fair enough. We'll stick to business:
               How'd ya like my old room?


               "Hope House." You were there.

     How the hell did he know that? It's unsettling.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Dyson re-paint it?
                    (no reply)
               My room. Did he re-paint it?

               Yeah. White.

               ...But you saw what was underneath, of

               No. Tell me about it.

               No. You tell me.

     CLICK. O'Ryan just hung up. Mackelway stares at the phone.

                                                              CUT TO:

120  INT. HOPE HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT (9 P.M.)                     120

     More rain falls outside. Lightning too. Mackelway waits here.
     Piper's in his usual spot in front of the TV. Dyson descends
     the stairs, a bit testy tonight.

               Welcome back.

     That had some edge. Mackelway doesn't reply.

                                                              CUT TO:


     Mackelway stands in the center of this room, Dyson in the
     doorway. That SINGER down the hall is at it again, off-key as
     ever. Tonight it's the "Gilligan's Island" theme-song.

               I'll be in my office.

     Dyson backs away, leaving the door ajar.

     Now Mackelway is alone - eyeing the tiny bed, sink, window,
     the leaky ceiling, the bucket, the peeling paint. This room is
     heaving with energy...

     He sits on the bed, checks his watch. 9:05 p.m.

     Opposite this bed is that WALL, re-painted in industrial
     white, with the hint of a shape underneath. It's what
     Mackelway's come here to investigate. INTERCUT WITH...

122  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - SAME                       122

     O'Ryan sits at a desk: eyes closed, writing pad at his wrist.
     On it, more of those unidentifiable lines become visible to
     us. They're called IDEOGRAMS.

     He holds the point of his pen down upon one of them, as if
     receiving information from it, and we jump back into:


     Mackelway. Sitting. Staring. Outside this room we hear that
     awful, toneless singing as it fills the hallway.

     Mackelway rises, approaching that re-painted wall. He pulls
     out his keys. Checks to see that no one's watching.

124  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   124

     O'Ryan, his pen on that pad, his concentration total.


     We hear the singing, the TV, the rain, that bucket collecting
     drips. Semi-darkness... until MORE LIGHTNING throws a burst of
     white light against that wall.

     A faint shape becomes visible, just beneath the white paint.
     Then it vanishes again.

     Using his keys, he begins to scratch away at the white paint.
     It's an irrational thing to do - but in the context of the
     last few days it makes an odd kind of sense.

     Instantly, a hint of BLACK can be seen underneath...

126  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   126

     O'Ryan, at that desk. Outside, he can hear an 18-WHEEL TRUCK
     rumble by. He doesn't allow it to distract him.


     Mackelway scratches more of the white paint off of that wall.
     More BLACKNESS appears beneath it. Then, a SOUND behind him.
     He turns.

     The door to this room just SHUT; someone outside must've
     pushed it. He keeps scratching at the paint.

     LIGHTNING rages outside. We PULL BACK, away from that wall,
     which gives us the opportunity to see something that Mackelway
     is too close to the wall to see for himself:

     There is indeed an image beneath that thin coat of white
     paint. It is the shape of a vast, black WAVE. A hand-painted
     image as large as this wall itself.

     Mackelway seems tiny by comparison, and the mere inch of black
     that he has uncovered so far seems infinitesimal.

     In fact, it almost look as if the wave is poised to swallow
     him whole... and he can't even see it.

     But we can. Must've taken O'Ryan days to paint something this
     large. A vast, black wave. Evil itself...

     And Mackelway, without meaning to, is about to unleash it.

128  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   128

     O'Ryan, somehow, seems to be sensing what is going on in that
     room. Or maybe he's just feeling the power of that wave, from
     memory. Or maybe he's just plain crazy.

     But he and Mackelway, on some unspoken psychic level, are
     feeding one another...


     Mackelway chips away at that white paint, moving rapidly,
     revealing more of the blackness underneath. We PUSH IN on it,
     moving past Mackelway and his frantic scraping.

     Then we're beneath that thin coat of white, and:


     Somehow, we've submerged into the wave itself. A black, tidal
     force of nature.

     And it is MOVING. Alive. We hear the SOUNDS of it: a sucking,
     a yawning, as if a tide were drawing back just before
     exploding forward.

     The sounds blend in with the wind, the rain, the drops in that
     bucket... Evil itself, on the move, gathering might. And we're
     along for the ride...

     The wave begins to roll forward now as if shot from a cannon.
     It is massive, powerful, dark. And we're right on its forward
     edge, as if surfing it somehow.

131  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   131

     O'Ryan reacts. Something just changed:

132  INT. INSIDE THE BLACK WAVE - RESUMING                        132

     The wave is rushing us forward with this speed and power of a

     ...which is when we hear the laughter of a LITTLE BOY.

133  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   133

     O'Ryan just heard it too. Then new images come at him - but
     they are, at first, GRAINY, CHOPPY...

134  EXT. UNIDENTIFIED PLAY AREA - SAME                           134

     The sounds of that wave become fainter, receding to the
     background, giving way to that sound of laughter, and the
     squeaking of a PLAY-SET SWING.

     Like an old tv slowly gaining reception, the image takes a
     moment to crystallize before us. But then it sharpens:

     We're in the PLAY AREA of a TRUCK-STOP DINER, but it feels
     like we're looking at it through a broken lens. The images
     appear SPHERICAL to us, surrounded by darkness.

     Before us a 5-year old plays on a swing. Call him CHARLIE.


     Mackelway has scraped away more of the white paint now -
     enough to see the outline of the front edge of the black wave,
     its lip. He continues.

136  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   136

     O'Ryan tightens. We can't tell if he experiencing something
     from the past, the present, the future...

137  EXT. PLAY-AREA - RESUMING                                    137

     We WHIP AROUND quickly, getting a look into the diner itself.
     There, through a window, we see a WOMAN, presumably Charlie's
     mother. Her name's KATHLEEN, 40.

     Kathleen has her back turned to us, because she's busy
     diapering her nine month-old BABY at a table.

138  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   138

     O'Ryan, at his desk, seems to be getting all of this. And it
     is agitating him. There's perspiration on his forehead.

139  EXT. PLAY AREA - RESUMING                                    139

     The sound of that wave is still a presence. Charlie looks up
     at us as he swings. His smile is pure, genuine.

     We whip around for another look at Kathleen. She's still busy
     with that diaper. Then we look back to Charlie.

140  INT. MOTEL ROOM - RESUMING                                   140

     O'Ryan keeps his eyes shut, his focus total... but every part
     of him is becoming tense.


     Mackelway is beginning to perspire from the effort. More of
     that wave is visible to him. But he doesn't step back to take
     that in.

142  EXT. PLAY AREA - RESUMING                                    142

     That swing is now EMPTY, dangling gently. And we're running
     we know not where.

143  INT. MOTEL ROOM - RESUMING                                   143

     O'Ryan's foot starts to tap: anxiousness, discomfort.

144  EXT. PLAY AREA - RESUMING                                    144

     We run... toward a PARKING LOT. But we do so smoothly, without
     effort, as if being carried by that relentless black wave.

     Then, ANOTHER SOUND bleeds in. The BANGING of the Diner's back
     door, which leads on to that Play Area.

     And we hear a horrified yell:

                         KATHLEEN (O.S.)
               Charlie?! Charlie, where are you, Honey?!
               Charlie?! Honey, are you out here?!

     The sound begins to break up as if on a bad radio, being taken
     over by the sounds of that awful WAVE...


     Mackelway suddenly stops... as if some electric charge had
     just shot through him, short-circuiting him into stillness. He
     begins to step away from the wall.

146  INT. MOTEL ROOM - RESUMING                                   146

     O'Ryan has lost the "pulse" - the connection that had allowed
     him inside what we just witnessed.

     He rises, hurrying into a tiny bathroom. We STAY ON THAT
     WRITING PAD, trying to decipher these lines and squiggles -
     the ideograms - as we hear the sounds of O'Ryan, retching.


     Mackelway sits on the bed, looking at what he's just
     uncovered. An awesome sight. His head is pounding worse than
     ever... so he reaches for the Vicoden.

148  EXT. PLAY-AREA - RESUMING                                    148

     We've stepped out of that SUBJECTIVE POV now. Kathleen grabs
     her infant, distraught, as another massive 18-WHEEL TRUCK
     blows by us in the distance...

149  INT. MOTEL ROOM - DENTON, TEXAS - RESUMING                   149

     O'Ryan washes his face, eyes his reflection in the mirror,
     scrutinizing himself.


     On the wall opposite Mackelway, that huge black wave is now
     entirely visible to him. Bits of chipped white paint litter
     the floor.

     A vast black wave. It fills the whole wall...

     Mackelway eyes his watch. It's one o'clock in the morning.
     He's been in here for four hours. That seems impossible.

                                                              CUT TO:

     ...a box, slamming down hard on a desk. We are:

151  INT. FBI OFFICE - O'RYAN ROOM - LATE NIGHT                   151

     2:30 a.m. Mackelway is in here by himself, angry. He reaches
     into that box. Inside? More pins. BLACK ONES. He crosses to
     the map.

152  CLOSE-UP: MACKELWAY                                          152

     He starts pulling out the YELLOW PINS we've grown accustomed
     to seeing on this map, replacing them with the BLACK ONES,
     tossing the discards onto the floor.

153  A SERIES OF DISSOLVES                                        153 Mackelway replaces pin after pin.

     ...Mackelway's face, as he backs away from that huge map.

154  INT. FBI OFFICE - O'RYAN ROOM - LATER NIGHT                  154

     Ten minutes have passed, but Mackelway has seen a revelation.
     We can read it on his face.

     He eyes the map... which has now been stuck with over 1,000
     BLACK PINS, one for each city with a HAVE YOU SEEN ME to its

     And those black pins, seen from a distance, form a pattern we
     weren't expecting - something that never quite took shape when
     the pins were yellow.

     Looks like a big black WAVE. And that's just what it is.

     1,000 black dots conspiring to form the same exact shape that
     O'Ryan had painted onto the wall of his room - a massive wave
     of darkness, gathering strength.

     But this black wave is consuming America...

     Mackelway stares at it: awed, even a bit frightened. The thing
     seems vast, unstoppable... A black wave - pure malevolence,
     covering the states like a fog.

     One blue dot lies in its center: that blue pin, in the heart
     of Greenville, Texas. Then, piercing the silence:

                         CHARLTON (O.S.)
               Got one of those pins in Denton yet?

     Mackelway turns. Charlton leans in the doorway.

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               O'Ryan was spotted there tonight. Took a
               squad-car and a side-arm from a State
               Trooper. 'Bout an hour later a five-year
               old boy was abducted, roughly a mile up
               the Interstate.

     It's 3 a.m. What's this guy doing here?

                         CHARLTON (CONT'D)
               The vehicle was found in an abandoned
               lot. We're establishing a perimeter
               around the city now.

                    (knows already)
               But the Trooper wasn't hurt...

               What makes you so sure?

               Professional courtesy.

     Charlton's at a loss... until Mackelway gestures to the table,
     where he has laid out O'Ryan's entire FBI File. Every memo,
     citation, letter, i.d. picture. 150 pages.

     Charlton eyes it, calmly. He's not going to let his jaw drop,
     not with Mackelway watching. So he just nods.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Is that... possible, Sir? An agent can
               just be deleted?

               Looks like it.

     Mackelway pauses. It's a depressing reality...

               I couldn't understand it before - pushing
               Speck's car onto the state line. Makes
               sense now. He wanted to make the case
               Federal. He's drawing us in.

               Why would he do that?

               So we'd be paying attention when he found
               Suspect Zero.

               Ya know what? I'm getting extremely tired
               of hearing that word. In fact, that's
               gonna be policy from now on. No Zero.
               Sir, profile the guy. He's straight outta
               Quantico. All he's doing is working a
               case, like we would. He's not kidnapping
               little kids - he's chasing the guy who's
               doing the kidnapping! Look at the map!

               What're you saying - that all these
               abductions are the work of one guy? Do
               you know how fucking insane that is?!
                    (over Mackelway)
               Not let's try something that actually
               makes sense: He sends in these faxes,
               picks off three scumbags. For what?! So
               we'll think exactly what you're thinking
               right now - that we've got a friend out
               there, somebody willing to take out the
               garbage for the rest of us. And it's all

               What if it isn't? What if there really is
               a Zero out there and O'Ryan's the one guy
               who's got a shot at him?

                    (just blew his top)
               Fuck's sake, Mackelway - when did you
               start buying into this guy?!

     A beat. Mackelway lets the silence hover.

               He's smarter than we are.

               Speak for yourself.

     Charlton heads for the door.

               Sir? What if I told you I knew how to
               catch him?

     Charlton stops. Turns.

               Do you?

               And what if I told you that the way I'd
               catch him involved sitting in a dark
               room, with nothing in front of me but a
               pad of paper... until I'd tapped into
               some kind of... energy out there. The
               collective unconscious. Something. If I
               told you I thought I could target and
               locate him, without ever leaving this
               building, what would you say?

               I'd say you'd watched too many "X-Files."

               Y'ever heard of a project called
               "Icarus," Sir?


     Mackelway tosses over a few pages from O'Ryan's file.

               Agents, trained to "see" distant
               locations using nothing but the mind.
               They called it Remote Viewing.

     Charlton eyes the pages without comment.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Army stole it from the Soviets. The
               Bureau stole it from the Army - used it
               to track serial killers.
                    (a beat)
               Experimental program. O'Ryan was the
               first agent they recruited.

               Good for him.

               Voodoo, right? Pure Bullshit.
                    (Charlton's waiting)
               ...except, it worked. It's how he drew
     Mackelway's referring to that DRAWING: a steamer-trunk, filled
     with ghastly Ziploc bags:

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               He'd never been in that house before. He
               just saw what was in there - the Bureau
               taught him how... same one that deleted
               him. Same one that's trying to catch him
               now... Does anything about all this
               strike you as odd?

     Charlton studies him, a long beat, measuring him... Then:

               I'm going to Denton at Oh-Six-Hundred.
               You can take the day off.

     With that, he's gone - leaving Mackelway alone in here.
     Nothing to look at but that black wave... He hears Charlton,
     leaving the building.

     He slams another Vicoden, then hears a PHONE RING. Fuck it.
     He's not moving. Let Voice Mail get it.

     ...until he hears the sound of a FAX coming in.

     He rises. Follow him:

155  INT. FBI OFFICE - CUBICLES - CONTINUING                      155

     Mackelway hurries through the office, as the sound of that fax
     grows louder.

156  INT. "FAX ROOM" - CONTINUING                                 156

     He enters. The fax has spun out a single sheet. No top-sheet.
     That's odd...

     But here's another face, another victim, with the customary
     HAVE YOU SEEN ME? across the top.

     A young African-American boy: "Lloyd Simms, Age 9. Ht. 4'10",
     Wt. 67 lbs. Last Seen: Greenville, Texas. Date of
     Disappearance: 10-26-99."

     That's it. One face. The transmission ends. Mackelway eyes
     those vitals. They mean something. Greenville...

157  INT. FBI OFFICE - O'RYAN'S ROOM - RESUMING                   157

     He re-enters, and approaches that huge MAP. There's that wave
     of black pins, with the one BLUE PIN in its center;
     Greenville, with a "10-26" written beside it.

     Mackelway pulls out the lone blue pin, replaces it with a
     black one. Now the wave is complete. All black...

                                                              CUT TO:

158  INT. 18-WHEELER - CAB - MOVING - NIGHT                       158

     We've seen this truck before - several times in fact. It
     rumbles along the highway. We don't see who's driving, but we
     do see who's in the passenger seat:

     It's Charlie, five years-old, whose abduction we just
     witnessed. He sleeps fitfully.

     A MAN'S HAND can be seen, edging into frame - the DRIVER. He
     picks up a CASSETE, shoves it into the tape deck.

     And out comes the sound of "Barney the Dinosaur."

                         BARNEY (THRU DASHBOARD STEREO)
               Oh silly songs get sillier/When you hear
               them once again/And maybe you're hearing
               an echo/Or maybe it's only a friend!

     The truck continues to rumble along.

                                                              CUT TO:


     6 a.m. Fran pauses outside the O'Ryan Room... where Mackelway
     sleeps on a chair. Poor guy was here all night.

     She regards him... then her eyes find that MAP, and the gaping
     black wave across it. A horrible image...

     She studies Mackelway again, almost tenderly, until:

                         CHARLTON (O.S.)
               Does he listen to you?

     She turns, startled. Here's Charlton, right behind her. And
     she's been caught... watching Mackelway sleep.

               I'm sorry?

               It's not a strength of his. I'm noticing
               that lately.

     Truth is, she doesn't like Charlton. Or trust him...

               He's fine.

               I'm not so sure.
                    (a beat)
               You oughtta sit him down, remind him how
               a chain-of-command works.

               He's fine, Sir.

               Talk to him.

     With that, he's gone. Fran watches as he heads for the Front
     Door... and exits.

     She looks back to Mackelway. He awakens with a start. Thinking
     no one's watching, he pops another Vicoden.

160  INT. O'RYAN ROOM - CONTINUING                                160

     Fran enters, feeling slightly dirty from that exchange.
     Mackelway checks his watch as a few AGENTS exit the suite.

               They going to Denton?


               But not you?

               Sitting in on two autopsies.


     He rises. Heads for the door, stiff. She looks at those O'Ryan
     FBI DOCUMENTS NOW - her first time seeing them...

               You okay?

               Yeah. Why?


     She leaves it at that. He's about to exit, when:

               Are they male or female?


               The autopsies.

               Females - Logan, Utah; and Decatur,

     (Neither city is represented with black pins on that map.)

     She slides over a packet of PHOTOS: two FEMALE VICTIMS,
     photographed in separate morgues - face up, face down, waist
     and above, waist and below, etc.

     Mackelway eyes them, then leaves the room. We STAY WITH
     FRAN... taking in that O'Ryan FBI file. It troubles her.

     Mackelway returns, carrying the 9-by-12 envelope that Katie
     gave to him.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)
                    (re: O'Ryan's file)
               So is this what happens when an agent
               spins out? He gets deleted?

               Sometimes. The lucky ones get sent to
               Wichita Falls.

     She breathes out an ironic laugh. He hands over the envelope,
     opens it. Inside: that photo of Karen Sumpter. Mackelway
     didn't pay much attention to it before.

     Fran eyes the photo, then the vitals.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Friend of the Receptionist, missing for
               about a year now. I told her I'd let her
               know if the body ever turned up.

     Fran doesn't look up from the photo.

               The Receptionist.

               Her name's Katie.

     She half-smiles: "You mean the one you've been fucking?" He
     shrugs, confirming nothing - wishing Fran weren't quite so
     smart. She puts the photo back into the envelope.

               I see you got the blue pin out of

               Yeah. Last night. Kid named Simms.

     That confused her.

                    (re: Sumpter)
               No. I meant her. The girl.

     That confused him.

               What're you talking about?

               Did ya look at her vitals?

     She hands him the material on Karen Sumpter.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)
               Greenville, Texas. October 26.

     He grabs the material, looks at it for the first time:

     "Karen Sumpter, Age 25. Ht. 5'6", Wt. 110. Eyes Blu, Hair
     Blnd. Last Seen: Greenville, Tx. Date of Disappearance: 10-26-

     Mackelway looks to the Conference Table - that huge stack of
     faxes, all those helpless faces.

     The one on top is the one that came in last night: Lloyd
     Simms, Age 9. Ht. 4'10", Wt. 67 lbs. Last Seen: Greenville,
     Texas. Date of Disappearance: 10-26-99.

     At last, a pattern. A break.

     Mackelway grabs the Simms fax, hurries out of the room.
     Nearest Agent is Grieves. Mackelway hands him the fax.

               Need an address on this fax line.

     Grieves has done this on fifty different faxes now; it never
     yields their suspect, but:


     Mackelway leans back in to the O'Ryan Room.

               O'Ryan's in Greenville.

               What makes you think so?

               That's where Zero is.
                    (Fran's a blank)
               Lloyd Simms - October 26, '99. Karen
               Sumpter - October 26, 2000. Both
               disappeared from Greenville.
                    (still no reply)
               Zero comes back to the same spot, once a
               year. Today's the 25th.

               Wait. When did we establish that Zero was

               O'Ryan thinks so.

               Do you?

     That's the million-dollar question, and it hangs there.

     Mackelway's about to answer... when he stops himself. Just
     noticing something. That MORGUE PHOTO from Logan, Utah:

     There's a BURN MARK on the lower left calf of the victim.
     We've seen such a mark before, on another autopsy photo.

               I've seen this before.


     He doesn't answer, just hurries to a thick BOX OF OTHER
     AUTOPSY FILES AND PHOTOS. Starts rifling through them...

     ...until he finds the one we've seen before. The body from
     Trenton. He extracts it. Eyes it. A confirmation...

     He lays the two PHOTOS side by side. Looks to Fran.

               Same burn-mark.
                    (she leans in)
               I saw it before but it didn't register.

     Fran eyes the photos. No doubt about it - they both have the
     same burn mark on the lower left calf: a symmetrical, almost
     horizontal stripe across the flesh.

               He burns them?

               I dunno. Almost looks too symmetrical to
               be a burn.
                    (re: Logan victim)
               They're autopsying her this morning?


     She gets the idea: "Find out where the hell this mark on the
     leg came from." Grieves enters.

               Fax number traces back to a Copy Center
               on I-30. Greenville.
                    (Mackelway eyes his watch)
               I called. They don't open for another

     Mackelway looks to Fran. She's not entirely sold yet... but
     she's getting there.

                                                              CUT TO:


     Mackelway plows along I-30.

     Ahead of him, one hell of an ugly STORM-FRONT seems to be
     waiting. Thick, black clouds. Mackelway's driving right into
     the teeth of them...

                                                              CUT TO:

162  EXT. "FAST-COPY" - ESTABLISHING - DAY                        162

     A copy-place, right off I-30. Mackelway's Yukon is parked in

163  INT. "FAST-COPY" - COUNTER - DAY                             163

     Mackelway stands opposite a DAY-MANAGER: 30, harried, eyeing a
     copy of the composite drawing of O'Ryan.

                    (re: O'Ryan)
               Naah. I never saw that guy in here.

               He sent a fax from this location 'bout
               seven o'clock this morning.

               We're closed at seven.

               Are your faxes programmable? Could he
               have paid last night to have it sent this

               Sure. But that costs extra.

               Were you here last night?

               Nope. Haven't done nights since I got

     Mackelway eyes the guy... then hears a CEL-PHONE ring.

               'Scuse me.

     Mackelway grabs his cel, backing away from the counter.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
                    (into cel)

164  INTERCUT WITH/INT. MORGUE - SAME                             164

     Fran is at a phone, in the Morgue. The Logan Utah BODY lies on
     the table.

               It's not a burn. It's a freezer-burn.
               You're sure.

               There's crystallization in the blood
               stream. The blood never clotted in the
               wound. It's a freezer burn... I'm having
               the other body shipped out - the guy from
               Trenton. We'll see if he's got the same

     Mackelway pauses, thinking...

               So... he keeps the bodies in a freezer,
               then buries them...?

     That was a question. He can't do any better.

               I dunno. If he kept them in a freezer
               they'd have marks like this all over.
               Wouldn't they?

     Mackelway nods - that made sense. Shit.

     The noise of the Interstate doesn't make things any easier. A
     huge TRUCK rumbles by. 18 wheels.

     Mackelway eyes it, absently. Then a bolt hits him:

     On the side of the truck is a trademark: "EVER-FROST." This
     truck is hauling ice cream.

     Things just began to click.

               Thanks, Fran.

     He has hit "End" before she can reply. Heads to his Yukon.

     Fran eyes the phone: that was odd...

                                                              CUT TO:


     A huge lay-out, with a diner, rest-stop, and gas station.

166  INT. DINER - GREENVILLE - SAME                               166

     Mackelway sits at a table by a window. Watching. FIFTY MASSIVE
     TRUCKS in this lot - some refrigerated, most not.

     This Diner is big enough to seat 200: truckers, a few
     families, and folks who just like the buffet, (gravy covers
     just about every entree.)

     Mackelway's been here for hours. A WAITRESS comes by.

               You want some more breakfast, Honey, or
               are we just rollin' right on into lunch?

               Just some coffee, thanks. Might hit the
               buffet in a bit.

               Meatloaf's lookin' good today.

     He smiles, thanks. She turns away. That leaves him alone
     again, scanning - not even sure he's in the right place.

     CEL-PHONE RINGS. He grabs it.

                         MACKELWAY (INTO PHONE)

167  INTERCUT WITH/INT. FRAN'S CAR - DRIVING - SAME               167

     She's driving, talking into the cel...

                         FRAN (INTO PHONE)
               What're you doing?

               Surveilling. What're you doing?

               Driving to Greenville.

                    (knows already)
               Why would you be doing that?

               I think agents are safer when they have
               some company. I can send along Katie if
               you'd rather.

     Mackelway laughs. He appreciates a good jab.

               I'm at the truck-stop we traced. Off the


               I'm 'bout a half hour out.

               I'll order some lunch for you. Hear the
               meatloaf's good today.

     She half-smiles. She likes him, despite herself.

168  DINER - MACKELWAY - RESUMING                                 168

     He half-smiles, puts the cel-phone away. He likes her, despite

     Then a MAN passes by him, a trucker. Let's call him VIC.

     All we see as he passes is the TATTOO on his forearm: a cobra.
     Keys jingle on his belt-hook. He wears a sleeveless down vest
     and a "God Bless America" cap.

     Mackelway turns, but Vic's already past us.

     Something about him attracts Mackelway's attention. The walk,
     the attitude. Something.

     So Mackelway is watching - without really knowing why - as Vic
     crosses the parking lot, heading for his rig. It's a beast.
     Vic climbs in, unaware that he's being watched.

     Mackelway looks away, chiding himself for allowing the guy to
     distract him. That WAITRESS comes by with more coffee.
     Mackelway smiles, looking absently out the window again.

     And sees a LITTLE BOY of 5, in the cab of Vic's rig...

     But this little boy is SCREAMING, struggling to get out of his
     car-seat, until Vic grabs the kid by the shoulders, roughly...
     all of this visible through the windshield.

     Mackelway locks in on the kid. Holy shit...

     Vic's rig pulls out. The kid pounds on his window. Looks like
     he's saying "Lemme out of here! I want my Mommy!" He might be
     little Charlie - we can't tell from here.

     But we can see that Vic is yelling at him: "Shut up!"

     And we can see that Vic's truck is refrigerated. He's hauling
     dairy products.

     On a normal day, Mackelway might shrug this off as
     coincidence. He might not be so vigilant.

     This isn't a normal day. He races for the door.

169  EXT. TRUCK-STOP - PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER                169

     Mackelway backs out in the Yukon, trying to keep a visual on
     Vic's truck.

     ANOTHER 18-WHEELER pulls in front of him, blocking his view


     He honks - loud - pulls around that other 18-wheeler, heading
     for the exit of the lot.

     Just spotted Vic's rig again.


     He follows Vic's rig out of the lot and onto a road
     approaching I-30. But there are three cars between them -
     Mackelway can't get a clean look at Vic's license plate.

     Vic approaches the Interstate. So do the three cars between

     Vic passes the Interstate on-ramp. The three cars turn on to
     it... putting Mackelway right on Vic's tail.

     He grabs his cel, dials. This truck has license plates from
     ten states.

                         MACKELWAY (INTO CEL)
               This is Mackelway. I need a run down on a
               plate. Texas: Delta-142-Romeo-Victor-
               Alpha. Got that?

     He puts the cel down, but doesn't hang up. Vic just made a
     turn onto a VAST DIRT LOT.

     A huge BANNER overhead reads, "FOUNDERS DAY CARNIVAL!!!"

171  EXT. CARNIVAL - PARKING LOT - CONTINUING                     171

     There are several BIG-RIGS parked here, but the vast majority
     of the vehicles we see are garden-variety cars and SUV's. A
     few pick-ups.

     There are RIDES at this carnival: Pony rides, a ferris wheel,
     and a huge ring of Barbeques, each fired up and cooking. Must
     be a thousand people in attendance today.

     Vic parks his rig. Mackelway hangs back, watching:

     Vic gets out of the rig. From here we can see that that 5-year-
     old BOY is still stick in his car seat, and he is still
     screaming and flailing.

     Vic points a stern finger at the kid as if to say, "Behave or
     else." Then Vic disappears into the crowded carnival.

172  EXT. MACKELWAY - AT HIS CAR - RESUMING                       172

     He gets out of the Yukon, approaching Vic's truck. We CROSS

     He reaches Vic's truck, looks in the passenger window. There's
     the five year-old kid, tears streaming down his face. (We
     still can't tell if it's Charlie.)

     Mackelway reaches for the passenger-side door. It's locked. Of
     course. And he can't shoot his way in.

     He looks to the kid inside:

               You okay?
                    (Kid's a blank)
               Kid? You okay in there?

     The Kid doesn't respond - just seems spooked. Shit...
     Mackelway looks into the heart of that crowd. Vic's still
     visible to us, but he won't be for long.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
                    (at the Kid)
               I'll be back. Don't worry.

     Mackelway heads into the carnival.

173  EXT. CARNIVAL - CONTINUING                                   173

     He begins running now, past the table where ladies are selling
     TICKETS for the rides and games, past the Cotton-Candy Guy.

     Running... because we just lost sight of Vic.

     Mackelway hurries through that ring of barbeques, upsetting a
     tray or two. Then he stops. There's the ferris wheel. Was that
     Vic on the other side of it?

     Mackelway takes off.

174  EXT. FERRIS WHEEL - CONTINUING                               174

     No Vic. But Mackelway thinks he sees the guy... heading back
     in the direction of the parking lot.

     He runs past the Pony rides, past a funhouse, past a popcorn
     machine, past those ladies selling tickets.

175  EXT. PARKING LOT - RESUMING                                  175

     He hits a bottleneck of people at the entrance. But he bursts
     through, runs into the dirt parking lot, around cars and big-
     rigs, then turns a corner and:

     ...runs smack into Benjamin O'Ryan.

     The shock is so total it takes each of them a moment to
     recover from it. But here he is. O'Ryan, five feet away.

     Mackelway's speechless, still trying to recalibrate himself. A
     second ago he was chasing a possible Zero. Now he's face to
     face with O'Ryan.

     And O'Ryan isn't running. In fact, he almost seems amused.

               Well, well... Must be quite a moment for
               you. Congratulations.

     Mackelway still hasn't spoken, until:

               What're you doing here?

               Waiting for you.

     ...which is when Mackelway realizes that he is standing right
     in front of Vic's rig.

     But he wasn't expecting what comes next:

     Vic has returned to the rig, with a WOMAN beside him. Turns
     out, she's his WIFE. Vic opens the passenger-side door,
     unclasps that five year-old kid from his seat.

                         FIVE YEAR-OLD

     The kid dives into the Woman's arms.

               Morning, Baby!

               I told you she'd be here.
                    (to Woman)
               He's been a brat all morning.

     Mother hugs son... which means that Mackelway has misread
     things, badly.

     And O'Ryan is a witness to it - hence the grin.

                    (at O'Ryan)
               Hands up.

     O'Ryan raises his hands. Mackelway reaches for his cuffs.

                                                              CUT TO:

176  EXT. CARNIVAL - PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER                  176

     O'Ryan's hands are cuffed in front of him. Mackelway leads him
     to the Yukon, opens a door for him, and puts him into the
     backseat. A few LOOKIE-LOU'S strain for a peek.

177  INT. MACKELWAY'S YUKON - CONTINUING                          177

     Mackelway gets in, hits the ignition. Reaches for his cel-
     phone. Starts to dial.

               Awfully conventional - don't ya think?

     Mackelway pauses.


               Apprehend the fugitive, then call it in
               for your pat on the head.

               Sorry to disappoint you.

     Mackelway continues to dial.

               I'll get over it.
               But I'm not too sure that little boy

     Bang. That just stopped Mackelway, mid-dial.

                    (minor test)
               What little boy?

               The one from the Diner, in Denton.

               You know where he is?

               I can find him.


               Same way I found Starkey, and Speck, and
               Fulcher... and you.

     That rang a bell.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               I need someplace quiet - someplace I can
               concentrate... And your assurance that
               once he's located, we go get him

               I can't do that.

               Then I can't help you.

     Mackelway, disgusted, pulls out of the lot.


     Through sparse traffic, heading for an Interstate on-ramp.
                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               I'm talking about uncompromised justice.
               No trials. No lawyers. No hiccups in a
               chain of evidence that can set a monster
               free. You of all people should be able to
               appreciate the value of that.

               Where's the boy?

               I won't be doing this much longer.
               Actually, this is the end of it. I've
               come to accept that. But there is one
               last thing to--

                    (anger rising)
               Where's the boy, O'Ryan?

               Do we have an understanding?

     Mackelway pulls the car over, under an I-30 overpass... and
     out comes his gun, pointed right at O'Ryan's forehead.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Enough of this shit. Where's the boy?

     O'Ryan can't help it. He's pleased.

               Good. This is good. Sort of thing you'd
               never find in a procedural manual. It
               tells me I was right about you.

                    (cocking the hammer)
               I will kill you, O'Ryan.

               I know. But we have work to do first.

               Where's the Goddamn kid?!?!

     Silence... Then that CEL-PHONE rings. Must be Fran.

               Don't pick that up.

     Mackelway eyes him: are you kidding? It rings again.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
                    (a panicked offer)
               This is the guy who put all those pins in
               that map of yours! And I can take you to

     Ring #3. Mackelway grabs the phone.

               Fine. Where is he?
               Where is he?!?!

     Silence, punctuated by Ring #4. Then O'Ryan smiles... and
     points to his own forehead.

               Right here...

     Mackelway lets out a disgusted sigh.

               Fuck you.

     He punches the "Talk" button, taking his eyes off O'Ryan for a
     split second.

     ...What follows is a blur:

     O'Ryan lunges forward like an animal, throwing his cuffed
     wrists over Mackelway's head, yanking Mackelway out of his
     seat with a violent tug. The gun falls.

     We POP OUTSIDE THE YUKON, pulling back... obscuring our view
     of what's going on inside that truck.

     That cel-phone continues to ring... We keep pulling back,
     under this sparsely-trafficked overpass, rain falling.

     The cel-phone stops ringing. CONTINUE PULLING BACK, taking in
     the expanse of highway - cars rolling by without a hint of the
     peril beneath them...

                                                              CUT TO:

179  INT. TRUCK-STOP - DINER - GREENVILLE - SAME (DAY)            179

     Fran has just arrived. She scans the place. Doesn't see
     Mackelway. Great. She reaches for that cel-phone again...

                                                              CUT TO:


     Mackelway awakens. The room feels like it's swimming. His arms
     and legs are bound. His mouth has been GAGGED.

     And he is staring into his own REFLECTION.

     He lies on his side. A MIRROR has been propped on the floor,
     just inches from his face - leaving him with nothing to look
     at but himself.

     He strains against the ropes, but there's no give to them.
     He's helpless, powerless. And that mirror is forcing him to
     watch it all with perfect clarity.

     A few feet away, O'Ryan sits in a chair, calmly peeling the
     skin off of an apple with that huge HUNTING KNIFE of his. A
     CANDLE flickers on the floor by his feet.

               Are you afraid?

     There was a delight to that question - we can see it on
     O'Ryan's face. Mackelway, of course, can't reply due to the
     gag. But the answer's obvious.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
                    (quoting himself, as Daitz:)
               "Imagine a killer with no patterns, no
               tell-tale fetishes, no rituals of any
               kind. No hidden desire to be caught. A
               perfect vessel of evil."

     All Mackelway can see is his own reflection - the fear in his
     eyes - bouncing off a mirror that's only inches away.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               And the name we give that killer... is
               Are you afraid?

     Slowly, he lowers the knife into the flame of that candle on
     the floor. It GLOWS. Good God...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               It'd be customary at this point to start
               praying. I hear a lot of that. Haven't
               seen too many answers though. I wouldn't
               hold my breath waiting for another
               janitor to break in here and save you,
               either. You're alone.

     Mackelway tries to speak. It's impossible.

     O'Ryan pulls the GAG from his mouth, just long enough for
     Mackelway to say:

               Where's the boy?

     O'Ryan jams the gag back into his mouth, angrily.

                    (re: the mirror)
               My, my. Must be extremely satisfying to
               watch yourself say something so heroic.
               I'm almost envious.
               The boy's under the bed. In pieces. Are
               you afraid?

     Mackelway absorbs that - watches himself absorb it - then
     looks to that bed. Can't quite see what's under it...

     O'Ryan eyes the flames as they dance over the blade.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               I know what you're thinking: "There is
               pain coming. Am I going to take it like a
               man?" Let me put you at ease: You won't.
               None of them do. Men, women, children.
               They all weep, they all beg. They pass
               out, they piss themselves. They attempt
               negotiation: You wouldn't believe how
               many men have lain right where you're
               lying right now - grown men, with wives
               and children back home - offering all
               kinds of sexual gratification in exchange
               for a five minute reprieve. It's
               pathetic. Are you afraid?
                    (of course, no reply)
               Then there's that moment when they
               realize there's nothing left to be
               negotiated. They're just mine. And
               they're helpless. And the look in their
               eyes, the level of surrender... well,
               it's almost pornographic. I put this
               mirror here because I don't want you to
               miss it. Are you afraid?

     With that, he lifts that hunting knife out of the flame. It is
     RED-HOT. Even looking at it is painful.

     But Mackelway can't look at anything else.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               How about now?

     Just like that, that red-hot knife is an inch from Mackelway's
     face. The heat alone makes his head jerk back. Wisps of smoke
     rise from its edge.

     And Mackelway is forced to watch his own reaction to it.

     He struggles against these ropes, to no use. A guttural sound
     comes out of him.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Are you afraid?

     O'Ryan's hand lashes out a bit, leaving the sizzling knife
     just under Mackelway's chin. The anticipation of pain is
     unbearable. And Mackelway is reading it in his own eyes...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Hmmm? Agent Mackelway? Are you?

     Two things hit at once: 1) This monster is about to torture me
     to death. 2) Please, God, don't let me give him the
     satisfaction of seeing me cry...

     O'Ryan moves the blade again, this time an eighth of an inch
     above Mackelway's right arm. The heat from it is so incendiary
     that Mackelway's shirt begins to smoke.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Are you?

     Mackelway's shirt is officially on fire now. The pain is
     awful. He stares at his own reflection. tears begin to flow from his eyes. He can't stop them.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
                    (top of his lungs)
               Are you afraid?!

     That bounces off the walls. Mackelway shuts his eyes tight -
     can't watch this anymore.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Open your eyes! Open your eyes Goddammit
               or I'll cut the fucking lids off!!

     Mackelway opens his eyes, forced to watch himself break. Deep
     sobs shudder through him, as...

     O'Ryan digs that red-hot blade into Mackelway's arm:
                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               ARE YOU AFRAID?!?!

     Mackelway sees the answer in his own reflection: Yes, I am
     terrified. He SHRIEKS, the sound muffled by that gag.

     With his body able to do no more than spasm, he jerks his head
     forward, smashing it into that mirror. THE MIRROR SHATTERS,
     obliterating the image.

     ...and everything goes black.

     Then, MORE IMAGES SWARM AT US. We're helpless to beat them

180a EXT. DARKNESS - UNIDENTIFIED TIME                           180a

     Out of a soupy darkness, a dreamlike spin on a location we've
     visited before: It is the wheat field that O'Ryan has Remote
     Viewed countless times. Only this time we see it through
     Mackelway's fever, or nightmare... We see the tall wheat, the
     wet wind - familiar images to us. All to the pounding Chant of
     the Navaho.

     But then OTHER IMAGES enter this world. They're jarring:

     -That TRIBESMAN, eyes rolling back, foaming the mouth,
     dancing around a fire in a frenzy. Then a curtain of wheat
     obscures him, revealing:
     -Fran, and Katie, giggling, crooking fingers as if inviting
     us. Looks like they're naked. But as we approach them, they
     seem to get farther away. Then that curtain of wheat that
     separates us from them reveals:
     -Charlton, extending a hand to us, warmly, congratulating us
     for something, a job well done, when:

     Mackelway himself is hunting through the wet wheat, gun drawn.
     He FIRES... Then looks to see who he's just shot.

     A body. He turns it over.

     ...and is staring at himself, lying dead on the ground in the
     mud and pouring rain. It is a moment of shock and horror,
     giving way as we...

181  FADE UP AGAIN...                                             181

     ...on O'Ryan - at a desk, sitting upright, making notes on a
     pad. Calm. Businesslike. His back turned to us.


     Time has passed. We don't know how much. Or maybe we're dead,
     or dreaming. It's hard to say...

     But there's O'Ryan, at a desk. Writing...

     Mackelway's eyes are open. His FOREHEAD has a bright red
     raspberry on it from smashing into that mirror.

     But the brain is functioning. It starts running through a

     I'm in the same motel room. I'm on a bed. I'm alive. There's
     O'Ryan. Everything hurts. No, it's just my right arm. But it
     is searing.

     The check-list continues: my mouth is sore, but that GAG has
     been removed.

     And MY ARMS ARE UNBOUND. Legs too. Maybe I am dead.

     Mackelway tries to move his hand. It takes some effort.
     Everything's foggy. But he puts it before his face. Turns it.
     Flexes it. Squeezes it. His hand... He stares at it.

     Then he notices his SHOULDER. A fat BANDAGE has been wrapped
     around it - covering up the source of that searing pain. Looks
     as though a nurse had tended to it.

     But this sure as hell isn't a hospital...

     Then, O'Ryan turns, facing us. Mackelway recoils without
     meaning to.

     But O'Ryan's demeanor has changed. That look of possessed
     malevolence - it's gone now. We can't imagine why.

               Stand up.

     Mackelway pauses, rewinding that one.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               It's over now. Can you stand?

     Mackelway is still bracing for torture, or at least combat. So
     he's a step behind.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               We really do have to go.

     O'Ryan rises, crossing toward us. Even unbound, Mackelway is
     expecting another onslaught... But all O'Ryan does is drop a
     piece of paper onto Mackelway's lap.

     It's another DRAWING: of a RANCH-HOUSE, with a windmill in the
     background. Crude, but just specific enough. Mackelway's still
     too unwound to speak...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               This is where he'll be. With the boy.
                    (a beat)
               Zero. He's coming home today. We're going
               to be there.

     Mackelway's starting to understand now. This was an act. An
     initiation. That stuns him...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               You're ready to come with me now. You've
               been in the pit. Stand up.

     Mackelway eyes him - utter disbelief.

     O'Ryan smiles warmly - like a Drill Sergeant at the end of
     Basic: Sorry I was so hard on you but it had to be done... Can
     we shake on it?

     Instead, Mackelway simply EXPLODES:

     It is a blur, faster than a blur, but Mackelway rises with an
     animal roar, knocking O'Ryan flat on his back.

     Then Mackelway is upon him.

     All the helplessness, all the horror, the images of watching
     himself in that mirror, the sounds of his own uncontrollable
     sobbing... they ERUPT now into violence.

     It is an overwhelming force. O'Ryan can't begin to fight it
     off. Mackelway has one hand on O'Ryan's throat. The other hand
     comes down like a sledgehammer.

     One blow. Then another. The sounds coming out of Mackelway are
     savage, barely human. He's out of control.

     O'Ryan's eyes roll back. Mackelway now puts both hands around
     this fucker's throat. He's going to kill him - right here.
     He's going to squeeze the life from him.

     This is a Mackelway we've never met before. His eyes are wild,
     hateful - even as the last gasps of breath rasp their way out
     of O'Ryan's throat.

     Then Mackelway is distracted, for just a second. No. Less than
     a second... by a glimpse of that SHATTERED MIRROR - his own
     twisted image.

     He looks away from it, refusing to be distracted, determined
     to kill this guy.

     ...then those eyes drift back to the mirror again.

     ...and he sees his reflection: a hardened, crazed stranger. An

     His hands, without warning, release their grip.

     O'Ryan gasps for air. His face has been bloodied. Mackelway
     rises, disgusted, removing a great weight from O'Ryan's chest.
     That makes breathing a little easier.

     Mackelway crosses to a tiny, cheap BATHROOM.

183  INT. MOTEL ROOM - BATHROOM - CONTINUING                      183

     Mackelway enters. There's a mirror in here too. That fat
     BANDAGE on his shoulder stares back at him.

     He tugs at it - doesn't unravel it, just yanks it off his arm -
     revealing a hideous wound.


     Now everything clicks: O'Ryan was branding him. Initiating him
     with that red-hot knife.

     Mackelway stares at the wound, his eyes lifeless. He splashes
     some water on his face, his mind still reeling.

     Then O'Ryan appears in the doorway. He too looks like hell -
     face bloodied, throat red, eyes watering. A long beat...

     Mackelway eyes him, incredulous. O'Ryan nods, then places that
     DRAWING of the Ranch-House on the sink. Mackelway eyes it.

     Then O'Ryan stuns him... by laying Mackelway's GUN atop the
     drawing, without a word.

     Mackelway eyes the gun, then grabs it and points it right at
     O'Ryan's face, just inches away.

     We're TIGHT on Mackelway's hand. It trembles with rage.

     But O'Ryan, looking right down the barrel, seems unafraid. In
     fact he smiles, utterly confident. Then:

                    (re: gun)
               Soon. I promise... But not yet.

     He eases Mackelway's hand down, thus lowering the gun. Then
     O'Ryan turns, grabs Mackelway's car keys, and heads for the
     front door.

     Mackelway stands, rigid. He raises the gun. Maybe I'll just
     shoot this fucker in the back.

     Then those IMAGES come at us again, out of nowhere:

184  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - NIGHT                                     184

     Out of a gray, soupy swirl - coming slightly into focus: Wet
     wind, tall wheat, our own heavy BREATHING as we run... And
     that non-descript voice we heard echoing earlier becomes the
     sound of O'Ryan's voice, static-filled, wobbling:

                         O'RYAN (O.S.)
               Please... I'm begging you.

     That was clear enough. A gun rises. We seem to be holding

     Then those images vanish, and we are jolted back to:

185  INT. MOTEL ROOM - BATHROOM - RESUMING                        185

     Mackelway tightens. O'Ryan's out the door. This VISION that
     keeps getting clearer and clearer... What the hell does this
     it mean?

     Down go two more Vicodens...

                                                              CUT TO:

186  INT. MACKELWAY'S YUKON - DRIVING - NIGHT                     186

     A huge STORM devours scenery on both sides of us. O'Ryan
     drives. Mackelway sits, no expression at all on his face,
     still recovering from what happened in that room...

     Silence... Then:

               Tell me about Icarus.


               Just... wanna know.

     O'Ryan eyes him. The sky is black.

               There were five of us. In the program.

     Mackelway's all ears...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               We'd come in in the morning, have a cup
               of coffee, talk about the Yankees. Then
               you'd go to your room, with your pen and
               your pad of paper, always alone, and
               you'd try to lock in. Son of Sam. John
               Wayne Gacy. Ted Bundy. He might be
               driving his car, or having a beer or
               brushing his teeth... or cutting
               someone's eyes out.

     That was said flatly, matter-of-factly. It's chilling.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               If you did it right, you got all of it:
               The way it sounded. The way it smelled...
               Those people were looking up at you,
               begging you for mercy. It was like being
                    (a beat)
               ...except you're not. Because you can't
               do a thing for them. Can't make it stop.
               You're just watching, helpless.

     He pauses.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               They wired us into this current, the five
               of us: darkness, the pit itself. We were
               plugged right into it. But nobody taught
               us how to shut it off...
                    (thinking back...)
               We were just men. And we saw things men
               shouldn't see. Agony, torture, evil - and
               it never shut off. Even now, it's still

               They all wind up like you? The other

               No. They're dead now.

     Oh. Mackelway doesn't reply...

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               They broke down. Then they opted out.
                    (Mackelway's a blank)
               Killed themselves... After a while, those
               conversations about the Yankees became
               impossible. Ya see?

     Mackelway lets that sink in, as he stares at passing head-
     lights. Then:

               I'm sorry.

     O'Ryan shrugs. He appreciates it. The windshield wipers beat
     back rain...

                                                              CUT TO:


     O'Ryan continues to drive. Silence hangs. Then:

               We're here.

     Mackelway sits up. O'Ryan pulls over at:


     We've seen this place before. That is, we've seen it in
     O'Ryan's DRAWING, which lies on the dashboard before us: A
     ranch-style house with a WINDMILL in the backyard.

     O'Ryan pulls over. Rain pounds on the roof and hood. Wind
     blows. Mackelway studies the house. Then his eyes shift
     briefly to the drawing.

               Can't bring you in with me. You know

     O'Ryan shrugs, then raises his hands: "Cuff me."

     The CUFFS are lying on the floor in the back seat. Mackelway
     reaches back, to grab them... a golden opportunity for O'Ryan
     to club the guy.

     But O'Ryan remains still. Mackelway grabs them. Then he stops.
     Simply has to ask:

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Those faxes, the Have-You-Seen-Me's...
               How many of 'em is he actually
               responsible for?

     O'Ryan lays it right out:

               All of 'em.

     Mackelway nods, sobered. Cuffs O'Ryan to the steering wheel
     and approaches the house.

189  EXT. RANCH HOUSE - WALKWAY - CONTINUING                      189

     The place is in some disrepair: untended lawn, chipping paint,
     etc. Mackelway looks through the kitchen window.

     No one's visible. He walks around the side of the house.

190  INT. MACKELWAY'S YUKON - RESUMING                            190

     O'Ryan watches as Mackelway vanishes. This is a moment of
     opportunity. With his free hand, he reaches into his pocket,
     grabbing a lighter.

191  EXT. RANCH HOUSE - SIDE - CONTINUING                         191

     Mackelway moves cautiously, being pelted by rain. But now he
     can see inside the Living Room of this home:

     It's a bit of a time warp: plastic on the furniture, an old
     radiator, pictures on the mantle in antique frames.

     And an OLD LADY, leaning over a record player.

     Tough to hear what's playing - we're outside, and that storm
     is pounding - but it sounds like Glenn Miller. There's also an
     old tv in here: "Wizard of Oz" is on it.

     The lady is 70, frail, thin. She also happens to be BLIND.
     Cataracts on her eyes. Her name's DELIA. Mackelway watches
     her... as she exits the room, heading for the kitchen.

     He moves to another window.

192  INT. MACKELWAY'S YUKON - RESUMING                            192

     O'Ryan, keeping his eyes on that house, now lights the
     lighter... and holds the flame up to the CHAIN connecting his
     hand-cuff to the one on the steering wheel.

     The chain begins to heat up...

193  EXT. SIDE OF THE HOUSE - RESUMING                            193

     Mackelway watches as Delia makes her way into the kitchen.

     It, too, is from another era: the dishwasher stands in the
     center of the floor, connected to the sink with a long hose.
     The refrigerator, the table, the toaster - all old.

     The oven is an antique too. Delia crosses to it, grabs a
     towel, opens it... and pulls a CAKE from it.

     She brings the cake to the kitchen table, moving well for a
     lady who can't see. On the table is an old-fashioned baker's
     frosting tube.

     She grabs it, using her hands to orient herself... and begins
     to write on the cake, in frosting. Slowly.

     Mackelway can't see the top of that cake, but we can. The
     first letters, in beautiful cursive, read: "Happy Bir..." It's
     a work in progress.

194  INT. MACKELWAY'S YUKON - RESUMING                            194

     O'Ryan has that handcuff chain GLOWING now. We don't know if
     he'll have time to break the thing... until:

     The passenger-side door is opened, abruptly.

               It's his birthday, isn't it?

     O'Ryan turns. Here's Mackelway, who now gets an eyeful of what
     O'Ryan's doing with that lighter.

     O'Ryan pockets it, a bit sheepishly. Mackelway decides to
     ignore the whole thing...

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               He comes home on his birthday.

     O'Ryan nods. Then Delia's front door swings open.

                         DELIA (O.S.)
                    (aloud, delighted)
               Darling?! That you?!

195  EXT. RANCH HOUSE - ENTRY - CONTINUING                        195

     Delia stands in the open doorway: an old blind lady, talking
     to the dark rainy street. That confuses them.

     ...until we hear the rumble of an 18-WHEEL TRUCK.

     It turns a corner onto this street. Mackelway turns now...

     We've seen this truck before. A monstrous, rolling beast. And
     Mackelway straightens, reaching for his sidearm. Behind him,
     Delia smiles excitedly, almost dancing.

     But that smile soon leaps from her face... as she hears the
     sound of that 18-wheeler, BRAKING ABRUPTLY, its tires locking-
     up on the wet road.

     Mackelway gets a look at the DRIVER now - a wiry, sinewy man
     of 35... Let's call him ZERO.

     Their eyes lock - until Zero throws his rig into gear again
     and begins to rumble down the street.

                         DELIA (CONT'D)
               Daryl? Honey?

     No answer. That truck is rumbling away. Mackelway turns,
     racing for the Yukon, leaving Delia at the door.

196  INT. MACKELWAY'S YUKON - CONTINUING                          196

     Mackelway jumps in to the Yukon, unlocking those cuffs.


     He accidentally burns himself on the super-heated chain.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
                    (re: burn)

     Cuffs are unlocked now. O'Ryan starts up the Yukon.


     O'Ryan drives, pursuing the big-rig. Mackelway gets on his cel-
     phone, dials. Rain falls in SHEETS all around them.

                         MACKELWAY (INTO CEL-PHONE)
               This is Mackelway! I'm travelling north
               on... Grove Road, approaching I-30 in
               Greenville. Request immediate back-up.
               Pursuing a suspect in a refrigerated
               truck, Texas license plate Alpha--

     The Yukon swerves hard to the right, narrowly avoiding the
     tail end of Zero's rig as he swings it into our path.
     Mackelway drops the phone. Grabs it again.

                         MACKELWAY (PHONE, CONT'D)

     Zero does it again - swinging the rear of his rig across the
     road, forcing O'Ryan to swerve hard. The Yukon gets shoved on
     to a curb, then clunks down to the street again.

     Then Zero jams on the brakes. Mackelway's eyes go wide.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
                    (at O'Ryan)

     O'Ryan jumps on the brakes. The Yukon screeches to a stop,
     throwing itself into a sideways slide. It bangs, passenger
     side first, into the rear of the truck, breaking a window.

     Mackelway ducks out of the way of breaking glass. Then the rig
     pulls away again. O'Ryan follows.

198  THE CHASE - CONTINUING                                       198

     Zero's rig turns hard onto a SERVICE ROAD, running parallel to
     the Interstate. Mackelway is locked in on that truck.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
                    (into cel-phone again)
               Travelling due west now. Don't see a
               name. It's a service road, running
               parallel to the--

     Then Mackelway freezes, mid-word. He just saw something that
     made his jaw drop:

     On the other side of this road is a field of TALL WHEAT.

     Time seems to stop. His blood feels like it just congealed.
     Tall wheat in a wet wind. He has been here before. He has seen
     it before.

     And so has O'Ryan...

     Mackelway just stares, slack-jawed, as that wheat whips past
     them. The feeling is so unsettling that for a moment he
     forgets about Zero, and the rig, and the kid...

     Everything has just crystallized in a horrible way. He knows
     that he is going to wind up in that wheat field, somehow, with

     And O'Ryan will be begging him for mercy. "Please..."

     O'Ryan guns the Yukon, attempting to cut in front of the rig.
     Zero swings wide, sending the Yukon into a curb this time.
     That shreds their front tire.

     ...which means that in one minute this car is going to be
     undriveable. So if they don't stop Zero from hitting that
     Interstate - now - Zero will be gone.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               What're you...

               Can't let him hit the Interstate.

     Mackelway braces himself, as O'Ryan guns his car up the left
     side of the rig, shredded tire and all. Then:

     He pulls right in front of the rig. At about 60 m.p.h. And he
     jams on the brakes.

     Zero swerves, out of instinct. It throws the rig into a
     vicious JACK-KNIFE. The van whips around in front of the cab,
     swatting the Yukon away like a fly.

     We're inside the Yukon as it rolls, Mackelway and O'Ryan look
     like tinker toys.

     The torque pulls Zero's rig onto its side, sliding hard. Metal
     hits concrete, sending up a shower of SPARKS.

     The Yukon winds up in a ditch alongside the service road,
     upside down. Mackelway, alive and awake, strains to look out
     the busted windshield.

     What he sees is hard to discern - but it looks like Zero's rig
     is lying flat on its side.

     And, of course, he is mere yards from that wheat field...

199  EXT. SERVICE ROAD - CONTINUING                               199

     The rig's cab lies driver's-side down. But the passenger-side
     door pops open. And Zero pokes through it, his eyes
     immediately scanning that TALL WHEAT. Rain pours.

     Mackelway's watching. O'Ryan, who blacked out for a second now
     opens his eyes, getting the picture in a hurry.

     Zero leaps to the ground, rolls, and rises. Only thing in his
     hand is a TIRE IRON. Carrying it, he sprints into the wheat
     field - vanishing.

     Mackelway bursts out of the Yukon, in pursuit. O'Ryan's door
     is stuck. Mackelway doesn't stop to help him - just barrels
     across the street.

     Just then - a STATE RANGER CAR arrives.

                    (over his shoulder, running)
               Get the van open! He's got a kid in the

     STATE RANGER hurries out of his squad car. Mackelway sprints
     into the tall wheat.

     O'Ryan, with a grunt, gets his door open. Now he too
     disappears into that Wheat Field.

200  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - CONTINUING                                200

     Tall wheat in a stiff wet wind, and not a drop of moonlight to
     guide us. Mackelway plunges in, gun drawn. No idea where he's

     ...except he's been here before. He's seen it. And there is a
     feeling of inevitability to all this; it's haunting.

     He's practically blind in here. Can't see five feet in front
     of him. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

     That, too, was presaged. Those visions...

201  EXT. ZERO'S TOPPLED RIG - CONTINUING                         201

     It's locked. Ranger pulls out his handgun and blows the lock

202  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - RESUMING                                  202

     Mackelway keeps running, deaf and blind.

     O'Ryan is running nearby, but they can't see or hear one


     200 sides of beef lie on their sides. Ranger plunges in.

     Then the Ranger spots, in the back of the van, a FALSE-WALL
     that used to hide a secret compartment.

     The crash has collapsed part of the false-wall. Frozen air
     blows out in wisps. He climbs over those carcasses, fast as he

204  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - RESUMING                                  204

     Mackelway keeps going, running blind.

     Then, another sound, up ahead. Sounds like the noise of
     someone stumbling. Mackelway stops. Listens.

     Silence. The sound does not repeat itself.

     He continues along, step by cautious step now.


     Ranger gets over the last of the carcasses, pulling himself up
     to the now-open compartment.

     First thing we see is a REFRIGERATION ROD, the one that was
     responsible for those freezer burns.

     Then we see Charlie, bound. He's trembling with cold, but he's
     alive. His leg presses up against the rod.

206  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - RESUMING                                  206

     Mackelway, inching along, heart pounding. He hears a noise to
     his left. Whips around, gun poised.

     But it's nothing. He sighs. The wheat almost sounds like it's
     laughing at him.

     Then that TIRE IRON lashes out, from the right.

     It catches Mackelway with horrific force, shattering his wrist
     and sending that gun flying into the wheat.

     Before Mackelway can react, Zero is upon him...

207  EXT. THE TOPPLED RIG - RESUMING                              207

     Fran's Ford skids to a stop outside the van.

     ...just as the Ranger brings Charlie out of the rig. The kid
     is shaking, traumatized. He begins to cry...

     Fran gets the idea. She hurries over.

208  EXT. WHEAT FIELD - RESUMING                                  208

     Mackelway and Zero wrestle, surrounded and obscured by all of
     that wheat... Zero is a monster, and he's got that tire iron.
     Mackelway has a busted wrist. Hardly a fair fight.

     But Mackelway is battling: kicking, clawing, getting in as
     many shots as he can. His shirt rips away from his body,
     exposing that brand-mark. They roll back and forth. Until:

                         O'RYAN (O.S.)
                    (calmly, firmly)

     Zero freezes. Mackelway too. They turn to find:

     O'Ryan... who stands here, Mackelway's gun in hand.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)

     Mackelway's relief is total. He pushes Zero away, rising. Zero
     pulls himself off the ground, chagrinned.

                    (re: Mackelway)
               Glad you're here, Man. Guy was about to
               kill me.

     O'Ryan, without ceremony, puts a bullet through Zero's left
     palm. That got Mackelway's attention.

     Zero howls with pain, his palm gushing. The TIRE-IRON falls to
     the ground. Mackelway approaches O'Ryan.

               I'll take it from here.

     He extends his good hand to O'Ryan: "The gun." O'Ryan pauses.

               Are you going to shoot him?

               Give me the gun, O'Ryan.

               Hey, I just surrendered.

               Shut up.

               I surrendered! That's it!

               SHUT UP!!!

     O'Ryan wheels around, aiming the gun right at Zero's face.
     That shuts the guy up in a hurry.

     From that service road now, we hear a line of SIRENS,
     approaching from a distance. Unit after unit.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
                    (quietly now)
               Look at him, Mack. He's not human
               anymore. Go dig up that old lady's
               backyard - you'll find bodies there...
               Maybe hundreds of them. Of course, ya
               gotta get a warrant first, chain of
               custody's gotta be followed. One breach,
               and he walks.
                    (no reply)
               My way, he's eliminated; the world is rid
               of him. It's a lot closer to justice than
               having some Prosecutor tell you you've
               left a tissue sample in the wrong lab.
               Isn't it?

                    (that stung)
               Give me the fucking gun!

     O'Ryan turns, studies him.

     ...and hands him the gun. Just like that.

     Mackelway eyes it. O'Ryan doesn't say a word, just crosses
     back to Zero, and grabs that TIRE-IRON off the ground.

     O'Ryan's now standing right behind Zero, as:

                    (at Mackelway)
               You have to understand: none of this was
               arbitrary. We were chosen, you and I.
     WHAP! O'Ryan just swung that tire-iron into Zero's rib cage.
     We hear bones crack, and air rushing from the guy's lungs. He
     drops to his knees, gasping.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               I saw us here. You did too.
     THUMP! Another violent swing of that tire-iron, busting up the
     other side of Zero's torso. Now both sides of his rib-cage
     have shattered. Breathing is almost impossible.

     Mackelway tightens. His head just began to throb...

               Okay. You made your point.

               Bullshit! If I'd made my fucking point
               you would've shot him yourself by now!

     Another swing of that tire-iron, across the back of Zero's
     neck. He crumbles, face down.

     Fuck it. Mackelway crosses to O'Ryan and puts that gun right
     up against the back of O'Ryan's head.


     Then, an odd thing... O'Ryan simply smiles.

     Something about having that gun pointed right at him - it's a

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               Drop it.

               Or what?

               Just drop it.

               Would you shoot me?

     That's something Mackelway doesn't want to consider.

               Put it down.

               I want you to think for a second. About
               your destiny. Who you are. You're cursed,
               like I am - except you keep running from
                    (Mackelway's silent)
               You hear things. You see things. That's
               why you can't sleep, why your head always

     He turns. They are face to face. Nothing but that gun between

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               ...and it's why you are going to let me
               kill this animal. And then you're going
               to kill me.

     That threw Mackelway badly. O'Ryan seizes the moment -
     wheeling around...

     He takes one last swing at Zero, like a lumberjack. The tire-
     iron impacts Zero's skull with a dull THUD, cracking it. He is

     Mackelway's eyes go wide. Whole thing has been a blur.

     O'Ryan releases the tire-iron... and drops to his knees like a
     man awaiting execution, his back to Mackelway.

     Mackelway is silent. Stunned. The blood from Zero's caved-in
     skull finds its way to O'Ryan's knees.

     But O'Ryan remains peaceful. Calm. Ready.

               Get up.

               I can't do that, Mack. I've seen all this
               already. For months now.

               Get up.

               Every time, we're in this field: same
               wind, same rain. And you...

     He puts a finger to his head, pretending it's a gun. Then he
     pretends to pull the trigger. Mackelway gets the idea.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               It's okay. I want you to. I'm begging you

     Mackelway doesn't know what to do. Then, making matters worse:

                         FRAN (O.S.)

     She's about a hundred yards away... but she'll be here soon
     enough. That puts some heat under O'Ryan:

               I'm tired, Mack.

                         FRAN (O.S.)
               Can you hear me?

     She's 90 yards out now...

               Pull the trigger...
                    (no reply)
               I'm not going to jail. Now pull the
               fucking trigger!

     Mackelway's frozen. O'Ryan knows it.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Fucking coward.

     O'Ryan rises now, facing Mackelway.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Some things are not up to us to decide.
               They just exist. They're inevitable. This
               field. This rain. This moment. It has all
               already happened. You know that. You've
               seen it too.

     He shoves Mackelway in the chest.

                         FRAN (O.S.)

     She's 70 yards out now...

               Shut it off for me.

               I'm not going to kill you, O'Ryan.

               Of course you will. I've seen it.

               You saw wrong!

               That's impossible.

                         FRAN (O.S.)
               Mack? Can you hear me?

     50 yards out now. Maybe close enough to hear O'Ryan's voice...

                    (rambling, unraveling)
               You don't understand. Those fucking faces
               on that map. They call to me. I see their
               eyes in the dark - they're staring at me:
               "How did you let this happen to me?" But
               that's the thing about them - they're
               like pictures. They never blink. They
               just...stare, and always at me. That's my
               destiny, do you see? I didn't help them
               when they needed me and this is my
               penance. Fine. I ACCEPT IT. But I'm
               opting out now, ya get it? I can't stand
               this anymore! I wanna close my eyes for
               once and see something other than
                    (Mackelway's expressionless)
               It's not a bad start, Mack. We've made
               the world a little safer now. Speck,
               Fulcher, Starkey, now Zero. We've made
               justice. But I get some too. You have to
               end all this for me. That's why you're
               here. It's your destiny.

               Stop telling me about my fucking destiny!

               But I've seen it!

               Open your eyes, O'Ryan! Here I am,
               standing here. I'm not shooting you.
               Doesn't that fucking tell you something?
               You're a guy with a skill. Period. They
               taught you more than they should've. I'm
               sorry about that... But you're not God.
               You can't see everything.
               Yes I can! And you can too! That's why I
               chose you!

                         FRAN (O.S.)

     Mackelway's not budging. O'Ryan can see that.

                    (re: tire-iron)
               Fine. I'll make it easy for you:

     O'Ryan picks up that tire-iron. Mackelway sees what's coming.
     O'Ryan swings the tire-iron as Mackelway backs out of its

               Put the fucking thing down, O'Ryan.

     O'Ryan keeps pursuing. Another swing. Mackelway keeps backing
     up. The swing misses.

               Look. It's perfect. Won't even need a
               hearing this way. You apprehended the
               suspect in the commission of a murder.
               Then he turned on you and you fired in

     O'Ryan isn't letting up. And Mackelway can't quite fire.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               These things are bigger than you -
               haven't you seen that yet? Destiny.
               Justice. Mercy. They're vast. We're just

               I'm not going to kill you!

               You don't get to decide that!

               Yes I do!

     O'Ryan takes one more swing, as:

                         FRAN (O.S.)

     Silence. Mackelway turns. So does O'Ryan.

     There's Fran, emerging from the tall wheat, gun trained right
     on O'Ryan. His shock is total.

                         FRAN (CONT'D)
               Drop it.

     O'Ryan doesn't move at first. Then, slowly, an ironic smile
     snakes its way across his lips.

                    (at Mackelway, surprised)
               It's funny. I never saw anyone else out
               here. Did you?
     Mackelway doesn't answer. He can't. O'Ryan eyes him.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Do it, Mack. Please.
                    (Mackelway's silent)
               Please. I'm begging you.

     There it was: the very thing Mackelway's been hearing all this
     time, the exact words. Unsettling as hell.

     ...and we begin to INTERCUT: images of this moment with images
     from those "VISIONS" that have been hinting at this very
     wheatfield since Page One...


     Tall wheat, wet wind, O'Ryan's voice: "I'm begging you..."

     ...Mackelway snaps himself out of the vision.

               I can't.

     That was almost an attempt to make those images stop, to deny
     its awful, inevitable conclusion.

                         MACKELWAY (CONT'D)
               I'm not you.


     Two men, neither of them flinching... until O'Ryan nods - as
     if to say "Good-bye."

     ...more of that vision interrupts now: a gun, rising...

     O'Ryan rears back and swings that tire-iron right at
     Mackelway's head.

     Fran has no choice. She fires.

     O'Ryan is hit right between the shoulder blades. The tire-iron
     hits Mackelway in the shoulder. O'Ryan crumbles to the ground,
     landing face up.

     ...a body slumping to the ground. O'Ryan... Mackelway stands
     over him...

     Now, real-life again, Mackelway stands over O'Ryan, just as
     O'Ryan had always envisioned it. That makes him smile, even as
     he's dying.

                         O'RYAN (CONT'D)
               Thank you.

     Then he dies, eyes open. Mackelway looks to Fran...

                                                         DISSOLVE TO:

209  EXT. SERVICE ROAD - DAWN                                     209

     Hours have passed. Dozens of LAW ENFORCEMENT VEHICLES have
     arrived. Sherrifs, Feds. Zero's rig remains on its side.

     Mackelway sits nearby on a CURB, his shattered wrist is in a
     SLING. Up above, the CLOUDS have parted. Morning sun streaks
     through. No more rain. Fran sits beside him.

     At their feet, in the gutter of this service road, lies a
     discarded MILK CARTON, covered with dust. The face under the
     "Have You Seen Me?" is unknown to us.

     Kathleen is nearby, holding Charlie tight. Cops surround them.

     An UNMARKED SEDAN arrives. Charlton hurries out of it, making
     a bee-line for Mackelway.

               Nice work.
                    (Mackelway half-nods)
               Where is he?


               O'Ryan. Where is he?
     Mackelway rises, studies Charlton. There's nothing to say.

     So he extends a hand to Fran. She takes it, rising to her
     feet. They leave Charlton behind...

     We PULL AWAY from them, craning up, taking in this expanse of
     tall wheat, TILTING UP to that morning sun.

                                                   MATCH DISSOLVE TO: AFTERNOON SUN now - blazing white hot. TILT DOWN...

210  EXT. DELIA'S RANCH-HOUSE - DAY                               210

     We're some distance away. HEAT RISES off parched Earth,
     lending a vaporous screen to everything. But we can make out
     the shapes of men in HAZ-MAT SUITS.

     Delia's backyard is being torn up by a BACK-HOE. Looks like a
     war-zone: BODIES, wrapped in cloth, being exhumed from the
     ground. Dozens of them...

     But there's plenty of soil yet to be turned... Might be
     HUNDREDS unearthed by the time these guys are through. We...

                                                          FADE OUT...