INT. SEMINARY STAIRWELL - EARLY MORNING: Maya crosses through the dim hallway and heads up the stairs.
INT. SEMINARY BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS: A bright, clean bathroom with new fixtures and fluorescent lights. Maya comes in, trying to contain her frustration. Turns the water on. She watches the water a moment. Then puts her hands in. Cool on her wrists. Splashes her face.
MAYA: (despairing) Stupid man. I can't do this...
At that moment, she hears something. It's faint, but unmistakable - the sound of SCRAPING METAL ON METAL. Then it stops.
MAYA: (CONT'D) Hello?
No response. Angle from above: Maya faces all six stalls. She walks to the first one, pushes open the door. It's empty. She repeats this at the second stall, the thirds, the fourth, the fifth. All are vacant. Now the last one. She pauses just a second. The lights HUM. She pushes it open. It's empty.
Disturbed, she turns back to the sink and as she looks down, the water flows instantly backwards, disappearing up into the faucet. She turns back again, watching the room change from pristine to rotting decay. The stalls behind her have changed. The doors are closed again. They're battered, chipped, scarred. Rusty water flows from underneath.
She whirls around. On the stall directly behind her, the letters "X" "E" and "S" have been scratched into the metal in loose, flowing script. At the same time, the lights go dim. The HUM is uneven, more menacing. Alarmed, Maya closes her eyes, then opens them. The vision remains. Her breathing gets lighter, faster. Fingers appear on the top of the stall door behind her. The door is pulled open. A man in inside, wearing hospital clothes.
It's Henry Birdson. His eyes bore into hers. He's got a knife in his right hand. Petrified, she stares back.
MAYA: (CONT'D) You're not real.
He leers and nods, "Yes I am." He steps toward her. Every instinct in her body screams at her to run. But she stays put. And we HEAR A CHOKED BACK BREATH and Birdson slowly extends his knife, just inches from her face. Closer to her face. Then closer still. Until the tip of the blade is slowly creeping toward Maya's eye. ECU of the tip of the blade, literally millimeters from her pupil. Closing painfully slow.
Maya braces herself. ECU of the tip of the knife now only a hair away. ANGLE ON Birdson. He smiles. And THRUSTS. She suddenly reaches up and grabs for the blade. The lights "flare" horrifyingly bright for a split second. We hear a surreal distortion of Maya's voice crying out. And "Birdson" vanishes. Maya's looking at a pristine bathroom, its unmarked stall doors pulled tight. Victorious but drained, she slumps forward.
INT. LAREAUX'S ROOM - MORNING: Inside Father Lareaux's Spartan room at the seminary, Lareaux lies in bed, his face turned towards the wall. He's MUMBLING. Maya has pulled herself together and sits by the bed with Father Jeremy and an irritated Father Frank. In the b.g., John Townsend is urgently riffling the books and papers on Lareaux's desk. Most of which we SEE are about demonic possession. Unknown to anyone, Townsend slides two of the books under his coat.
FATHER FRANK: (to Maya) Leave him alone.
Maya doesn't want to hear that. She leans closer. The full wound of her childhood pressed back into her eyes.
MAYA: (compassionately) Father, it's me, Maya. Tu m'entends?
Lareaux rolls over and looks at her. The change in his appearance is shocking. His eyes are red-rimmed and his expression is unfocused.
LAREAUX: (with a nursery rhyme cadence) ...the ark sank, the sun set, the ark sank again.
MAYA: Father, I'm right here.
LAREAUX: (like a child) ...the ark sank, the sun set, the ark sank again... his eyes are wild. Father Frank turns to Maya.
FATHER JAMES: He's not going to respond...
Maya slowly backs away.
FATHER FRANK: The doctor's concerned he may never come out of this dementia.
MAYA: He will. He has great faith.
FATHER FRANK: But bad judgement. And now you see how dangerous the consequences can be.
Maya moves over to a silent John Townsend.
MAYA: John. I've got to head back to the city. (to Father Jeremy) Would you page me if there's any change whatsoever? (Maya hurriedly writes her pager number down for Jeremy) Anything, okay?
FATHER JEREMY: (under his breath) I wish I could help.
Maya smiles sweetly at Father Jeremy.
INT. SEMINARY HALLWAY - MORNING Maya and Townsend confer down the hall from Lareaux's room.
TOWNSEND: It's useless...look at him.
MAYA: You can't back out on me now. We need to be sure.
TOWNSEND: (agitated) Sure of what? Who cares if this guy is devoid of faith or sleeps over a pentacle? Results are what Lareaux would want.
Maya stares intently at Townsend. Father Jeremy approaches from down the hall, aware of the tension between them.
TOWNSEND: (CONT'D) You don't want to face it.
MAYA: Look, John, I'm facing it.
TOWNSEND: I'm not waiting until it's too late.
Townsend walks away.
FATHER FRANK: Is he going to be okay?
MAYA: I hope so.
SMASH CUT TO: EXT. PHONE BOOTH - DAY CLOSE: ON A list of names, all doctors. Some have bene crossed off. And as we PULL BACK, we see Maya's on the phone on a Bedford main drag and, as she DIALS, she pivots in the booth, anxious thought process, a pencil being lobbed between two fingers. Suddenly, a VOICE over the phone.
MAYA: (into phone) Hi, I'd like to make an appointment for Peter Kelson.
As she waits, she pivots back around again.
MAYA: (CONT'D) no, he's not a new patient. Okay, thank you, bye.
Maya crosses off another doctor's name from her list. DROPS in two more quarters, as several sit stacked by the phone. Maya glances around. As she checks her list, TAPPING out another number, she takes a deep BREATH as she sees A MAN walking his dog. The dog suddenly stops, squats and takes a greasy shit right on the sidewalk. Maya can't believe it, wants to say something but the line picks up:
MAYA: (CONT'D) (refocusing) Hi, I'd like to make an appointment for Peter Kelson. (a beat) No, he's a returning patient. You don't. Thanks anyway.
Crosses off another name. DROPS in two more quarters. TAPS out another number. Maya bends the silver phone cord distractedly, back and forth awhile, and as the line picks back up: INTERCUT AS NECESSARY
MAYA: (CONT'D) (rote) Hi, I'd like to make an appointment for Peter Kelson.
RECEPTIONIST: Kelson, hold on a second...
Maya waits anxiously as
RECEPTIONIST: (CONT'D) Okay, Mr. Kelson hasn't been here in awhile...
A pause, while Maya listens, then, repeating.
MAYA: Tomorrow. Ten o'clock? Great.
Maya hangs up, circling a name and address on her list, and as she takes off as we:
INT. BEDFORD GENERAL PRACTITIONER - DAY: Doctor's Office. Formica reception desk. Small waiting room. Few PATIENTS sit, reading magazines, waiting for their doctor. Maya walks in the door, moving to the rectangular opening at the check-in desk. Young receptionist, visibly pregnant, castors around to Maya, handing her the clipboard, standard procedure.
MAYA: (taking it in, but ignoring it) I don't know how to begin, by boyfriend... (looks around, in whisper) my ex-boyfriend. The last time we were together, he, shit...
Maya's on the verge of tears. The receptionist knows what's coming.
MAYA: (CONT'D) I took one of those home pregnancy tests, but I don't want to tell him. I'm RH negative. My blood type is negative... (starting to cry) If he's RH positive, I'll have to terminate.
RECEPTIONIST (handing Maya Kleenex) How many weeks are you honey/
MAYA: Thirteen. The last time, can you believe it? This is how he says "Goodbye?"
RECEPTIONIST: (registers alarm) You need his blood-type. Like right away.
MAYA: (ready to let receptionist connect the dots) Well I know he's come here before.
RECEPTIONIST: What's his name?
MAYA: (carefully) Peter...Peter Kelson.
RECEPTIONIST: You just call?
MAYA: (sniffling) I didn't know what else to do...
A long moment, Maya's anxiety increasing, then:
RECEPTIONIST: (castors back to Maya) You're in luck. Says Peter Kelson's an... AB negative. Maya has a moment of confusion as...
RECEPTIONIST: (CONT'D) Two negatives always make a positive.
MAYA: (overjoyed, huge smile) Oh, thank you, thank you so much!
INT. BEDFORD RECTORY - DAY: Maya enters a small reception area. Behind its counter sits an elderly DEACON and a SECRETARY.
SECRETARY: May I help you?
MAYA: Yes, I have some questions regarding the baptismal records for one of our new constituents.
SECRETARY: And the person's name?
MAYA: Peter Kelson.
EXT. SOHO STREET - LATE AFTERNOON: We see the normal activity of a Soho street. The camera pulls back and into Peter's office where see Peter working at his computer.
INT. PETER:'S OFFICE - LATE AFTERNOON: It's a writer's domain. Books everywhere. Stacked and shelved in an obvious order, by size and subject. There are also several silver and leather-framed photos of Peter and Claire with known literary celebrities. At the large granite and birch desk, an exhausted Peter switches off his computer.
PETER: (hits INTERCOM) Mrs. Quintana, let's go home.
His secretary, MRS. QUINTANA, appears in the doorway. She's a strong-willed Latino in her forties.
MRS. QUINTANA: I plan to. (beat) You want a tip?
PETER: Lemme guess. The lottery.
MRS. QUINTANA: Sometimes I can just feel the numbers.
PETER: You know what they say. You have the same chance of winning whether you play or not.
MRS. QUINTANA: You watch. One day, I'll hit the jackpot, get the big house, car, clothes. I'll have more money than God.
She smiles and exits.
MRS. QUINTANA: (CONT'D) (under her breath) Y yo tendre mi propria secretaria.
SNAPPING off the lights in her office. And in the b.g., the fragmentary sounds of a party going on somewhere down the hall, in another office. A moment, then her outer office door slams. Peter goes back to work at his desk. Finishing up. Another moment and he hears Mrs. Q's door PRESS BACK OPEN.
PETER: (not looking up) What'd you forget?
No response. Peter looks up. He waits, then continues to put his things away in preparation for leaving. After a moment, he glances up to see MAYA standing in the doorway. She's taken pains to look attractive. Her best clothes. She looks great. A simple beauty.
PETER: (CONT'D) (startled) May I help you?
MAYA: Peter Kelson?
PETER: (observes everything about her) Yes... and you are?
MAYA: (slightly flirtatious, gregarious) I saw you on television yesterday. You were brilliant.
PETER: Thank you. Do you work in the building? You coming from the party?
Maya takes the chair opposite Peter's desk. He stands waiting. A little put off by her forwardness.
MAYA: You said that malignant narcissism was not evil.
PETER: Not pure evil. That's correct.
MAYA: And also that...
PETER: (uncomfortable) Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm running late.
MAYA: That there is no such thing as evil with a capital "E."
PETER: Not the most popular opinion, but yes.
MAYA: What if I told you I was a malignant narcissist?
Intrigued, Peter stops what he's doing and sits down.
PETER: A narcissist doesn't admit it. It's the extreme of self-denial.
MAYA: (ignoring Peter's comment) And I also believe in God and the Devil. In fact, I know they exist.
PETER: Well, by saying that, you're acknowledging the existence of a higher power. Which, to a narcissist, is impossible.
MAYA: I murdered my parents, Mr. Kelson. And while they deserved it, I still went to confession the following Sunday.
Peter leans back in his chair. Studies her carefully. Doesn't really know what to say.
PETER: Ooooooh-kayyyyyy.
MAYA: In the end, the jury saw it my way.
PETER: Well, then it all seems to be working out for you. Listen, Ms...?
MAYA: Do you remember Henry Birdson? The math professor who won the Salwen Medal, then went home and killed his family?
PETER: (irritated) What's that got to do with you?
MAYA: Last week the Catholic Church certified him as genuinely possessed. You realize how rarely they make that ruling?
PETER: I do.
MAYA: An exorcism was just held for Birdson. It failed. Disastrously. Which means there's still a demonic spirit present in his body. (then) I was wondering, perhaps you'd like to go meet Henry. He's pretty amazing.
PETER: I'll bet.
MAYA: On television, you seemed so sure of yourself. If you're really that confident, you'd be willing to let someone prove you wrong?
PETER: The world would be so much simpler if it were all just about good and evil. Unfortunately I find it much more slippery and elusive place.
MAYA: (intrigued by Peter's mind) Well, I think it's very simple. Here's a tape of Birdson's exorcism. (drops tape on Peter's desk) I'll be at the Public Library. Tomorrow at 2... if you want to meet him.
Maya rises and heads for the door. Seductive. A certain power in her clarity.
MAYA: (CONT'D) I believe that murder and murderers are the most interesting proving ground for these kinds of questions. Don't you?
Peter knows he agrees, but before he can respond, she's gone.
SMASH CUT TO: EXT. PETER:'S APARTMENT BUILDING - EARLY EVENING: It's a small, elegant building in Chelsea. Scaffolding covers exactly half of the exterior. Building's being sandblasted. CONSTANT GRATING NOISE. Work area's flooded in artificial spotlight.
INT. LOBBY - CONTINUOUS: Peter walks past the building's doorman, JOSEF. Eastern European, mid-60's, formal and outwardly polite. Josef nods a professional "good evening" to Peter who acknowledges Josef as he continues toward the elevator.
PETER: (indicating noise) Great sound. How the hell do you live with that all day?
Josef laughs politely, he likes Peter. Peter presses the elevator button and waits, sticking his free hand in a pocket and as he pulls out Maya's tape, he remembers as... The BELL to the elevator DINGS and the door SLIDES open. Peter inspects the tape with some curiosity, then stuffs it back into his pocket, momentarily lost in thought. Stepping into the elevator, he suddenly PULLS in a breath, startled.
PETER: (CONT'D) Mrs. Levotsky, jeez you...
His comment is directed at an impossibly-elderly woman, MRS. LEVOTSKY. She scowls as though this was the only expression her parents could afford for her. She holds her cane with her right hand, with her left she tries to balance her antiquated laundry cart.
PETER: (CONT'D) Let me help.
But when Peter reaches for the cart, she waves him off with a deepening in her scowl that we don't want to see get any deeper. The elevator door slides SHUT.
INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS Peter puts the key in his door, apartment 5-A. Glancing down the hall, he sees Mrs. Levotsky struggle toward her door. As she feels his stare, she turns slowly around and to Peter.
MRS. LEVOTSKY: What're you look at?
Pissed off, Peter shoves the key into its lock and goes in.
INT. PETER:'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS It's dark, except for refracted light from the building opposite. Peter FLIPS on the interior lights and we can see lots of money has been spent here; the interior's warm and tasteful. It's eclectic, evolved. Works of art pepper the surroundings. A small, luminous aquarium sits by the entry wall.
PETER: (drops food into aquarium) Hi guys. (calling) Claire?
No answer.
INT. PETER:'S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Peter heads into the open kitchen. The flood lights on the outside cast strange, distorted shadows of people moving. Peter reaches down behind the refrigerator and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. He turns on the vent over the stove and lights up, blowing the smoke directly up into the vent, tapping the ashes directly down the sink drain. Unseen by Peter, a cigarette ash drops and lands on the stove.
INT. PETER:'S LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS Peter reappears a moment later, holding a bottle of beer. Takes off his jacket, laying it on top of the sofa. He moves over to the CD player where he flips on some contemporary music. Then he takes a long swallow of beer and sits back down into the sofa.
PETER: Better.
BUMP, BUMP, BUMP. Peter looks up at the wall, irritated.
PETER: (CONT'D) Mrs. Levotsky, we really need to have a couple brews and talk one of these days.
Peter takes the remote to the CD, turns up the volume. CLOSE ON: The lights on the equalizer. They go from the middle range of green and yellow up to the orange and occasionally red, indicating the volume is pushing "complain." In response, Mrs. Levotsky BANGS on the wall a little harder.
DISSOLVE TO: CLOSE ON A luminous fly-fishing lure, with a black thread body and wings of transparent green and yellow fabric. It's locked in a tiny vice, its barbed hook shining.
INT. PETER:'S LIVING ROOM Peter, all concentration, is bent over a magnifying glass, using two tiny precision hooks to wrap thread onto the lure. He's at a table in the corner of the living room. A colorful collection of finished lures are displayed on his work area, below a watercolor of a man fly-fishing. Peter gets frustrated as he repeatedly tries to hook a thread and misses.
In the b.g., a leather framed photo of Peter with his parents at an exquisite lake. Peter pushes himself back from the table. Takes a beat. Walks over and picks up the tape Maya gave him. He studies it for a second. Then he naps off the CD player, puts the tape on the cassette deck and hits "play." There's no sound. He turns the volume way up. There's a HUM, but nothing else. Annoyed, Peter hits "forward," then "play." Still nothing. He pushes the volume to the top.
PETER: (to himself) What'd you expect?
BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. SMASH CUT TO:
INT. MRS. LEVOTSKY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT From this P.O.V., the HORRENDOUS ROAR of Birdson's EXORCISM is heard. Mrs. Levotsky raises her cane in desperation...
INT. PETER:'S LIVING ROOM From this P.O.V., the tape continues to play soundlessly. Peter hears rapid POUNDING from Mrs. Levotsky's apartment. Faster, more frantic. The pictures on his wall SHAKE violently.
PETER: Oh...come on, lady! Give me a break!
Mrs. Levotsky's POUNDING continues for some time. Finally ending in a booming THUD. Peter looks up at the wall, waits, then smiles.
PETER: (CONT'D) Little cough syrup will do ya, eh, granny?
Peter bends down to snap off the tape, failing to notice that the lights on the equalizer are PUSHING HIGH into the red on all channels. He turns off the tape and puts on a Sonny Rollins CD. The music begins at an EAR-PIERCING volume. Peter scrambles to turn it down, then flops back onto the sofa.
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