Batman Page #22

BATMAN:

I've tracked all the records. Every

shipment, every warehouse, every

loading dock. Nothing. No

opportunities for tampering. Somehow

the Joker is supplying tainted

ingredients... at the source.

VICKI:

Wait. You can just tap into any

corporate database you want?

Anywhere?

BATMAN:

Oh, no. I let the FBI do that. Then

I tap into the FBI. -- Your photos

are ready.

He holds up a hand to VICKI: stand back. Then he checks out

the pictures -- SMILING as he shuffles through the prints.

VICKI:

You could've killed him, you know.

You could have killed the Joker.

BATMAN:

I had to save you, Vicki.

(turning to face her)

Here you go. I think I'll let you

keep the whole set.

She looks at the photos. Joker. Joker. Joker. And four

shots of the BATMAN in action. He's without his mask, but

there's no clean angle on his face.

VICKI doesn't quite know why, but her head is reeling.

BATMAN (cont.)

Care for an autograph?

He takes one of the prints, scrawls on it, hands it to her

with the inscription: "TO VICKI. LOVE, B."

Now he turns to shut down the photo machine. VICKI is

trembling. Her hand goes to her belt, finds the telephoto

roll concealed in her blouse. She steps up silently behind

him, reaches for his cowl. At the last second... she STOPS.

VICKI:

... Bruce?

HE FREEZES IN PLACE for an indecisive moment. Then:

BATMAN:

Are you talking to me?

He turns in seeming incomprehension. And shows her a

SMILE... the same crooked, curious, childlike smile she saw

on BRUCE's face that morning when she caught him singing.

BATMAN (cont.)

Maybe we've had enough for one

night. I'll take you home.

Almost in a trance now, she lets him lead her to the

BATMOBILE. As she takes her seat he reaches into his

utility belt for another KNOCKOUT CAPSULE.

BATMAN (cont.)

Do you want to do it this time?

VICKI doesn't move. She looks at the capsule in her hand as

he walks over to the driver's side and gets in.

BATMAN (cont.)

Don't be afraid. I'm here.

She takes one last look at the familiar SMILE beneath the

mask... then breaks the capsule and BREATHES DEEP.

FLAME ERUPTS from the rear of the Batmobile as the after-

burners kick in and BATMAN screeches off. A FIERY RED GLOW

fills the screen, BURNING OUT THE IMAGE as we

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. GOTHAM STREET - 1963 - NIGHT (DREAM SEQUENCE)

The red glow resolves itself into a DREAMLIKE STREET SCENE:

liquid, weightless figures moving in a tinted, soundless

cityscape as DISTANT, TINKLY CARNIVAL MUSIC plays

underneath. We're outside a theatre watching first-nighters

emerge from the opening of a hit musical.

In the crowd we pick out THREE FIGURES: DR. THOMAS WAYNE,

his wife MARTHA, and -- in THOMAS's arms -- their young son

BRUCE. BRUCE hasn't made it through the show. He's asleep,

head nestled peacefully against his father's shoulder.

THOMAS rouses the boy gently, sets him down on the

sidewalk. BRUCE rubs the sleep from his eyes as THOMAS puts

an arm around his wife. Together they begin walking.

IN A SINGLE CUT the crowd has DISAPPEARED, and the WAYNES

are walking toward us up a deserted street. THOMAS and

MARTHA are laughing, making jokes, reaching down to tousle

BRUCE's hair. Their FACES, as they draw closer, are FULL OF

JOY. And then, without warning --

A HANDGUN enters frame.

The WAYNES freeze in their tracks. THOMAS steps

protectively in front of his wife, reaches for his wallet,

begins unbuckling his watch. He won't put up a fight.

MARTHA's hand goes involuntarily to the PEARL NECKLACE at

her throat.

The GUNMAN sees it, gestures for her to hand it over. But

MARTHA is paralyzed, afraid to move.

The GUNMAN steps past THOMAS, SNATCHES AT THE NECKLACE.

The instant his wife is threatened, THOMAS ATTACKS. The

pearl strand BREAKS in the GUNMAN'S HAND as he drops toward

the sidewalk.

A SILENT BURST OF FLAME erupts from the muzzle of the gun.

THOMAS CRUMPLES. MARTHA emits a PIERCING SHRIEK -- a shriek

we cannot hear --

-- a shriek cut short by a second burst of flame.

BRUCE stands paralyzed in shock. THE GUNMAN scoops a

handful of pearls off the sidewalk, reaches for MARTHA's

purse, and rises slowly -- his gun levelled directly at the

boy.

Almost catatonic, BRUCE stares down at the corpses of his

parents. At their hands, somehow intertwined. At the tiny

glinting pearls and the spreading pool of blood around

them.

He looks up with a gaze so bleak, so petrifying... that the

GUNMAN turns and runs.

AND WE CUT. To an exact reproduction of the Pulitzer Prize-

winning photo... the cops bent over the bodies, the medics

with their stretchers, the boy BRUCE, his arms wrapped

tightly around the waist of OFFICER GORDON.

There's only one difference. BRUCE's head is turned away

from us. We can't see his face.

And now a HAND enters the frame. Much like the GUNMAN's

hand, but feminine, beckoning. BRUCE, hearing his name,

LOOKS UP; then, agonized, ashamed, he BURIES HIS FACE in

GORDON's side. GORDON gestures angrily at the intruder.

But the hand keeps beckoning. And ultimately BRUCE turns.

Showing us the tear-stained face from the famous photo. A

face slack with horror. The horror of his parents' death...

and more importantly, the horror that someone would dare to

violate this most private and terrible of moments.

At last we see what BRUCE sees: a WOMAN crouched on the

sidewalk nearby. The WOMAN is holding a camera. The WOMAN

is smiling prettily at BRUCE.

The WOMAN is VICKI VALE.

A FLASHBULB EXPLODES. FILLING. THE SCREEN with its blinding

white light, SCORCHING OUT THE IMAGE as a HARSH RINGING

SOUND cuts through the silence.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

VICKI AWAKENS. She sits up in bed, tremulous, distraught.

The bedside phone is ringing. She reaches for it, but her

hand freezes in midair. She knows who's calling.

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