The Terminator Page #21

REESE:

Make sure there's none on the

threads, like this. Now screw

the end-cap on...very gently.

SARAH:

You must have had a fun child-

hood.

REESE:

That's good. Now, seven more

like that while I make fuses.

SARAH:

I was thinking, there's so

much I've got to show you

when we get through this.

It's mind boggling, the pos-

sibilities...Disneyland, the

beach, movies...matinees with

popcorn and foot-long hot dogs...

REESE:

Hot dogs?

SARAH:

I want to buy you a hot dog so

bad,Kyle...all the things you've

never seen and done. You're here,

but wherever you go, and whatever

you touch, you bring the war with

you.

REESE:

My whole life has been combat.

SARAH:

I want it to be over for you.

REESE:

Not possible.

SARAH:

I want it to be over for me too.

I feel like I slipped over some

invisible line, that I'm in your

world now. Everything's the same,

but I see it differently.

It's like, there's you and me,

and him...but nobody else can

understand or help or even touch

us.

Reese looks up and finally catches her gaze. He reaches

out for her hand and it seems he may be taking it to

comfort her.

But he turns her wrist to read her watch.

REESE:

We'll head out at 0200.

That gives you four hours

to sleep if you want. I'll

finish.

CUT TO:

211 INT. MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT 211

ANGLE ON TABLE - The bombs are neatly ranked, finished.

A nylon satchel lies nearby. The mess is cleaned up.

WIDE SHOT reveals Reese sitting in silent vigil at the

window. The room is dark, lit only by a streetlight

outside.

Sarah is asleep on the bed.

Reese sits cross-legged, shirtless, his body held rigid.

The image of discipline. The .357 is held loosely in one

hand on his lap. There is a fresh bandage on his shoulder.

Sarah wakes up and goes to him in the darkness. He looks

at her for a moment as she sits beside him, then back outside.

SARAH:

He'll find us, won't he?

REESE:

Probably. Sarah, if I get

zeroed...

SARAH:

Don't say that.

REESE:

If I do, you have to get away,

disappear without a trace.

Different country, different

name, everything. In case they

send another one.

SARAH:

It'll never be over, will it?

Look at me, I'm shaking.

Some legend, huh? You must

be pretty disappointed.

REESE:

No. I'm not.

Several beats before Sarah speaks again. Her eyes seem

luminous in the dark.

SARAH:

(softly)

Kyle, the women in your

time...what were they like?

REESE:

Good fighters.

SARAH:

That's not what I meant.

Was there someone special?

REESE:

Someone?

SARAH:

A girl. You know.

REESE:

(mechanically)

No.

(pause)

Never.

He looks away, outside the window

SARAH:

(softly)

I'm sorry.

Sarah studies him for a moment.

She's sitting slightly behind him and she puts her hands

on his shoulders and back, tracing the lines of his scars

with her fingertips.

SARAH:

So much pain.

REESE:

Pain can be controlled.

You disconnect it.

SARAH:

And so you feel nothing.

REESE:

It's better that way.

SARAH:

(with great

sympathy)

Oh, Kyle.

Reese takes a long, slow breath before he answers, and when

he does his voice has a new quality, an unfamiliar tenderness.

REESE:

John Connor gave me a picture

of you once. I never knew

why. It was very old. Torn.

Faded. You were young, like

you are now. You weren't

smiling...just a little sad...

I always wondered what you

were thinking at that second.

He closes his eyes, reaches toward her. His fingertips

trace the contour of her nose, chin, cheeks.

REESE:

(continuing)

I memorized every line, every

curve...

He opens his eyes, looking right at hers.

REESE:

(continuing)

Sarah, I came across time

for you. I love you.

I always have.

Sarah is quietly overwhelmed.

Reese looks away.

REESE:

(continuing)

I'm sorry. I shouldn't

have said...

SARAH:

Kyle...

She leans forward and kisses him.

His face is frozen. A mask.

She continues, tenderly.

He begins to respond.

The dam breaks and he holds her in a tight, trembling

embrace, clinging to her like life itself.

Kyle picks her up and carries her to the bed.

She kisses his neck and chest, tracing his scars with

her lips.

He unbuttons her blouse very slowly.

Sarah guides his powerful hands over her.

A SEQUENCE OF CUTS. DETAILS. IMPRESSIONS.

Sarah, a very close angle, as she grimaces in divine agony.

Reese, his face rapt.

His hand, clutching the pillow as if to kill it.

It is explosive, torrential. A confluence of fate and will.

CUT TO:

212 INT. MOTEL ROOM/LATER - NIGHT 212

TIGHT ON SARAH AND REESE in each other's arms. Lying

across his chest, she surveys his face as his eyes close

drowsily.

SARAH:

I bet you're ticklish.

REESE:

(uncompre-

hending)

Ticklish?

Sarah's hand moves OUT OF FRAME. After a moment Reese

looks down, puzzled.

REESE:

What are you doing?

SARAH:

(continuing

doggedly)

You'll beg for mercy in

a second.

Reese seems unperturbed. Finally he begins to squirm.

REESE:

I don't think I like this.

SARAH:

You're not supposed to.

Now Reese is becoming desperate. A grimace spreads across

his face. It becomes a grin. Then he's laughing, trying

to escape but she won't let him, and they collapse, laughing

together.

Sarah gazes at his grin, a glimpse of the Reese that might

have been, in another life.

A moment later the grin vanishes at the sound of dogs barking

outside.

Reese is off the bed in an instant, crouched tense, eyes

alert. Feral as ever.

REESE:

(whispering)

Listen to the dogs.

CUT TO:

213 EXT. MOTEL OFFICE - NIGHT 213

The German Shepherd, barking furiously, LUNGES TOWARD

CAMERA repeatedly, at the end of a chain.

A dark figure moves by in the F.G., out of the dog's reach.

CUT TO:

214/FX INT./EXT. MOTEL/TERMINATOR'S POV - NIGHT 214/FX

The digitized view is image-intensified, bright and stark

as a lunar landscape. PAN OFF the lunging dog to the row

of rooms facing the parking lot.

HANDHELD as we approach the doors.

It is WIDE ANGLE and the barrel of the AR-180 is visible at

the bottom of FRAME.

The nearest vehicle parked in front is a LARGE PICKUP TRUCK

WITH TWO DIRT BIKES lashed in the bed, seen prominently as

we pass.

The POV approaches a door. Number 14.

The door is KICKED OPEN.

Moving inside.

The assault rifle sprays the room, exploding the indistinct

forms on the bed. Staccato glare. Approaching the bed.

Nothing there put the shredded remain of sheets and pillows.

The POV shifts to the BACK DOOR, which is ajar, and moves

toward it. Through the door. Revealing an EMPTY YARD.

CUT TO:

215 INT. PICKUP TRUCK/PARKING LOT - NIGHT 215

Reese is under the dash, playing with the wires.

Sarah lies on the seat, clutching the nylon satchel, which

bulges with the explosive charges. She has dressed hastily

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