The Life of David Gale Page #8

---

- Which one are you?

- Denial.

Well, denial's good. That's

a... That's a good one.

- The whole idea of there

being a process makes me tired.

I'm not up to the

job of dying person...

marveling at blades of grass...

lecturing strangers

to relish every moment.

- Mending bridges.

- Mending bridges.

- Confessing regret. Ohh.

- Oh, what, no regrets?

- Nope.

Wow.

I take that back.

- I wish I'd had a child.

- Yeah, so do I.

- I'm sorry, David.

- No.

I guess I just wish I had risked more.

Oh, and not enough sex.

Should have had more sex.

- Really?

- Mm.

Well, how... How many

lovers did you have?

- Including college?

- Including college.

Well, sex is really... You know,

it's not all it's cracked up to be.

- It's so overrated.

- You should have had

more sex. - Mm-hmm.

You work so hard not to

be seen as a sex object.

Before long, you're not seen at all.

Hey.

I see you.

- You want to make it five?

- Complete the hand.

- What, a pity lay?

- No, thanks.

- Hey.

It wouldn't be pity.

- Are you okay?

- Yeah. Don't worry.

No, it's good.

Just talk to me. Let

me hear your voice.

- I'm here. I'm here.

- Okay. Just hold me tight.

Just tight. I'm so scared.

- Okay. I'm sorry.

- No. Don't stop.

- Just...

- Okay.

Stay with me, please.

Please stay with me.

- I'm not going anywhere.

- I just need to feel you inside.

I'm right here.

I'm so tired.

I'm so tired of being so afraid.

- I'm right here.

- Help me. Help me, please. Just...

- Just make it go away.

- Okay. Okay.

- Make it go away.

- Okay. I'm right here.

I'm not going anywhere.

- Can I help you?

- Oh. No. I'm leaving.

I-I'm sorry. Thanks.

It was Dusty.

He had a motive. He knew you

both. He visited that morning.

If I could answer that for sure...

we wouldn't be having

this conversation.

It's what I need you for.

That's why I chose you.

- Now I've told you everything.

- But I still don't know.

- I need more time.

- You'll find time.

You should have done this earlier.

You're not here to save me.

You're here to save my

son's memory of his father.

That's all I want.

You're gonna let them kill you.

Bitsey, we spend our whole

lives trying to stop death.

Eating, inventing, loving, praying...

fighting, killing.

But what do we really know about death?

Just that nobody comes back.

But there comes a point in life...

a moment...

when your mind outlives its desires...

its obsessions...

when your habits...

survive your dreams...

and when your losses...

Maybe death is a gift.

- You wonder.

- That's it. Let's go, Gale.

All I can tell you is that by

this time tomorrow I'll be dead.

I know when.

I just can't say why.

You have 24 hours to find out.

Good-bye, Bitsey.

- Ms. Bloom?

- Yeah.

Thought I'd return your

coat. Gettin' kinda chilly.

- Any news from our video intruder friend?

- No. Any word on the appeal?

Denied. Tape went to a

federal judge two hours ago.

Now what you got was

definitely a snippet.

Could be your video supplier friend

has more nasty previews scheduled.

Best you not get into too

much sightseeing right now.

Just stick close to your motel room.

- How's David?

- He's holding up. Gonna be a hard night.

Will you tell him I'll take care

of it? About his son, I mean.

I'll do that. You

stayin' for the execution?

Then I'll see you

tomorrow. Watch yourselves.

Mr. Belyeu?

Were Dusty Wright and Constance close?

Oh, yeah. Thick as thieves, those two.

- Lovers?

- Whoa. You plowin' a little too close to the cotton, Bitsey.

That was just a rumor.

Nothing more. Night-night.

Zack, wake up.

- Did you throw the towel on the floor?

- What?

This towel was on my bathroom

floor. Did you throw it there?

Yeah, I guess. What, it's a motel.

- Would you do that at home?

- No.

Jesus, Bitsey, it's not like we're

staying in the friggin' Four Seasons.

Come on. Get the TV.

We're taking it with us.

Taking it with us? What

are you talking about?

- Where we going?

- Austin.

- Get the TV.

- All right.

Come on.

- Wanna make a hundred bucks?

- A hundred bucks? What do I gotta do?

We're going over the crime scene.

Put the TV on the bed, Zack.

Now, for the next hour, I want you to do

exactly what I say when I say to do it.

If I say jump, you jump.

- You want me to jump?

- That's just a figure of speech.

- Your boyfriend put the tripod back.

- He's not my boyfriend anymore.

- Do you still have a video camera?

- Yeah.

- Good. Get it.

- I gotta collect first.

Zack, give her the money.

Can you move that stuff off the

counter for me? By the lamp? Yeah.

Yeah. Thanks.

- Put the gloves on the dish rack.

- I don't have a dish rack.

- Zack, could you...

- Yeah.

Turn them inside out.

And put-put the duct

tape on the floor.

By the stove.

Okay.

- Now. Could you... What's your name?

- Nico's fine.

Nico, I want you to lie

down facing the counter.

We can imagine that part.

- Zack, put her in position.

- Okay.

All right. Move... Just move this way.

- All right.

- Yeah, forward. Forward. There.

Okay. On her side. Right.

Her top leg out a little. There.

Okay. Now, look at this.

She moves her foot. I noticed

this back at the motel.

She moves her foot quite

deliberately, and then she's still.

For another 15 seconds she's still.

And then she starts to struggle.

Now that doesn't make sense.

If this was a murder, she'd just be

struggling and then be still. She'd be dead.

Maybe she was faking,

hoping he'd go away.

Or...

- We've got to bag her.

- We're going a little bit too far here.

Okay.

- I'll do it.

- Uh...

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Well, thank you, Bobbi. Thank you.

Supreme Court death

clerk gave the go-ahead.

Give the keys to Zack and

stand over there by the tripod.

I want you to wait three minutes

before you take the bag off.

I'm really not so sure about

this. It's way too dangerous.

Three full minutes, Zack.

Stand over there with her.

And keep your eyes on your watch.

Go ahead.

- Twenty-two seconds... -

She shouldn't be doin' this.

Oh, my God.

This isn't cool!

- Bitsey?

No more experiments, all right?

Just tell me what's going on.

- Are you okay?

- She did it herself.

Ohh.

She did it herself. Ohh.

She used the gloves to keep her

fingerprints off the tape and bag.

Then she put them back

on the disk rack...

but upside-down and

inside-out, a housewife's habit.

Now, a murderer would have

just tossed them aside...

- like you do with a towel in a crap motel.

- Maybe. All right, maybe.

- But why wear these?

- Well, they threw me. But she needed them.

She knew that she would

instinctively try to rip the bag off.

And she swallowed the key

so she couldn't get to it.

She made sure there was no way out.

Why not hang yourself or take pills?

- Why take your clothes off? Why make it look like a murder?

- I don't know.

It's so calculated.

She's handcuffed, taped at the

mouth, the gloves, the tripod...

Why, Bitsey, why fake your own

murder? It doesn't make sense.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes