Dark City Page #15

Mister Hand leans down as Mister Sleep cups his hand and whispers

something into his ear.

MISTER HAND:

(to the others)

Mister Sleep says that way.

He points down a street.

BACK ON BUMSTEAD - He watches the distant figures walk off into

the night.

EXT. BRIDGE - NIGHT

THE CAMERA MOVES along a bridge-like structure. An enclosed

corridor supported by rotting wooden pylons. Under the bridge,

pipes spew sewage into stagnant water.

ANGLE ON WALKER - crossing the bridge, seen through a series of

illuminated, dirty windows.

INT. BRIDGE/SERIES OF ROOMS - NIGHT

Walker is lost.

He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut

automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted

spaces long forgotten.

INT. DOCTOR SCHREBER'S OFFICE - NIGHT

SCHREBER is pacing towards DOUBLE-DOORS with Bumstead in hot

pursuit.

BUMSTEAD:

He's amnesiac?

SCHREBER:

I haven't seen Mister Walker in

three weeks, but when we last spoke

he convinced me he didn't have the

slightest idea who I was - and

when I began questioning him, he

hung up.

(beat)

This is what I wanted to show you.

THE DOORS OPEN - and as the men step through REVEAL a room of

animal experiments.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

Formation of memories is the most

important of brain functions.

TIGHTEN ON THE TWO MEN - as they look down on a monkey with the

top of its head missing, squirming in a mechanical device that

restricts its movements.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

We are little more than a sum of

memories. From them we reference

who we are, where we're going.

Without a past we are nothing.

Bumstead looks very uncomfortable.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

It feels no pain.

Schreber points at a wooden structure containing two rats.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

We know of two kinds of memory.

Firstly, declarative memory.

The rats perform various activities involving mazes and geometric

symbols. Schreber turns to look at Bumstead.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

And then there is procedural memory.

TIGHT ON HIS SLENDER FINGER - pointing to a machine also run by

rats. The object is to make it through a guillotine device. One

rat is successful, the other is chopped neatly in two.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

Research on simple animals can be...

useful to show us where memory

storing systems are located.

(looks at nearby cage of

hamsters)

I'm planning an experiment with

hamsters next. Cute little fellows.

BUMSTEAD:

(looks at rats)

And this teaches you about human

behaviour?

SCHREBER:

Oh yes. They're remarkably similar

to us in some ways. But I often

wonder what they are really

thinking. Whether they realise

they're part of an experiment.

Schreber smiles strangely at this.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

For all I know they could be

secretly planning to take over the

laboratory some day?

BUMSTEAD:

Interesting thought, Doctor, but

let's get back to Walker.

SCHREBER:

Walker is what's called a "tabula

rasa", physiologically more than

competent, but behaviourally an

empty slate.

BUMSTEAD:

Why did he start coming to you?

SCHREBER:

Severe depression.

BUMSTEAD:

And when did his loss of memory

occur?

SCHREBER:

I think roughly three weeks ago,

though I'm not sure, nor am I

certain why it happened.

(Schreber looks at

Bumstead now)

Has Walker done something, broken

some law?

BUMSTEAD:

He is a suspect. I need to speak

with him in connection to some

rather serious crimes.

SCHREBER:

Well, I'll do all I can to help

you.

BUMSTEAD:

Thank you for your trouble. We'll

be in touch.

SCHREBER:

Of course.

Bumstead is about to go.

BUMSTEAD:

Oh...

(he turns back)

I want to speak with Walker's

wife... Do you have any idea where

I can find her?

SCHREBER:

I'm afraid not. I didn't know he

was married.

Bumstead looks thoughtfully at the bizarre experiments one last

time, then turns and walks out the door.

BUMSTEAD:

Thanks once again.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Walker steps up to a SMALL DOOR in the side of a building. A

hanging sign depicts an underwater scene, crammed with fish, sea-

weed bubbles. Dominating everything is a GREEN SCALED KING NEPTUNE.

INT. KING NEPTUNE'S AQUARIUM - NIGHT

Walker stops in front of a ticket booth, beside a faded blue

curtain. In the booth a TICKET SELLER is snoring with his mouth

hanging open, his head sagging.

Walker knocks on the window. The man wakes with a start, rubs his

head.

WALKER:

I'm looking for Karl.

The man squints at Walker, nods groggily.

TICKET SELLER:

Upstairs. Through there.

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