CATHERINE'S HOUSE: Small and isolated, the nearest neighbor a block away. Outside, her cat is perched on her car. Inside, Catherine lights a joint to relax. The place is a mess. Computer print-outs, dirty dishes, unopened mail, videotapes, and notepads cover tables, chairs and floor. A glass of milk sits on her computer desk.
On the crammed bookshelves, psychology texts sit next to volumes on mythology, religion, and the occult. Totems, figurines and artifacts (Central and South American in origin) adorn the walls and tables. As Portishead plays on the stereo, we find Catherine suffering from insomnia.
She looks at newspaper clippings she had posted on the wall. Among the newspaper clippings is a kitschy postcard of a warrior/goddess. One of the newspaper clippings reads, 'Nambian Seal Hunting on the Rise - Government cites global economic concerns.' Another newspaper clipping reads:
Billionaire's Son Found in Coma on Seal Beach
NAMIBIA - The family of billionaire businessman Lucien Baines was rocked by tragedy when their son Edward was found in a coma on a strip of sand known as Seal Beach. The cause of the coma is not known at this point, but early reports from the hospital that the boy was rushed to indicate that he was completely non-responsive to any sort of stimulation.
Earlier in the day, the boy was playing and swimming normally, giving no sign that anything was wrong. At about three O'clock in the afternoon, a housekeeper . . . [some of the article is covered up) . . . took him straight away to the hospital where neurological experts were brought in to assess the case.
Early reports that the boy was close to death appear to be unfounded, however, it does not seem that his condition has improved much since he was found. "At this point we have no clues as to why the boy lapsed into this coma," said a hospital spokesman. "We can only say that his condition is stabilized, and that all of the best people in the field of medicine are examing the case," he continued.
Lucien Baines is the president of Baines . . . [the rest of the article is covered up]
CATHERINE (whispers): Edward.
Moments later, she stands looking in the fridge, undecided. Her cat comes up to her and nudges Catherine's leg. We see an illustration on the wall of horses, the same as the hobby horse in Edward's world.
CATHERINE: Hey you. What are you looking for, hmm? You want some milk?
CARL'S BASEMENT: Anne's dead face emerges from a milk-like bath. Soaking in the bleach is the nude corpse of Anne Vicksey. The interior of the tub is glazed with gleaming porcelain and the whiteness of her flesh makes it appear as though she is floating in nothingness, but what hypnotizes and appalls, are her eyes. Wide open, transformed by the chlorine into something ghostly, they are unforgettable.
As the bleach gurgles down the drain, Stargher lifts Anne from the tub and carries her to a polished stainless steel table. He places her face up and a row of shower heads rinse her body with water. Carl works the water apparatus as he holds his rubber-gloved hand up to shield his face from water / bleach spray.
We see that he is in a vast subterranean room. Most of the walls have been knocked down, leaving only thick support posts and the exterior brick wall. The basement floor is a dugout pit - a few feet deeper than the rest of the room.
Back at Catherine's home, she is lying on her bed (a waterbed), Catherine sleepily stares at the television, watching the animated film, 'Fantastic Planet.' She feels herself drawn into the comforter. The folds of the fabric become ripples. Ripples become dunes, as we enter . . .
EDWARD'S WORLD: And we find ourselves in the desert of Edward's world. We fly over dunes and come up behind Catherine as a white seagull soars overhead. The tree trunk is up ahead and we glimpse someone hiding inside.
CATHERINE (her voice echoing): Edward, is that you? Don't hide, sweetie. Please, don't be afraid. No one will hurt you.
Catherine reaches. Edward/Mocky-Lock erupts from within the tree trunk! Snarling! Catherine retreats, silently screaming.
Catherine's eyes snap open. In sharp contrast to a typical reaction to a nightmare, she remains calm. No sweaty face, no gasp, no reaction at all, really. She might as well have been dreaming of puppy dogs. Wide awake, her eyes return their gaze to the television.
CATHERINE: Go. To. Sleep.
BASEMENT - NIGHT: A bright work light hangs above, and near it are chains, cables and hooks of a customized mechanical hoist. Other chains attached to bizarre hooks dangle from the ceiling. Carl presses a remote unit and up in the rafters, a series of gears click into motion. The sound is torturous. The albino German Shepherd - Valentine, has settled under the staircase, but the noise of the mechanical hoists provokes the dog to bark incessantly.
Stargher has removed his clothes, now nude, we see his lean, muscular frame. On his back, we see eight metal rings, thick and strong, pierced through his flesh. Two columns of four on either side of the spine, running from shoulder blade to just below the waist. The mechanical hoist lifts Stargher off the ground, pulling at the rings, strips of flesh rising.
Prior to this, Carl had set up his television monitors and VCRs, inserting a videocassette taken from the surveillance deck. The video of Anne's first moments inside. Disoriented, terrified, trapped, she examines her surroundings. Fast-forwarding to her death, he presses a remote and we get sound. Admiring Anne's body, Stargher had linked the hooks to the rings in his back.
As the hoist continues their grind, we hear Anne screaming, begging for her life. Stargher is mesmerized by her fear. Aroused, stimulated, Stargher drinks it in like a symphony. In black and white, we see Anne in the cell as Valentine continues his non-stop barking in the background.
As the hoist clicks into another gear, it carries Stargher over the table until his body is perfectly positioned above Anne's. We see that he had earlier moved her limbs, lips, hips, and hands into desired positions. In the harsh light, against the shiny table, the bleached body has the quality of an apparition and we almost expect her to move...
Stargher grimaces, but clearly he wants the pain, needs it. In the flickering weird light of the television screen, Stargher resembles something from the twisted imagination of William Blake - a levitating demon ready to debauch an innocent angel. With his free hand, he touches himself, chains clinking and swaying. Tension builds to a climax, Carl is roaring a scream of ectasy in chorus with . . .
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