Se7en Page #13

Somerset nods. He puts down the photos he's holding. He begins

spreading all the pictures out.

SOMERSET:

Look at these with fresh eyes. Don't see

what the killer wants you to. Don't let

guide you...

While he speaks, Somerset keeps shifting the photos, for example:

covering the corpse in one with the edge of another.

SOMERSET:

Even if the corpse is right there... it's

almost like looking through it. Editing

out the initial shock. Look at the room.

In the photos, there's the scale. The note on the wall. Shelves

of books. The Modern Art painting.

GREED written in blood.

SOMERSET:

He's preaching.

MILLS:

Punishing.

SOMERSET:

The sins were used in medieval sermons.

There were seven cardinal virtues, and then

seven deadly sins, created as a learning

tool, because they distract from true

worship.

MILLS:

Like in the Parson's Tale, and Dante.

SOMERSET:

Did you read them?

MILLS:

Yeah. Parts of them. Anyway, in

Purgatory, Dante and his buddy are climbing

up that big mountain... seeing all these

other guys who sinned...

SOMERSET:

Seven Terraces of Purgation.

MILLS:

Right. But there, pride comes first, not

gluttony. The sins are in a different

order.

SOMERSET:

For now, let's just consider the books as the

murderer's inspiration.

The books and sermons are about atonement

for sin. And, these murders have been like

forced attrition.

MILLS:

Forced what?

SOMERSET:

Attrition. When you regret your sins, but

not because you love God.

MILLS:

Like, because someone's holding a gun on

you.

Mills runs his hands across his face, walks to the fridge to get

beer. Somerset keeps looking at photos and papers.

SOMERSET:

No fingerprints?

MILLS:

Nothing.

SOMERSET:

Totally unrelated victims.

Mills nods, drinking from a beer.

SOMERSET:

No witnesses of any kind?

MILLS:

None. Which I don't understand. He had to

get back out.

Somerset sits in a chair, picks up the photo of the wife. Runs

his fingers over the eyes circled in blood.

SOMERSET:

In any major city, minding your own

business is a perfected science. There's a

public crime prevention course offered at

the precinct house once a month. The first

thing they teach is that you should never

cry "help." Always scream "fire," because

people don't want to get caught up in

anything. But a fire... that's an

evening's entertainment. They come

running.

Looking at the wife's photo.

SOMERSET:

This is the one thing.

MILLS:

I know.

SOMERSET:

(holds photo up)

What if it's not that she's seen

something? What if she's supposed to see

something, but she just hasn't been given a

chance to see it yet?

MILLS:

Okay. But, what?

INT. SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT

The room is like a hotel room. Mills stands beside the woman

from the picture, MRS. GOULD. Mills shows her photos from the

murder scene. The photos have been covered in sections to hide

the Mr. Gould's corpse. Mrs. Gould is crying. Somerset is on

the other side of the room, holding more photos.

MILLS:

I'm sorry about this, Mrs. Gould. I really

am.

MRS GOULD:

I... I don't understand.

Mills helps her flip through the photos. He isn't too keen to

put her through this.

MILLS:

I need you to look at each one carefully...

very carefully. Look for anything that

seems strange or out of place. Anything at

all.

MRS GOULD:

I don't know why... why now?

MILLS:

Please, I need you to help me if we're

going to get who did this.

Mrs. Gould sobs quietly, wipes her tears.

MILLS:

Anything... anything missing or different.

MRS GOULD:

I don't see anything.

MILLS:

Are you absolutely certain?

MRS GOULD:

I can't do this now... please.

Mills looks to Somerset, looks at the photos Somerset holds.

MILLS:

Maybe we better wait.

Somerset looks at the photos in his hand. These show Mr. Gould's

corpse in the chair, not covered in any way.

SOMERSET:

It should be now. There may be something

we're not seeing.

MRS GOULD:

Wait. Here...

MILLS:

What is it?

Mrs. Gould points at the modern art painting on the wall in one

photo. The painting is just splattered paint, abstract.

MRS GOULD:

This painting...

MILLS:

What?

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