The Sandman (Vertigo) Page #6

SANDMAN:

Hurts, yes ... Some power returns to me,

simply by being here. But I placed too

much of myself in my tools. And they are

gone.

He sits down on a broken marble stair.

SANDMAN (CONT'D)

I wonder ... I wonder if it is all even

worth rebuilding.

Matthew speaks an aside to Lucien, not all that quietly:

MATTHEW:

Hell, I wonder if he can.

Lucien shoots Matthew a scolding look.

LUCIEN:

My Lord -- some things you should know,

items that need attention right away.

Many of the nightkind are missing. Lesser

dreams. And ...

(he swallows)

One of the major nightmares.

Sandman c*cks an eyebrow, waiting. Lucien doesn't like being

the messenger.

LUCIEN (CONT'D)

The Corinthian. Escaped into the waking

world, I'm afraid.

Sandman turns away. Before him is his reflection in a cracked

mirror, hanging askew on a wall. He looks up into his own

eyes a moment, then away -- and in the mirror, we get a

glimpse of a fat, gray face -- DESPAIR.

SANDMAN:

How long?

21.

LUCIEN:

Twenty years.

SANDMAN:

There is no telling the harm he may have

caused in that time.

(beat)

I blame myself. Had I been here,

fulfilling my function ...

MATTHEW:

Aww ... it wasn't your fault, boss.

SANDMAN:

No? Then whose?

(beat)

And, in my absence, how much further

havoc has been visited upon the waking

world?

INT. STANFORD RESEARCH CLINIC - NIGHT

FACES of SLEEPING PEOPLE, as seen on a row of black-and-white

video monitors. Cheap public-sector equipment -- out of date,

out of focus, one of the screens flipping endlessly. Below

each monitor EKGs slowly churn out reams of graph paper.

A DOCTOR moves down the line, checking the readouts with

professional indifference.

ON SCREEN:
A man sleeps peacefully -- his name is PAUL - and

then his legs twitch spasmodically, stop. A piece of masking

tape is hand-labeled 'PLMS/nocturnal myoclonus.' NEXT SCREEN:

An ELDERLY MAN begins thrashing in bed, SCREAMING, pulling

out electrodes. His eyes are open but he sees nothing.

DOCTOR:

(checks his watch)

Patient seventeen, night terror episode

at eleven-oh-five.

The Doctor expects a response, doesn't get it. He turns,

glances down the line -- where an ASSISTANT studies the

length of an EKG read-out, engrossed.

DOCTOR:

Did you get that?

ASSISTANT:

(re:
the read-out)

It's gotta be some kind of record. Three

day observation program, and she's never

made it past a level 2 sleep pattern.

Even then just for a few minutes.

22.

The Doctor looks interested for the first time, comes over,

leaving patient seventeen behind, still SCREAMING.

DOCTOR:

Three days without REM sleep? She should

see things crawling the walls by now.

ASSISTANT:

No sign of hallucinations.

She's part of the benzodiazepine study

...

DOCTOR:

What's her name?

ON SCREEN:
is a WOMAN, lovely, her face relaxed in the

peaceful beauty of sleep -- but here eyes are wide open,

staring enigmatically INTO CAMERA, unblinking.

ASSISTANT (O.S.)

Rose Walker.

INT. STANFORD RESEARCH CLINIC - ROOM - DAY

ROSE WALKER, dressed, quickly packs a few items into an

overnight bag. The Doctor appears in the doorway. He turns an

envelope in his hands.

DOCTOR:

We do appreciate your participation, Miss

Walker. Um, if we could persuade you,

we'd like to have you back for an

individual --

ROSE:

(cuts him off)

Yeah, yeah, I know. Lemme guess. I'm

special. You've never seen anything like

me. You want to run blood tests and do a

night-time polysomnogram. Maybe you'll

do a daytime multiple sleep latency test.

You'll find that my condition is non-

respiratory, and not stress induced.

You'll find my eye muscles lack tone

because my REM sleep is so rare, but you

won't know why.

(beat)

Is that the check?

DOCTOR:

Yes --

23.

Rose plucks it from his hands. She slings her overnight bag

over her shoulder.

ROSE:

Look, no offense, but ... I've been

monitored and studied and hooked up to

wires since I was ten. If I thought there

was any chance that you guys could get me

a good night's sleep, I'd take you up on

it. But --

She shrugs. A wave of the envelope, and she's gone.

EXT. STANFORD RESEARCH CLINIC - DAY

The envelope is torn open; Rose examines the check.

PAUL (O.S.)

How'd you do?

PAUL -- who we met briefly, a patient in the sleep center --

has been waiting. He wears a clean denim shirt, and one of

those wispy goatees favored by sensitive-artist types.

ROSE:

It'll get me through another semester.

You?

PAUL:

Same. Walk you home?

ROSE:

... sure.

Paul notes the reluctance in her voice.

PAUL:

Listen, Rose ... I'm sorry I ... Sorry

that ...

Rose glances at him from under raised eyebrows, a smile

playing across her lips.

ROSE:

Yes, Paul..?

PAUL:

That I couldn't talk to you ... after the

other night.

ROSE:

Paul ... don't worry about it. We just

had some kind of emotional meltdown and

we ended up in bed. It's been known to

happen.

24.

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