Misery Page #6

PAUL lies still. He looks around the room and listens for sounds.

All he hears are the SOUNDS OF A WINTER NIGHT in the mountains.

After a few beats, he takes a deep breath and then begins his

greatest effort of all: to force his body out of bed, to make it

move.

He's still weak from what he's endured, but that's not the main

thing:
it's the pain. Any attempt at movement and his legs scream.

He sags back, lies there still a moment. Slowly he tries to

maneuver his body off the bed. He rolls over onto his stomach,

then tries to lower himself onto the floor by moving down head

first. His good arm hits the floor, and he is able to hold himself

up but, realizing there is no way to get out of bed without

causing tremendous pain, he girds himself and flings himself out

of bed and comes crashing to the floor.

The pain is excruciating. After he regains his composure, he

slowly crawls toward the door.

He reaches up and tries the handle. It is, in fact, locked. He

awkwardly tries to slam up against the door, but it is much too

painful and to no avail. He crawls back over to the bed, realizes

there's no way to climb back in, then grabs the blanket from the

bed, wraps it around himself, and closes his eyes.

DISSOLVE TO:

BUSTER'S OFFICE. DAY.

He sits alone at his desk on the telephone, staring at the Rocky

Mountain Gazette spread in front of him.

CUT TO:

THE NEWSPAPER'S FRONT PAGE.

In a prominent spot on the top is what is most likely a book-

jacket photo of Paul. Above the picture is the following: "HAVE

YOU SEEN PAUL SHELDON?"

BUSTER is on the phone with Marcia Sindell.

BUSTER:

No, Ms. Sindell, there's no point in

coming up here now. Everything that

can be done is... Yes, we're working

closely with the state police, and

the FBI has been informed. Right...

Right... As soon as we know anything

we'll let you know. No, it's no

bother. Call anytime. Bye, Ms. Sindell.

VIRGINIA enters, carrying some files.

VIRGINIA:

Here's the list of all Sheldon's

credit charges. Nothing after the

Silver Creek.

(With a glance at his

dour face, she

indicates the photo)

Any calls?

BUSTER:

Just from his agent.

CUT TO:

BUSTER. His eyes flick up to her. An almost imperceptible shake of

the head.

HOLD FOR A MOMENT, then --

FACES. They are distorted, and they come into view but briefly,

then change into the next distorted face. All kinds -- there is no

order to them -- young, Oriental, female, male, pretty, sad,

black, not so pretty, happy, white, old -- what we HEAR is this:

"...You've changed my life..."

"...I'm your number one fan..."

"...I'm a really big fan of yours..."

"...I'm your biggest fan..."

"...Don't ever stop writing those Misery books..."

"...I've read all your books, but the Miserys... well..."

"...I'm your numbe rone fan..."

"...You've given me such pleasure..."

"...I feel like you're writing just for me..."

AND NOW, IT GETS KICKED UP IN SPEED AND ALL GOES FASTER, MANY

TIMES OVERLAPPING.

"...I love you...I'm your number one fan...I'm your biggest

fan...We love you...number one...love you...biggest...love

you...number one...number one... you poor dear thing..."

This last was said by Annie, out of focus, and for a moment, she

stays that way --

CUT TO:

THE ROOM, AS IT SNAPS BACK INTO FOCUS -- ANNIE is standing by the

bed. It is dusk.

She wears a dark blue dress and a hat with a sprig of flowers. Her

eyes are bright and vivacious -- the fact is, this is the

prettiest ANNIE WILKES has ever looked.

ANNIE:

What are you doing on the floor?

(crossing to the bed)

It's my fault. If I'd had a

proper hospital bed, this never

would have happened. Here, let me

help you back in.

(She lifts him back

into the bed, which

causes considerable

pain)

I know this hurts, but it'll only

take a few seconds. There you go.

Comfy?

PAUL:

(in pain)

Perfect.

ANNIE:

You're such a kidder. I have a big

surprise for you. But first there's

something you must do.

PAUL:

I don't suppose I could have a

little snack while I wait for the

surprise?

ANNIE:

I'll get you everything you want,

but you must listen first. Sometimes

my thinking is a little muddy, I

accept that. It's why I couldn't

remember all those things they were

asking me on the witness stand in

Denver.

Now she turns, goes to the doorway, keeping on talking. She is

never out of sight.

ANNIE:

But this time I thought clearly. I

asked God about you and God said "I

delivered him unto you so that you

may show him the way."

PAUL:

Show me the way?

ANNIE:

Yes.

She exits and re-enters wheeling something toward his bed. It's a

charcoal barbecue, the kind you use in summer for cooking

hamburgers. She holds several items in her arms: a box of Diamond

Blue Tip wooden matches, a can of lighter fluid. And most

noticeably, Paul's manuscript.

CUT TO:

ANNIE AND PAUL. He watches, mute, as she takes off the grill, puts

the manuscript into the barbecue itself where the charcoal goes,

spritzes it with lighter fluid. The grill is close enough to the

bed for him to reach out and drop a match.

PAUL:

When I mentioned a snack, I was

thinking more along the lines of a

cheese and crackers kind of thing.

CUT TO:

ANNIE, looking at him.

ANNIE:

Paul, this is no time for jokes. You

must rid the world of this filth.

She hands him the box of kitchen matches.

PAUL:

You want me to burn my book?

ANNIE:

(she nods)

Yes.

PAUL:

You want me to burn my book?

ANNIE:

I know this may be difficult for

you, but it's for the best.

PAUL:

This isn't difficult, my agent's

made dozens of copies. There's gonna

be an auction on this, and every

publishing house in New York is

reading it now. So if you want me to

burn it, fine. You're not ridding the

world of anything.

CUT TO:

ANNIE, watching him.

ANNIE:

(quietly)

Then light the match, Paul.

PAUL:

No big deal.

ANNIE:

So you've indicated. Do it.

CUT TO:

THE MATCHES. PAUL'S HANDS are starting to tremble now. He can't do

it.

ANNIE:

I know this is the only copy, Paul.

When you were twenty-four you wrote

your first book and you didn't make

a copy, because you didn't think

anybody would take it seriously.

But they did. And ever since you've

never made any copies because you're

superstitious -- it's why you always

come back to the Silver Creek Lodge.

You told that story to Merv Griffin

eleven years ago.

PAUL:

You know, Annie, this book never

would have survived without you.

When it gets to new York, there will

be a big auction, and whatever it

brings we can split.

(pause)

God knows you're entitled to it.

ANNIE:

Oh, Paul. This isn't about money.

It's about decency and purity. It's

about God's values.

PAUL:

You're right. You're right. I don't

know what I was thinking. I'll tell

you what. It doesn't have to be

published. Nobody ever has to see it.

I'll just keep it for myself. No one

will ever have to know it exists.

ANNIE:

As long as it does exist, your mind

won't ever be free. I think you

should light the match, Paul.

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