Lost Souls Page #2

LAREAUX:

It's the patient's request, doctor.

DR. ALLEN

(insistent)

I'm aware of that, but I don't think

he's in any condition to make requests.

I'm trying to appeal to your

more...logical self, Father.

(as she glances briefly at

Maya, Townsend and Father

Jeremy)

I'm concerned about harm to my patient.

LAREAUX:

(picking up the Doc's visual

cue)

Father Jeremy and Deacon John Townsend

of St. Ursula's, and our associate, Maya

Larkin.

(off her look)

Secular assistants are permitted if

regarded as qualified. Maya is

eminently qualified.

DR. ALLEN

I think I should join you.

MAYA:

(brusquely, interrupting)

-- you wouldn't last five minutes.

LAREAUX:

(getting to it)

Just open the door, please.

As the Doctor unlocks the door, Lareaux, Townsend, Father

Jeremy and Maya file in. Tense. Cautious.

INT. PATIENT'S ROOM - MORNING

The room has been painted hot pink. The only furniture is a

large table, a chair and a bed. A few books sit stacked on

the table:
Albert Beutel's Cryptology, George Fleck's Shaping

Space and Claude Shannon's seminal Mathematical Theory of

Communication, among others on advanced math.

A slightly round man named HENRY BIRDSON is seated in the

single restraining chair, compulsively writing numbers on a

yellow legal pad. He wears green hospital pants and T-shirt.

He looks up and smiles at all his visitors; a blinding, angry

smile.

BIRDSON:

How do you like the color in here?

(glancing over barred windows)

Spos'ed to be relaxing.

Maya and Townsend avoid looking at Birdson. Maya straightens

the cuffs of her sleeves. Lareaux puts his Bible and a small

crucifix on the table.

LAREAUX:

Hello Henry. Do you know why we're

here?

Birdson nods, pleased with himself. He stretches, languidly

drops his pad onto the table and yawns.

BIRDSON:

Looking forward to it. Do you have a

cigarette?

CLOSE ON:

Lareaux

As he catches Maya's gaze and as --

CLOSE ON:

Maya, who looks back at Lareaux, we:

CROSSCUT TO A SERIES OF

FLASHCUTS:

INT. ANOTHER PLACE, ANOTHER TIME

Confined space. Cheesy lace curtains drape across plexi

sliding windows, a soft and constant WHISPERING of the "Our

Father" in the b.g. and we SEE: a younger Lareaux, longer

hair, moving gracefully toward Maya,

SUBTITLED IN LATIN

LAREAUX:

Do not remember, O Lord, our sins or

those of our forefathers.

CLOSE ON:

Maya's face. Wide-eyed at 16 years old. In the b.g., Maya's

sister, stands rigid, afraid.

LAREAUX (CONT'D)

And do not punish us for our offences.

An arm twisting almost out of its socket. A SCREAM.

LAREAUX (CONT'D)

And lead us not into temptation.

SCREAMING CONTINUES. Maya's on a bed, her head jerks

sideways, involuntarily.

LAREAUX (CONT'D)

But deliver us from evil...

A crucifix follows its own shadow as we:

CROSSCUT BACK TO:

INT. PATIENT'S ROOM - MORNING

Townsend opens the black leather suitcase. Inside: rolls of

duct and masking tape, two Bibles, three rosaries, a

scapular, bottles of holy water and a gold Chalice, sitting

in foam-laden velvet, for the Communion Eucharist.

Maya quickly and expertly locks in Birdson's chair

restraints. Arms and legs.

Father Jeremy pulls out a roll of duct tape, sealing the desk

drawer shut. Then, he sets up a portable tape recorder on

the table. Secures that as well.

Birdson restrained, Maya pulls large square-cut pieces of

blackout cloth out of the suitcase. She grabs a roll of

masking tape, TEARING two pieces of it with her teeth, right

off the roll. A SEARING, jarring sound, unexpected every

time. Moving to the door, she immediately tapes a square of

blackout cloth over the observation window. As the cloth

drops, Dr. Allen's face disappears.

Maya TEARS several more pieces of masking tape, continuing to

block out each window.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR

Two hours later, Dr. Allen is reassuring one of her patients.

She's calm, focused, helpful.

PATIENT:

(pointing to his stomach)

My bowel is out. I told you. It's

open, can't you see it! My stomach's

been eviscerated!

Suddenly an ORDERLY bursts around the corner, sprinting

toward her.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR

Dr. Allen and the orderly are jogging down the hallway. The

sound of SCREAMING can be faintly heard in the distance.

Dr. Allen starts to run, leaving her patient, holding her

stethoscope and pocket for anything that might fall out. Her

BREATHING is slightly LABORED. Her patient SCREAMS after

her:

PATIENT:

(freaked)

My bowel!!! My stomach's been

eviscerated! And you won't help me!

HELP ME!!!

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR

A stunned Laura Allen stands outside Birdson's room as TWO

MORE ORDERLIES frantically try to pry open the door.

DR. ALLEN

(an order of meds.)

Haldol, Cogenten, Atavan 5, 2 and 2 IM.

From the room, a CHORUS of TORMENTED VOICES is heard. A

hideous CACOPHONY that builds in intensity with each passing

moment, punctuated by sharp explosions of wood and glass.

It sounds like the room is being torn to pieces. Along with

everyone in it.

Something heavy hits the door on the other side.

Suddenly, the door BURSTS open. The screaming instantly

stops.

Lareaux's at the door, pushing past the two orderlies and as

he collapses against a wall, Dr. Allen sees he's shaking,

completely devastated. Father Jeremy hurries after him,

concerned.

FATHER JEREMY:

Father, are you alright? Can you get

up?

Laura Allen walks slowly over to the door. And bracing

herself, she leans forward and stares inside.

The room is immaculate. Nothing's damaged, not a stick of

furniture is out of place. Townsend and Maya slowly back

out, careful not to look at Birdson who sits nonchalantly

still tied to his chair...

BIRDSON:

He's right here, you know.

Birdson turns and stares at Dr. Allen with a chilling look of

triumph.

BIRDSON (CONT'D)

(same languid posture, his own

thought process etched in his

brain)

Come on in...

Dr. Allen freezes. Townsend moves past her. Maya pulls the

door shut very quickly. In her hand, she's grabbed Birdson's

legal pad and one of his advanced math books.

EXT. MANHATTAN CRIMINAL COURTHOUSE - MORNING

A restless CROWD clusters outside the entrance of the

Manhattan courthouse, a mixture of press, public and

security.

INT. COURTROOM - MORNING

Inside the packed courtroom, the atmosphere is hushed and

tense.

Up on the witness stand, MR. SILBERMAN, a meek, reluctant

witness, is testifying. The DEFENSE ATTORNEY is relentless.

The JURY seems pretty intent on the testimony. They eye:

DEFENSE ATTORNEY (O.S.)

Mr. Silberman, you worked with the

defendant, George Viznick, for two

years.

The accused, GEORGE VIZNICK. He's in his early 20's, with

thick, black hair and strong features. His neatly-pressed

suit and tie cannot disguise the fact he has the feral eyes

of an unrepentant psychopath.

MR. SILBERMAN (O.S.)

Yes.

DEFENSE ATTORNEY (O.S.)

(pacing in front of witness)

And how would you describe him?

MR. SILBERMAN (O.S.)

Quiet. Real quiet...

DEFENSE ATTORNEY (O.S.)

And on the day of the murders, his state

of mind?

MR. SILBERMAN (O.S.)

Seemed...on edge.

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