Se7en Page #3

SOMERSET:

Not here.

MILLS:

I realize that.

SOMERSET:

Well, over the next seven days, do me the

favor of remembering it.

Somerset turns and walks away. Mills stands a moment, pissed.

He follows after Somerset.

INSERT -- TITLE CARD

MONDAY:

INT. SOMERSET'S APARTMENT -- EARLY MORNING

Somerset lies asleep in bed. It is still dark outside. The

PHONE beside the inactive metronome RINGS. Somerset awakens

suddenly, startled. He looks towards the phone.

INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING

It is just barely becoming light outside. Mills is wide awake in

bed beside the sleeping form of his wife, TRACY, 30. Mills looks

tired. He listens to passing traffic. He covers his eyes with

his forearm.

He takes his arm away and sits up, frustrated, sits on the edge

of the bed. The room is a shambles, filled with moving boxes.

Light coming through the window glows upon a football trophy

sticking from one box.

Large and noble, a golden player stands in frozen motion at the

trophy's pinnacle.

Mills looks at the trophy and a fond smile forms on his face.

The PHONE RINGS. Mills looks towards it. Tracy awakens. She

looks up with half-opened eyes, a beautiful woman.

TRACY:

What is it?

Phone rings. Mills reaches to touch Tracy's shoulder.

MILLS:

It's okay.

Mills leans to get the phone. Tracy seems frightened.

TRACY:

Honey... where are we?

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING, ALLEYWAY -- EARLY MORNING

Somerset and Mills, both wearing badges, walk with OFFICER DAVIS,

a beefy, uniformed cop. They pass police cars and head into a

trash strewn alleyway. Davis hands Somerset two flashlights.

DAVIS:

Everything's like I found it. I didn't

touch anything.

SOMERSET:

What time did you confirm the death?

DAVIS:

Like I said, I didn't touch him, but he's

had his face in a plate of spaghetti for

about forty-five minutes now.

They reach a rusty, side door, which Davis pulls open.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- EARLY MORNING

They enter a dark, ugly stairwell.

MILLS:

(to Davis)

Hold on... you mean you didn't check for

vital signs?

DAVIS:

Did I stutter? Believe me, he ain't

breathing, unless he's started breathing

spaghetti sauce.

MILLS:

The point is, whenever you find...

DAVIS:

Begging your pardon, but the guy's sitting

in pile of his own sh*t and piss. If he

ain't dead, he would've stood up by now.

Mills is angry, about to speak, but Somerset heads him off.

SOMERSET:

(to Davis)

Thank you, officer. We'll need to talk to

you again, after we've looked around.

DAVIS:

Yes, sir.

Davis walks out, eyeing Mills. Mills watches him go. The rusty

door slams shut behind Davis. It's very dark. Somerset turns on

his flashlight, hands the other to Mills and starts upstairs.

SOMERSET:

I wonder what exactly was the point of the

conversation you were about to get into?

MILLS:

And I wonder how many times Officer Davis

there has found a dead man who wasn't

really dead until Davis was in the car

calling it in and eating a donut.

SOMERSET:

Drop it.

MILLS:

For now.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- EARLY MORNING

Somerset comes from the stairwell, looking down the dark hall.

At the end of the hall, a door is open. The light of a CAMERA

FLASH spills out from that room every few seconds.

Mills and Somerset move on. Somerset takes out rubber gloves and

slips them on, looking at something on the floor ahead. A yellow

RECYCLING BIN sits just outside the door. It contains many neat,

string-bound stacks of issues of READER'S DIGEST.

INT. APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- EARLY MORNING

There are lights on in this room. Lamps with dusty shades. A

few porn mags on a table. Somerset and Mills cross. A couch

against one wall is piled with yellowed, once white pillows. It

faces two small televisions, both on with no sound.

INT. APARTMENT, KITCHEN -- EARLY MORNING

Somerset and Mills enter, using their flashlights in the dark.

Mills takes out a handkerchief, covering his nose. ERIC is

crouched on the floor, putting camera equipment away.

He's wearing a medical mask over his face. He hoists his bag and

moves past the detectives.

ERIC:

Enjoy.

Eric leaves. Somerset sweeps the room with his flashlight...

At the stove, each burner has a used pot or pan on it. Food has

been slopped there and on the adjoining counter-top and sink.

Used utensils are everywhere, along with empty tin cans and jars.

Cockroaches swarm.

The flashlight beam follows a trail of dripped sauces, soups and

crumbs of food across the floor from the stove to a kitchen

table. The kitchen table is covered in soiled paper plates which

hold bits of half-eaten sandwiches, potatoes, beef stew, donuts

and many other junk foods.

The kitchen is tiny; barely enough room for three people. The

kitchen table is at the center of the room. An OBESE MAN is

slumped forward in a kitchen chair. He is face down dead in a

plate of spaghetti.

MILLS:

Christ... somebody phone Guinness. I think

we've got a World's Record here.

Mills walks to the dead man, leaning to study, without touching.

MILLS:

Who said this was murder?

SOMERSET:

No one yet.

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