INT. HALLWAY/COURTHOUSE - DAY: An explosion of CHATTER as the CROWD empties from the courtroom. Many of the MEDIA rush to a press room across the hall. As Peter heads that way, we see he enjoys some celebrity status. Heads turn and fingers point as he goes by. Peter stops a tall, Asian 26 year-old who's striding by with a thick packet. This is MICHAEL KIM, Peter's researcher.
MICHAEL: Mr. Kelson, here's the stuff you wanted on pathological narcissism.
PETER: What about that psychic, what's his name, Szabo?
MICHAEL: He can see you Thursday.
PETER: (shaking his hand) I think it's gonna be a waste of time.
MICHAEL: (trying to reassure his boss) The police used him as a witness in this case.
PETER: (unsmiling, but he likes Michael) I'll be at Bedford tonight, if you need me.
MICHAEL: (big smile) Nice suit.
Peter takes off, weaving his way through the crowds. And as he enters a MEN'S ROOM:
INT. MEN'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS: Peter saunters up to a urinal. A rough looking man in his late 40's comes out of a stall and approaches Peter. This is a tough cop named MIKE SMYTHE.
SMYTHE: (smiling, friendly) Hey! Mr. big shot.
PETER: (smile emerging) Mike. Oh, the christening. I meant to call...
SMYTHE (releases his hold) Yeah, right. I don't know why I bothered inviting you guys. I knew you wouldn't show.
Peter finishes. Zips up and goes to wash his hands. Smythe looks in the mirror, too, noticing a food stain on his shirt. He dabs at it half-heartedly.
SMYTHE: (CONT'D) So, Viznick's got a meet with his lawyer in the ayem.
PETER: (his interest is piqued) Really? You know, seeing these guys away from the court, the facade slips. You catch things.
SMYTHE: Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before. Just be sure you spell my name right. Nine o'clock?
Smythe hands Peter a tiny penlight.
PETER: What's this?
SMYTHE: So you can see where you're going when you crawl up his asshole.
Off Peter's smile, we:
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - AFTERNOON: The typical particle board and wallpaper set that looks better on the small screen. Two chairs, one with Peter and one with the glossy blonde, perfectly styled, TV personality, SALLY PRESCOTT. THE FLOOR MANAGER silently finishes the countdown as a make up man touches up Peter before rushing off the set.
SALLY: As a part of today's story on the trial of mass murderer George Viznick, we welcome Peter Kelson, author of the current best-seller, VICIOUS INTENT. Thank you for joining us, Peter.
PETER: Thanks for having me, Sally.
SALLY: Peter, you're now writing a book about the Viznick case. You seem to be making a career of studying sensational murderers. I have to ask, how does it make you feel when you sit in courtrooms day after day, face to face with alleged killers?
PETER: Well, long-term exposure to things like this tends to give you a sort of clinical understanding of the subject. After awhile, you begin to make friends with it, so to speak.
SALLY: It's as if you are saying the closer you get to evil, the less evil it becomes.
PETER: No, the less mystifying. Good and evil are only illusions. There is no such thing as evil with a capital "E." That suggests some third party bad guy pulling all the strings.
SALLY: (a bit mesmerized) You're referring to the defense's efforts to prove that George Viznick is tormented by "demonic voices?"
PETER: There weren't any voices.
SALLY: Not even from some mental illness, as the prosecution asserts?
PETER: As if there's another cause for little voices? No, Sally, Viznick's a manipulator, he's clever, he has what I call malignant narcissism.
SALLY: What do you mean by that?
PETER: Well, we all have a degree of narcissism, Sally, but a malignant narcissist is dangerously self-obsessed.
SALLY: Are you saying he's legally sane?
PETER: Well, George Viznick is in the grayest of gray areas in the sanity spectrum. Viznick is not psychotic. He's simply unable to submit to any higher authority.
SALLY: Meaning, Viznick's a man who answers to no one. Not even God.
PETER: (steps ahead of her) Right. If you believe in God. As a narcissist, Viznick couldn't blame himself for the alleged murders. He created the voices after the fact. In order to avoid the simple truth that there is no outside force that guides George Viznick and that George Viznick needs to pay.
SALLY: (personally interested) And what about you? What about Peter Kelson? Where is your moral compass?
Peter is momentarily serious, interior, then the brief slight smile.
PETER: Well, lucky for me, I'm not on trial, Sally. However, I like to think I'm the actual needle on the compass. Morality is which way you're facing. The needle always points north. Sally smiles, a sucker for that sort of crap.
INT. CONTROL BOOTH - CONTINUOUS: The TECHNICAL DIRECTOR leans over to a CAMERAMAN.
TECH DIRECTOR: Sally's hot for this guy.
A tall attractive female P.A. overhears.
P.A.: He's cute.
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO
SALLY: (more taken with him than she thought) Peter...Kelson, ah, thank you for joining us.
PETER: A pleasure, Sally.
TECH DIRECTOR: (O.S.) And that's a cut.
Sally leans forward to Peter and proffers a copy of his book.
SALLY: Would you sign it for me?
PETER: (flashes a killer smile) Of course.
EXT. SAINT BENEDICTUS/MANHATTAN - AFTERNOON: A Range Rover double parks in front of an immense Catholic Church. Peter gets out. Across the street, a group of Orthodox Jews walk by. On the steps of the church is an exotic woman, stylish in a yellow Prada dress with a matching yellow nylon zip jacket. CLAIRE VAN OWEN hugs the collar to her neck against a sudden winter guest. She's a magazine stylist and Peter's girlfriend. As Peter meets Claire on the street, he grabs hold of her, relaxed. He kisses her deeply. Claire still reacts, though it's been a year.
CLAIRE: (obviously in love) I missed you.
PETER: (seeing it) Do you think they have a room here?
She smiles at the possibility.
CLAIRE: How'd your interview go? I'm sure you charmed the hell out of Sally.
PETER: She's a talk show host. They can't be charmed. By definition.
Claire slides an arm through Peter's. Then, she reaches up, suddenly kissing him hard on the mouth.
INT. SAINT BENEDICTUS - AFTERNOON: Peter and Claire walk down the center aisle, dwarfed by the vast vaulted ceiling and rosette stations of the cross. At the Travertine and Terrazzo altar, there's a solemn atmosphere. Choir practice is just about to end and the SINGERS are CHANTING A-CAPELLA in Latin.
Standing before them, keeping time and tone, is FATHER JAMES MCKENZIE, a good-natured priest in his late fifties. He sees Peter and Claire and lets the choir practice wind down. Singers begin to collect their music as Father James moves toward his visitors, happy to see them, as always. He gives Peter a strong hug.
FATHER JAMES: How're you doing? (to Claire) Looking lovely as always.
PETER: You ready?
James turns to the choir.
FATHER JAMES: Alright, you shrieking harpies, enough of that racket. Be off with you.
The choir makes their way out in several directions, shaking their heads at Father James' corny humor.
FATHER JAMES: (CONT'D) And if you have to sin tonight, try to make it something original.
A GROAN from the group at the bad pun. Claire and Peter smile. CUT TO:
INT. VESTRY/SAINT BENEDICTUS - AFTERNOON: Father James carefully and ritualistically removes his vestments.
INT. RANGE ROVER - AFTERNOON: Peter is driving up the West Side Highway, relaxed, an arm out the window. Claire is beside him. James sits in the back, peaceful, meditative, as the trees lining the road move by in a sort of blurred landscape.
FATHER JAMES: Between your book sales and this TV thing, there's going to be no living with you. And let me guess, you boiled God down to a conceit.
PETER: You know how I feel. The world is random. The only certainty I believe in is death.
FATHER JAMES: Given all that's happened, I understand. The world is random, but then there's faith. Where are you in death without it?
EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS Suddenly a car cuts Peter off. Peter slams on his breaks. Close call. Claire's purse falls off her lap. Lipstick spills out. She steadies herself against the dash with a hand. James is pressed forward into his seat belt.
FATHER JAMES: What a...jerk!
CLAIRE: Peter, are you okay?
PETER: Fine.
Peter resumes driving, mildly irritated.
CLAIRE: (getting back to the conversation) It's great of you to let William and Susan stay at the house until he gets on his feet.
PETER: (cutting across the earnestness) It's Susan's cooking, Claire. That's why Uncle James lets them stay.
FATHER JAMES: Nonsense, it's all of our home. (to Claire) So how's work treating you?
CLAIRE: Frustrating. Form over content. Everything's so retro.
FATHER JAMES: Well, if Peter here would hop off his laurels long enough to marry you...
At the wheel, Peter gazes straight out at the road. No expression. But he cringes inwardly.
CLAIRE: (interrupting for Peter's sake) ...you wearing a watch, Father?
FATHER JAMES: Yes. It's exactly...
He slides back his sleeve as Clair looks at her watch.
CLAIRE: Can you check the century hand for me? Mine seems to be ahead.
James LAUGHS. Peter shakes his head. The notion of commitment more private to him that to his more expansive uncle. Claire inadvertently glances at Peter, then she looks out her window, an awkward, inward moment.
INT. MAYA:'S ROOM - SEMINARY - AFTERNOON: Maya's TV is on, as usual. She SNAPS open a bag of edamame soy nuts, popping them into her mouth, while a lit cigarette sits in the glass ashtray next to her. She eats and smokes alternately. Feet up, socks on. Maya's flipping through the Manhattan white pages, looking for the last time, Kelson.
INT. TELEVISION SCREEN - AFTERNOON: Caption has been flashed onscreen:
PETER KELSON, AUTHOR OF VICIOUS INTENT. Sally Price is interviewing Peter Kelson.
INT. MAYA:'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS: Maya glances up and she can't believe what she reads. Takes her a moment to pull it all in:
MAYA: Oh my God!
INTERCUT WITH TV SCREEN AS NECESSARY.
PETER: ...as a narcissist, he couldn't blame himself. He created the voices after the fact.
Maya shoves a pen between her teeth, while she tears off a sheet of paper. She immediately scribbles the name of the book on the torn piece of paper. As Maya looks back up at the TV, a dart of interest.
INT. BOOKSTORE - AFTERNOON: A table showcasing the current best-sellers prominently features Peter's book, VICIOUS INTENT. Maya reaches in and picks up a copy. Immediately flips to the jacket flyleaf at the back. Reads a moment and as she dos we see the bio: "born in Bedford, NY, a crime writer whose own parents were murdered..." Maya heads to a payphone and dials.
INT. TOWNSEND'S HOUSE - AFTERNOON INTERCUT: John Townsend sits at his meticulously maintained PIANO, which is in sharp contrast to the otherwise rundown surroundings. The phone rings.
TOWNSEND: (picking up) Hello?
MAYA: I know who he is.
TOWNSEND: Maya? What do you mean?
MAYA: I'll explain everything later. Can you meet me tonight?
EXT. BEDFORD HOUSE - DUSK: It's a large house. Peter pulls up and HONKS. As he, James and Claire get out of the car, they walk past an old swing hanging from an enormous tree. Childhood remnant. Expecting them, a man in his late 30's wearing heavy rimmed GLASSES moves out of the house. This is WILLIAM, Peter's brother, followed by his wife, SUSAN.
WILLIAM: About time, I'm starving.
He grabs Peter in a bear hug. Peter looks uncomfortable. And as he pulls free, he collides inadvertently with a low hanging tree branch. As it starts to bleed, Peter sucks on his lip. The swing moves slightly in the b.g.
CLAIRE: I could use a drink.
WILLIAM: I've got martinis on ice and I grabbed some good bottles from the cellar.
INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT Everyone except Susan troops into the dining room, where an impressive dinner awaits them. They take their places behind their respective chairs. A routine. BUZZ of conversation.
WILLIAM: Hey, Peter, I missed your show. How'd it go?
CLAIRE: Don't worry, we taped it.
PETER: I don't think they got my best side.
Susan moves in, carefully balancing a few ceramic platters and then she bends over the table, squeezing the last plate onto a huge wooden table already covered with plates of various food. Then, she sits down herself. Takes a little breath.
SUSAN: This is it. If you need anything else, get it yourself.
WILLIAM: (mock distress) Susan, I don't see any salt.
SUSAN: I love you, too.
CLAIRE: (to Susan) You know, I made a reservation at Marco's for Peter's birthday dinner, but maybe you should cater it.
FATHER JAMES: What time did you make it for?
CLAIRE: (to Father James) Eight. That okay?
WILLIAM: By the way, I want your advice on what to get him.
PETER: (immediately to William, kind) I don't want you spending any money on me. Not right now.
FATHER JAMES: (to Peter) Peter, in life, you should never deny the giver the pleasure of the gift. (amused, to Claire) All those years raising him. They seem to have had absolutely no effect. Now William, at least he listened to me.
WILLIAM: Let's eat already.
Father James bows his head and immediately, the family follows. A signaled, almost unconscious gesture known to everyone. They all look down except Peter. Claire gives him an annoyed glance.
FATHER JAMES: Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts through they bounty through Christ our Lord. And a special blessing for Peter and William's mother, Andrea, and their father, Jack, in whose memory we gather here every year. May their souls and the souls of the faithfully departed rest in peace. Amen.
A stark silence as Peter and William remember. Claire looks at Susan. Then:
PETER: Hey, Will, remember that dream I used to have over and over again when I was little, about the bear and the mountain. You know, right after...
William nods "yes."
PETER: (CONT'D) ...well, you know, I really think the trial's getting to me, because I've been having this weird dream every night. Only this time, of course, it's much different...
Everyone's looking at Peter.
CLAIRE: You never said anything to me...
PETER: It's probably trivial.
JAMES: Recurring dreams are never insignificant.
PETER: Okay, I'll tell you. I'm reading a book - I can't remember what the book is when I wake up - but I realize halfway through it's something I've written. Or will write. Anyway, I get to the end of the book and I'm feeling very satisfied and I close the cover to read the title and it only says "x-e-s". Three letters. For some reason, that makes me feel great, and I wake up.
CLAIRE: (looking around at the silenced table, holding back a smirk, a moment, then) Peter, "x-e-s" is "sex" spelled backwards.
More silence, then James bursts out LAUGHING. Then Susan can't gold it back and then William.
PETER: (looks around, big smile turning into LAUGHTER) What can I say? I'm not a master of the obvious.
And that sends everyone into an uncontrollable fit of LAUGHTER and as they're all in various states of choked back hysterics, suddenly William's LAUGHING becomes seriously uncontrolled and then: William's head involuntarily jerks backward, his eyes begin to roll up. Susan is first to notice, while LAUGHTER continues in the b.g. and she leaps to catch him.
As William starts to tip over backward in his chair, Peter then realizes and together, Susan and Peter ease William onto the floor and turn him on his side. James grabs a pillow from an armchair in the room, shoving it under William's head and... As William's epileptic attack winds down slightly, Susan looks up at James:
SUSAN: It's been a long time since his last seizure. I guess we've got to adjust his medication again.
INT. SEMINARY HALLWAY - NIGHT: The shadowy figures of Maya and John Townsend can be seen almost in silhouette.
TOWNSEND: And what are you thinking we should do now?
MAYA: I've filed a report with Father Frank.
TOWNSEND: A lot of good that'll do.
MAYA: We need all the help we can get.
TOWNSEND: I've dealt with these people before, Maya. They're not going to help us.
MAYA: We'll see Father Frank in the morning. There's nothing to be done until then.
TOWNSEND: (on edge) Alright, Maya. We'll do it your way.
INT. SEMINARY CHAPEL - NIGHT: A troubled John Townsend prays to God for answers.
INT. SEMINARY OFFICE - EARLY MORNING: FATHER FRANK, a sweet-faced priest in his 40's, is conferring with two church officials. We TRACK him as he exits the office and cross through to:
INT. ALTAR - CONTINUOUS: A JANITOR polishes the marble of the ornate altar. Father Frank enters and pauses a moment to watch the man at work.
FATHER FRANK: Don't forget to polish the brass afterwards.
EXT. SEMINARY GARDEN - CONTINUOUS: The seminary has a small, planted, meditative garden, shoe horned in behind the rectory buildings. Maya sits on a simple wooden bench, her tiny cross glinting off sunlight. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted up toward the sun. Maya snaps out of her reverie, as Father Frank approaches.
FATHER FRANK: (kind, but resolved) Maya, the Diocese has rejected your report. And I must say, I agree with them.
A JET ROARS overhead, DEAFENING momentary noise. Father Frank looks up a moment, then:
FATHER FRANK: (CONT'D) (comforting tone) I don't mean to belittle you, but we've been through this before. Satan is not what you think he is. Satan is not some creature.
MAYA: You weren't there. Give me time to get some proof.
FATHER FRANK: Please, Maya. I'm trying to get us into the next century and you insist on this medieval nonsense.
MAYA: If you really believe in God, why is it so inconceivable that his enemy is just as real?
FATHER FRANK: Maya, for the last time, I will not tolerate these obsessions.
Anxious, Maya rubs her cross between a thumb and forefinger, distractedly.
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