Mimic Page #9

ARMENIAN DRIVER:

What...?

Susan motions excitedly. The Driver pulls over. Susan

gets out.

EXT. OUTSIDE CAR

Susan rushes over, removes something from the windshield

wiper.

A BUTTERFLY, its wing pinned under the rubber flapper.

She holds it in her palm, then looks up at Peter.

SUSAN:

Metaxonycha Godmani.

PETER:

So?

Susan looks around. Just ahead is an empty LOT surrounded by

a wooden fence plastered with flyers for rock bands and

performance artists.

An identical BUTTERFLY perches on the edge of a board.

EXT. EMPTY LOT

Susan and Peter walk through waist-high GRASS of a small

urban wilderness. Dozens of BUTTERFLIES flutter around them

from the weeds.

RICKY (OS)

If you want your money back, forget it!

Peter and Susan look up. The voice comes from a RAMSHACKLE

CLUBHOUSE, built of wood scraps and cardboard.

DAVIS (OS)

We already spent it!

Susan walks forward.

SUSAN:

We're here to deal.

Long beat. The door to the clubhouse swings open.

CUT TO:

INT. SUBWAY STATION - DAY

A BLUR of subway cars goes by with an ear-pulverizing SOUND.

At the end of the platform, Davis untwists a wire around the

busted lock of a locker room door. Peter paces nervously

nearby.

PETER:

Here, let me...

He starts on it himself. Meanwhile, Ricky stares at a

PHOTOGRAPH Susan has given to him: a ribbed, tortoise-

brown colored EGGCASE.

SUSAN:

You sure you didn't see one of these?

RICKY:

Gross. What is it?

SUSAN:

An "Ootheca". An eggcase. It probably had

more, uh "weirdbugs" inside.

RICKY:

(shakes his head)

No way. I see one of those, I'd puke.

Davis opens the door with a CLICK.

INT. SUBWAY LOCKER ROOM

A dark, abandoned LOCKER ROOM once used for transit workers.

Susan and Peter walk in with the boys, nervous in the off-

limits area.

DAVIS:

It was in that corner over there.

Davis points to a bank of dented metal LOCKERS.

RICKY:

Sucker was fast, man.

(Picks up a pipe.)

Had to take it out with one a these.

PETER:

Okay, guys. We'll take it from here.

Peter hands Ricky some money. The boy looksdown at it

slyly.

RICKY:

Make it ten an' we won't tell the cops

you're here.

Peter regards the little scam artist dryly.

PETER:

Let's keep it at five and I won't

condemn your clubhouse.

Peter hands him a couple of dollars more. The two boys

take off.

Peter removes a PENLIGHT from his pocket.

Dust covers everything. A forest of COPPER TUBING and PIPES

where the sinks used to be.

PETER:

inspects the floor. It's littered with cheap objects:

chipped combs, used rubbers, soggy newspapers, smeared

heroin syringes.

Something shiny catches his eye. He picks it up.

PETER:

(quietly)

Look, a broken tooth...

Something rustles nearby.

He notices an old, rotting poster on the back wall. It

seems ODDLY TEXTURED somehow. He walks toward it.

SUSAN:

kneeling, pushes aside a dented trash bin. Behind it, there

is a cabinet with rusty sliding doors.

A SUBWAY TRAIN RUMBLES by outside, the sound echoes off

the tile walls.

Susan forces the door back. She peeks through the opening.

Her face stares back at her from a dirty pocket mirror.

She starts pulling something out.

PETER:

at the oddly texture wall. He shines the penlight at it...

...and is met with a FLUTTER OF WINGS. MOTHS, perfectly

camouflaged against the poster on the wall, whiz past him.

Peter recoils.

SUSAN (OS)

You okay?

He nods.

SUSAN:

turns back to her locker. She withdraws a cheap PLASTIC

NECKLACE from it. As she removes it, it breaks. A coulpe of

beads fall away...

...rolls under the locker...

...and BOUNCE -- once, twice, thrice -- each time going

deeper till they comes to a stop.

Susan peers where the beads fell.

SUSAN:

There's something under here.

Peter comes over, kneels by her. Susan takes a handful of

beads and throws them at the base of the locker.

CAMERA TRACKS to follow one of them. It rolls all the way

under.

A moment later, from some interior space, the sound of it

BOUNCING on cement. He shines his light inside.

INT. HOLE - PETER'S HAND

Very dark. A highlight glints off a shell-like surface.

The light barely touches it.

THE WHOLE SURFACE BACKS AWAY.

Peter drops the penlight. It gets stuck in a jutting piece

of concrete.

PETER:

PETER:

Sh*t.

Peter tries to get his hand in

DEEPER:

But he cannot reach the light. It is literally inches from

his fingers...

SUSAN:

SUSAN:

Let me try. My hands are smaller.

She kneels and goes for it.

INT. HOLE - SUSAN'S HAND

Her hand reaches for the penlight.

She barely touches it. The penlight spins around. Its light

now illuminates...

THE FACE OF A MAN. Unseen by Susan. Terrifying in its doll-

like simplicity. In the darkness, its features seem

indiscernable, inert, almost frozen in a perfectly

symmetrical pattern.

It regards the spiderlike movement of Susan's fingers.

SUSAN'S

face squinches with the effort.

PETER:

Honey, just leave it.

SUSAN:

No, there's...

INT. HOLE - SUSAN'S HAND

As Susan's hand moves closer, the strange Face begins to

TREMBLE.

A CLICKING SOUND.

Susan's hand is almost there.

SUSAN:

reaches further.

And suddenly A BEAM OF LIGHT cuts through the darkness.

Their vision resolves. The figures of two MTA COPS stand

before them:
ERNEST, 50, burly and bull-necked; and LEONARD

-- African American, 45, more formidable than fat.

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