SHIVERS Page #8

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TUDOR:

I don't care what you think. Please

call me a cab. Now.

Mrs. Wheatley steps away from the desk, obviously hurt by

Tudor's brusqueness.

MRS. WHEATLEY

(mollifyingly)

All right, Nicholas. All right.

She leaves, closing the door behind her.

Tudor sighs, taking a deep breath. He is suddenly hit by

another twinge of pain. He clutches his stomach. Blood

trickles out of the corner of his mouth. After a pause, he

licks the blood off his lips with the tip of his tongue.

INT. CLINIC RECEPTION AT STARLINER TOWERS -- AFTERNOON

The Starliner Towers Medical Clinic is small but complete.

Dr. St. Luc and his nurse, Forsythe, are backed up by a

secretary-receptionist who sits behind a desk surrounded by

filing cabinets at the end of the hallway which serves as

reception area. There are chairs lined up against one wall,

flanked by coffee tables piled high with the traditional two-

year-old magazines.

Three or four people sit waiting to see St. Luc, among them

the aging but sprightly Mr. Parkins and Janine Tudor. Parkins,

who considers himself something of a ladies' man, is talking

to Janine when St. Luc appears and looks at the list of

patients who have signed in.

PARKINS:

...and this Kriedler seems to think

that mega-vitamin therapy may be the

answer to the question of aging.

That's not to suggest that the aging

process is in any way reversible --

I don't think for a minute that it

is -- but it may be stoppable, and

that's where mega-vitamins come in...

St. Luc gestures to Janine to follow him into his office.

Janine gets up, excusing herself to Mr. Parkins.

JANINE:

Excuse me, Brad. Gotta go.

She follows St. Luc into his office. He closes the door behind

her.

INT. TAXICAB -- AFTERNOON

The cab carrying Tudor pulls up at the main doors of the

Towers. Tudor, still a bit unsteady, signs a chit for the

driver and gets out of the car.

INT. LOBBY -- AFTERNOON

The doorman opens both doors for Tudor as he enters the

building.

DOORMAN:

Afternoon, Mr. Tudor.

INT. ST. LUC'S OFFICE -- AFTERNOON

Janine sits opposite St. Luc, who has a file open before him

on his desk.

ST. LUC

Well, there's certainly nothing here

in this check-up I did for your

husband's company last year. Blood

pressure a touch high, cholesterol

count nice and low...

(looking Janine in

the eye)

I just can't see cancer developing

that fast, Janine, not the way you've

described it. Could be swollen glands

or something, I don't know.

JANINE:

(a bit relieved but

still tense)

You'll come up and take a look at

him?

ST. LUC

(standing up)

If he can't make it down here...

sure. That's what I'm here for. But

it won't be until, oh...

(checking his watch)

...9.30, say 10.00. OK? Not too late?

Janine smiles and shakes her head. Just gotta have time to

put the clinic to bed for the night and grab some supper.

JANINE:

That's great, Doctor. Thanks.

Janine gets up, opens the door to the reception area, and

leaves, closing the door behind her.

St. Luc keeps staring at Tudor's file, shifts something from

one side of the folder to the other. Something bothers him.

The door to one of the examination rooms opens and Forsythe

pops her head around the corner.

FORSYTHE:

Mrs. Ementhal's ready and waiting,

Doctor.

ST. LUC

Mm? OK. Be with you in a sec.

Forsythe disappears. St. Luc studies Tudor's file.

INT. TUDOR'S APARTMENT -- LATE AFTERNOON

Tudor enters his apartment and throws his jacket and attaché

case on to a chair. He loosens his tie and makes himself a

drink, then sits down on the sofa and switches on the TV

set.

After only a short moment of relative calm, Tudor suddenly

contracts into the fetal position, spilling his drink on to

the floor. He rolls on to the floor, eyes staring out of his

head, mouth opening and closing like that of a fish out of

water, tendons in his neck bulging with tension.

He soon manages to struggle to his feet, the primary spasm

of pain apparently over. He keeps both hands clamped over

his mouth as though in a vain attempt to forestall a bout of

vomiting and stumbles into the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Tudor throws himself over the side of

the bathtub, knees on the bath mat, head well down into the

tub itself.

He gags and vomits into the tub and collapses, exhausted, on

the floor, mouth bloody. In the tub, a trail of blood-streaked

slime leads into the drain.

INT. RECEPTION AREA -- LATE AFTERNOON

Forsythe comes out to the reception area from an examination

room, checks out the patient list, and beckons to Mr. Parkins.

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