8mm Page #3

MRS CHRISTIAN:

There was nothing he could do. My

husband left everything to me.

(looks at safe)

I prevented anyone from seeing the

contents. I felt these were my

husband's private things. I

didn't... I didn't realize...

WELLES:

Do you want to tell me what you

found?

MRS CHRISTIAN:

Cash, stock certificates, and this...

She takes something from her pocket, puts it on the desk: a

plastic bag containing a short 8MM FILM on a plastic reel.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

It's a film... of a girl being

murdered.

WELLES:

I'm afraid I don't...

MRS CHRISTIAN:

This is a movie showing a girl being

murdered. She's sitting on a bed,

and a man rapes her... and he begins

to cut her with a knife...

(pause)

I only watched what I could.

Welles picks up the film, looks at it.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

I didn't know what to think. I

can't tell you how horrible it's

been, to know this belonged to my

husband. To know that he watched

this... this atrocity. But, I can't

go to the police...

WELLES:

Mrs. Christian... please, will you

sit down a moment?

(leads her to a chair)

I want you to listen carefully.

What you're talking about is a

"snuff film." But, from what I

know, snuff films are a kind of...

urban myth. Like, red light

district folklore. There's no such

thing, I can assure you.

Mrs. Christian shakes her head.

WELLES:

Please, believe me. This is

probably a stag film. Simulated

rape. Hard to stomach, and it might

seem real, but there are ways of

making it look realistic... fake

blood and special effects...

MRS CHRISTIAN:

No.

WELLES:

If you were to study it you'd see

the camera cutting away... you'd see

the tricks they can play...

MRS CHRISTIAN:

I'm telling you it's not that.

WELLES:

I'm sure it is.

(smiles)

It's probably something your husband

was given as a bad joke. More than

likely he never even watched it.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

Will you watch it and see for

yourself?

WELLES:

Of course. But, I'm certain it's

nothing to worry about.

INT. CHRISTIAN HOUSE, DINING ROOM -- NIGHT

An 8MM PROJECTOR faces a wall. Welles looks back to Mrs.

Christian in the doorway. Mrs. Christian leaves, shuts the

door. Darkness. Welles turns on the projector and sits.

The PROJECTOR CLATTERS, shooting bright images...

ON THE WALL:
FLASH FRAMES, over exposure, then... the grainy

FILM is HAND HELD, constantly in motion, showing a skinny

GIRL, 16 or 17, in a negligee, sitting on a bed in a

nondescript room with little furniture. Looks like a hotel

room. We only ever see three walls. The once beautiful

girl looks worn, drugged, dark circles under her eyes,

staring blankly. The CAMERA'S tungsten SPOTLIGHT casts

long, shifting shadows as the camera moves, but the girl

still stares oblivious. The bed is wrapped in PLASTIC and

DUCT TAPE. The floor is covered by PLASTIC SHEETING...

Welles watches, crossing his arms, already uncomfortable.

ON THE WALL:
a door opens behind the girl, looks like a

bathroom, and a MASKED MAN enters.

The Masked Man wears a garish, Mexican WRESTLING MASK with

eye holes and a mouth. The mask covers his entire head.

He's naked except for red shorts, his body scrawny, oiled,

pale. The man goes to stand in front of the girl. He seems

to be saying something to her, but the film is silent and

the ONLY SOUND is the PROJECTOR'S LOUD sprocket hole

CLATTER. It's all one long take. The CAMERA MOVES to favor

the girl...

Welles sits straight in his chair, wary.

ON THE WALL:
Masked Man raises his open hand and SLAPS the

girl, knocking her back on the bed...

Welles grimaces.

ON THE WALL:
Masked Man pulls the girl back to a seated

position. The girl's like a rag doll, face reddened, eyes

closed, but she remains upright. Masked Man uses his thumbs

to open her unseeing eyes. He touches her mouth with his

fingers, presses his lips to hers. Then, Masked Man backs

away, leaving frame, till the CAMERA MOVES to find Masked

Man standing at a table with THREE large BOWIE KNIFES laid

out. Masked Man runs his fingers over the blades...

Welles rises slowly, still watching.

ON THE WALL:
Masked Man selects a huge Bowie knife and moves

back towards the girl...

Welles crosses his arms tight, disbelieving, fearful.

WE WILL NEVER SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN THE FILM, but Welles

does. In the flickering, reflected light, Welles backs

involuntarily away from the horrible images, holding his

fist to his mouth, breathing hard.

Welles keeps backing away, till he's backed against a wall.

The PROJECTOR'S CLATTERING. Welles is sickened, sweating,

still watching, till he finally shuts his eyes.

INT. CHRISTIAN HOUSE, ADJOINING ROOM -- NIGHT

Silence. Mrs. Christian sits waiting, troubled.

The door to the dining room opens and Welles enters from the

dark, visibly shaken. Mrs. Christian watches him, her

sorrow now shared.

WELLES:

You... you need to go to the police.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

I told you I can't, not yet.

WELLES:

You don't have any other choice.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

(stands, shakes her head)

No. For me to live with the ruin of

my husband's name, I need know that

whoever did this will be punished.

If you can find them, I will take

their names to the police. I'll say

my husband confessed on his death

bed. I'll say I didn't have courage

to come forward at first...

WELLES:

It won't work like that.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

Any evidence you collect can be

given to the police later,

anonymously. I've thought about it

and there's no other way. If you

can't find them... if the only thing

that comes from this film is that

this is all my husband will be

remembered for, well I can't let

that happen. I'm telling you I

won't. If there's no chance that

poor girl's memory can be served,

then I'll just have to spend my last

days trying to forget her.

Welles sits, rests his head in his hands.

WELLES:

I deal in divorce cases. Corporate

investigations...

MRS CHRISTIAN:

You've found missing persons before.

WELLES:

Nothing remotely like this.

MRS CHRISTIAN:

I know what I'm asking. Your

compensation will be appropriate to

the risk. You'll need cash to buy

information, and I'll provide it.

(pause)

I feel responsible, Mr. Welles.

(pause)

You saw what he did to her.

Welles stands, torn apart and uncertain, looks back to the

dining room where the projector sits idle.

INT. WELLES' HOUSE, BABY'S ROOM -- NIGHT

Cindy is sound asleep in her crib.

Welles is seated near, staring at his sleeping child.

INT. WELLES' HOUSE, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

Welles digs in piles of SHOEBOXES and BOOKS on the floor of

his cluttered closet, finds what he wants: a LOCK BOX.

INT. WELLES' HOUSE, KITCHEN -- NIGHT

Welles twists the lock box dial's combination, opens the box

to reveal his GUN, HOLSTER and CLEANING SUPPLIES. Welles

takes out the gun, cleaning it. Amy watches.

WELLES:

This is the mortgage. This is

Cindy's college money.

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