Lord of Illusions Page #4

Harry races in through the open door from the Waiting Room.

HARRY:

What the f***!?

Harry picks up the PHONE. It's dead. Miller charges at the

door.

HARRY:

Sh*t!

Harry SLAMS the door in Miller's face, and locks it.

As he does so, the candles FLICKER. Harry looks up. A

FIGURE looms from the darkness behind Quaid. He's in his

late twenties:
an androgynous, disturbing sight. His long

hair is drawn back into a pony-tail. His mismatched eyes -

one black, one milky blue, tell us that he is Butterfield.

His hands are BLOODY, and he carries one last SCALPEL.

HARRY:

(to Butterfield)

Don't touch him."

Butterfield strokes the wounds on Quaid's cheek. Quaid sobs

in pain.

BUTTERFIELD:

What are you going to do about it?

Miller's hand tears at the wood around the lock from the

other side. His fingers appear, scrabbling to tear the lock

out. Harry doesn't move, or Miller will be through.

BUTTERFIELD:

(to Harry)

Ever watched a man die? If you

watch very closely, you can

sometimes see the soul escaping.

And if you're very quick, you can

catch it.

QUAID:

Please... Butterfield... I wasn't

there. Ask Pimm.

BUTTERFIELD:

Pimm's dead. Jennifer Desiderio's

disappeared. They knew the Puritan

was coming home.

As this exchange goes on, Miller pulls the lock out of the

door and starts to THROW HIMSELF against it from the other

side. It's all Harry can do to keep himself from being

pitched across the room. He looks around for some means of

defense. There's a crack in the drapes to the left of the

table. Behind it a WINDOW.

BUTTERFIELD:

So do you. You've seen the future.

Haven't you?

QUAID:

Yes.

BUTTERFIELD:

And are you afraid?

QUAID:

Yes.

Suddenly, Harry steps aside. The door's flung open. Miller

CHARGES in. Harry catches hold of his arm, and THROWS him

against the drape. The window CRACKS; the drape comes down

around Miller. Amber STREETLIGHT floods in.

Butterfield is momentarily distracted. Harry STRIKES the

scalpel from his hands.

Miller, meanwhile, is struggling to free himself from the

folds of the drapes. Harry lands a solid KICK to the man's

belly. Miller is THROWN back against the cracked window,

which SHATTERS. Still wrapped in the drape, he FALLS OUT.

Harry turns back to arrest Butterfield, but he's already

making his escape. Harry starts after him.

QUAID:

(to Harry)

Don't leave me.

He turns back. TEARS are pouring down the man's face. Harry

goes back to comfort Quaid, as Butterfield escapes down the

stairs.

HARRY:

You need an ambulance.

QUAID:

(in pain)

Too late. Why are you here? Did

you cone... up here for a reading?

Quaid takes hold of Harry's hand.

HARRY:

NO ... I...

Quaid stares at Harry's HAND. Fascinated, he momentarily

forgets his pain. He traces the lines with bloody fingers.

QUAID:

(quietly)

My God.

HARRY:

What?

QUAID:

You've taken some strange

journeys in your life.

HARRY:

Yeah. You could say that.

QUAID:

You're drawn to the dark side, over

and over. And it's drawn to you.

(looks at Harry)

You don't like that.

HARRY:

Not much.

QUAID:

You can't change it. You have to

walk...

(coughs)

...walk the line between Heaven and

Hell. It's your destiny. Accept

it.

Harry takes his hand from Quaid's grip. Quaid winces in

pain.

HARRY:

Hold on.

QUAID:

I'm not afraid to die. There's

something terrible... coming

home...

HARRY:

The Puritan?

QUAID:

Yes...

HARRY:

Who is he?

Quaid shudders, and dies.

HARRY:

(softly; sadly)

Sh*t.

He looks away, down at the CARDS. All have been turned over

but ONE. He turns it. The card is the Ten of Swords which

pictures a prostrate man against a thunderous sky, pierced by

all ten swords. An image of death and desolation.

EXT. QUAID'S OFFICES - ALLEY BEHIND BUILDING - NIGHT

The flashing LIGHTS of two patrol cars illuminate the scene.

DETECTIVE EDDISON, a surfer-turned-policeman with buzz-cut

blond hair, heads along the alley with Harry. He's midway

through taking Harry's statement. There are already two

OFFICERS examining the drapes. We can't yet see the body.

EDDISON:

(to Harry)

What were you doing up there?

HARRY:

I'm a private detective. I was

hired to follow somebody for a few

days. A guy called Tapert.

Insurance fraud.

EDDISON:

(writing)

Tapert. So, now I've got Tapert,

Butterfield.

HARRY:

Tapert's got nothing to do with

this. He came here to get his palm

read.

EDDISON:

What makes you so sure?

HARRY:

(shrugs)

I got a file on him two inches

thick. He's a petty fraudster.

This is something else. Ever heard

of someone called the Puritan?

EDDISON:

New one on me.

(to Officer)

Okay. Let's see him.

OFFICER #l shakes his head, and opens up the drape. Broken

GLASS drops from the folds, but that's all. Miller has gone.

EDDISON:

Where the f*** is he?

HARRY:

He got up and walked.

EDDISON:

(looking up at window)

After that fall?. He must have

broken half his bones.

WE MOVE IN ON HARRY, as he stares down at the drape.

HARRY:

I don't think he'd have given a

sh*t.

CUT TO:

INT. BUTTERFIELD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The rooms are spartan. Nothing on the walls. Nothing on the

floors. Very little furniture.

Butterfield sits beside the window, obsessively combing his

long hair. There is something feminine about him now: his

voice a whisper, his stare distracted. If we didn't guess it

already, we're in the presence of a madman.

Miller is squatting against the wall, picking shards of GLASS

out of his torso. It hurts, but he's enjoying himself.

BUTTERFIELD:

D'Amour... D'Amour... Why do I know

that name?

MILLER:

I know him. I saw him.

He stops to pull out a particularly large piece of glass,

sighing with pleasure.

MILLER:

I saw him on T.V. Some kid got

possessed and he saved the little

bastard's life.

BUTTERFIELD:

He's a priest?

MILLER:

No. He's just a guy who's got a

nose for this sh*t.

(a beat. A smirk)

Like you.

A long beat of silence. Butterfield combs. Miller digs for

glass.

BUTTERFIELD:

I don't want him getting in the

way.

MILLER:

He won't.

Another silence.

BUTTERFIELD:

(dreamily)

We've all of us waited too long to

have the homecoming spoiled.

MILLER:

What do you mean, "all of us?"

BUTTERFIELD:

You didn't think it was just going

to be you and me? A lot of people

believed in Nix. They haven't

forgotten his promise.

MILLER:

About?

BUTTERFIELD:

Death.

MILLER:

What about death?

BUTTERFIELD:

(a beat)

It's an illusion.

CUT TO:

EXT. PHILADELPHIA STREET - MORNING

On screen:
Philadelphia

A suburban street. Early morning light.

INT. SUBURBAN HOUSE - PHILADELPHIA - MORNING

CLOSE-UP of a PHOTOGRAPH of the Cultist with the Painted

Face, from the opening scene, standing outside Nix's house in

Nevada. His name is Norman Sanders.

ON NORMAN, thirteen years older, looking down at the

photograph. He lays it down, beside a letter, on which two

words are written: "Homecoming Time."

Norman smiles to himself. Goes to the wardrobe. Gets out a

small suitcase. His WIFE'S BODY is slumped in the wardrobe,

glassy-eyed.

CLOSE UP of letter -�

CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN IN MIAMI HOUSE - DAY

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