Insomnia Page #26

He stops. Looks down at her hand.

RACHEL (cont'd)

What happened?

Will suddenly realises what he's doing. Absurd. Pathetic.

Pitiful. Slowly turns to face Rachel.

Her eyes, looking up at him. His shoulders droop.

Exhausted. Rachel reaches up. Catches him in her arms.

Strong arms. Caring. Will buries his face in her neck.

Wants to be swallowed up.

Rachel holds him. Arms encircling. Will breathes her in.

Sweet, soft, safe.

Looks up. His mouth suddenly finding hers. A kiss, hungry,

urgent. His arms move to surround her.

INT. WILL'S ROOM - LATER

Will and Rachel in bed. Spooning. Rachel behind will, her

finger tracing his scar. Rain DRUMS against the window.

Will. Watching the raindrops streaming down the glass.

Casting strange shadows against the wall.

WILL:

There was this guy named Weston Dobbs.

Twenty-four. Worked as a part-time stock

boy in a copy store. Every morning he'd

sit at the only window in his apartment

and watch an eight year-old boy get

picked up by his carpool across the

street. And every afternoon he'd watch

the boy get dropped off again. He did

this for about six months. Until one day

he got up the nerve to cross the street

and grab the boy before his carpool came.

Kept him in his apartment for three days.

Tortured him. Raped him. Made him do

things...

Will tenses his jaw. Rachel, listens in horror.

WILL (cont'd)

When he was done, he got a rope and a

kitchen stool and hanged the boy in the

basement of the apartment building. But

he didn't do a good enough job. The

little boy's neck didn't break and he

died from shock. The landlord found him

five days later.

Rachel reaches for Will's hand. Squeezes it.

RACHEL:

One of your cases?

WILL:

Me and Hap. A year and a half ago. I

knew the second I met Dobbs that he was

guilty. Smug, cold. Dead eyes. We had

circumstantial evidence, but nothing to

tie him to it. Nothing concrete. Went

over every inch of that apartment.

He pauses.

RACHEL:

What happened?

Will turns slowly over to face her. Her hair, splayed out on

the pillow. Her cheeks, flushed. Her eyes, listening.

WILL:

We took some blood samples from the boy's

body and planted them in his apartment.

(beat)

Arrested him the next day.

Rachel looks at him. Goose pimples on her arms. Realising

the weight of the confession.

RACHEL:

Will.

WILL:

There've been other cases. Where we've

changed results. Pushed witnesses.

Manipulated evidence.

(rubs his face)

But Dobbs. I wanted Dobbs more than

anything.

He sits up. Abrupt. Wincing from the pain in his ribs.

Rests his arms on his knees.

RACHEL:

What if someone finds out?

WILL:

We're under investigation now. Back in

Seattle.

(beat)

Hap wanted to talk. As soon as we got

back. Thought he could work out some

kind of deal.

Rachel rubs his shoulder.

RACHEL:

Well, that's not going to happen now.

Will closes his eyes. The rain, PATTERING. Rhythmic.

WILL:

Do you think it was wrong? What we did?

There's a PAUSE. Rachel, studying Will's back. The cuts.

The bruises. Not sure how to answer.

RACHEL:

There are two kinds of people in Alaska.

Those who were born here and those who've

come here to escape something in their

lives.

(beat)

I wasn't born here, Will. I'm in no

position to judge anyone. I'm not about

that any more.

Looks out the window.

RACHEL (cont'd)

It's all about what you're willing to

live with.

INT. WILL'S ROOM - MORNING

The clock reads 6:00. Will pulls on his trousers. Goes to

strap on his Smith 39/13 holster. Grimaces with pain. Looks

at his back in the full-length mirror. BLACK BRUISES seeping

out from under his bandage.

Puts the 39/13 and holster in the top drawer of the bureau.

Turns and looks down at Rachel. Sleeping soundly.

FRED (O.S.)

You were acquainted with the deceased,

Kay Connell?

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Will in the interrogation room. Standing by the window.

Tensed jaw.

WALTER (O.S.)

Yes I was.

WALTER BYRD:

sits at the table. Hair combed, wet. Shirt newly starched.

A Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of him. Playing the part.

Fred sits opposite him. Report file open. Ellie, next to

Fred. Taking notes. She's combed her hair, too.

FRED:

In what manner?

Walter smiles modestly. Looks over at Ellie.

WALTER:

She was, not quite a "fan." More an avid

reader of my detective novels.

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