Dark City Page #4

SCHREBER:

Schreber, Madame... Doctor Sch...

Suddenly EMMA WALKER is standing in the doorway - she's in her

early thirties, red hair, attractive, but looking like she hasn't

slept much.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

You are Emma?

EMMA:

What do you want?

SCHREBER:

It's about your husband.

EMMA:

You know where he is?

SCHREBER:

Not exactly...

(pauses - smiles)

May I come in?

Emma and her mother move aside and let Schreber pass.

INT. EMMA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

ANOTHER ANGLE LEADS Schreber into the room as he sits on a sofa -

he has to clear away clothes to make a space for himself.

SCHREBER:

I'm John's doctor. He was coming to

me regularly. Did he mention

anything about this to you?

EMMA:

He said he needed emotional support,

but I didn't know he was seeing

anyone...

SCHREBER:

When was the last time you spoke to

him?

EMMA:

Three weeks ago.

(beat)

We've been separated for awhile,

and...

SCHREBER:

Yes - I know. Do you think I

could have some water? I'm a little

parched.

Emma's mother smiles and heads for the kitchen, an adjoining

room.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

Emma, I'm here because I think John

is in trouble - I'm not sure what

kind exactly, but I know we must

find him.

Schreber accepts a glass from Emma's mother.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

Thankyou.

EMMA:

Do you know why he stopped calling

me?

OLD WOMAN:

He's irresponsible, that's why.

Emma's four months pregnant,

y'know...

EMMA:

Mother.

Schreber drinks in big gulps - nearly the whole thing.

SCHREBER:

Good. I was so thirsty.

He puts the glass down.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

When I spoke to him, John was very

confused. He seemed lost.

EMMA:

I don't understand...

SCHREBER:

I'm afraid I mean that literally.

He's lost himself - his identity.

He has no understanding of who he

is.

Emma sits, looks at the floor.

EMMA:

How did this happen?

SCHREBER:

I don't know. The important thing

is we must help him. He may contact

you. You must get him to tell you

where he is, then call me

immediately.

He places a business card on the coffee table.

SCHREBER:

(Cont.)

Do not try and reason with him,

Emma. Please leave that to me. It

is very important you call me.

Emma just nods.

INT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT

BUMSTEAD is moving quickly. He passes a grey-haired uniformed cop,

OFFICER HUSSELBECK, pacing in the opposite direction.

HUSSELBECK:

'Evening, Bumstead.

BUMSTEAD:

(nods)

Husselbeck.

(points at Husselbeck's

shoe)

Lace is untied.

Husselbeck looks down. Bumstead doesn't lie.

Husselbeck crouches to tie his shoe, as Bumstead KEEPS MOVING,

rounds a corner and is gone.

SEVERAL ANGLES - as Bumstead paces with determination through the

corridors of PRECINCT 7. Like everything else in the city the

station is cast, desolate, and decrepit. Not much sign of police

activity, but voices and ringing phones are heard echoing from a

distance.

HIS P.O.V.

A door - KOWOLSKI: DETECTIVE/INSPECTOR on the frosted glass.

Bumstead stands, pushes into the office.

INT. KOWOLSKI'S OFFICE - NIGHT

INSIDE Chaos - paperwork everywhere, dozens of used coffee cups,

rotting food in greasy paper bags. Bumstead shakes his head slowly.

BUMSTEAD:

A shame...

He starts to look around.

TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Kowolskiís

files are also a mess.

Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A

loud SNAP!

BUMSTEAD:

(Cont.)

YAAAAAAAAAH!

He recoils. A mousetrap has caught his fingers. He pulls it off

his hand, throws it to the floor, cursing.

BUMSTEAD:

(Cont.)

Dammit!

VOICE O.S.

Excuse me...

Bumsteads spins to see a tall, stiff-looking woman of about thirty

- this is PATRICIA CRENSHAW.

CRENSHAW:

I didn't mean to startle you. I'm

Patricia Crenshaw, your new

assistant.

She puts out her hand.

CRENSHAW:

(Cont.)

The Chief-Inspector assigned me. He

thought you could use some help.

Bumstead raises an eyebrow.

CRENSHAW:

(Cont.)

He was quite specific. He said you

needed someone to keep track of your

appointments.

BUMSTEAD:

I see.

He takes her hand tentatively. They shake.

CRENSHAW:

I can also take short hand. I type

over forty words per minute, and...

BUMSTEAD:

Yes, fine, but I'm very busy right

now as you can see...

CRENSHAW:

Is there anything I can do?

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