"THE LONG KISS GOODNIGHT" by Shane Black REVISED DRAFT February 24, 1995 A WINDOWPANE Assaulted from without by SNOWFLAKES. Wind tossed. INSIDE, a bed, dappled with moon shadow. A LITTLE GIRL, fast asleep. The wind whistles and sighs outside. She DREAMS... Eyelids closed, eyes roving beneath... then suddenly they SNAP open. A stifled cry. She thrashes for her STUFFED BEAR, as a soft voice says: VOICE Shhhhh. And there's MOM, kneeling beside her. Vague shape in the dimness. The full moon throws light across one sparkling eye. LITTLE GIRL Mommy, the men on the mountain...! MOM Shhhh. Gone, all gone now. (strokes her hair) I'm here. Mommy's always here and no one can ever hurt you. Safe now... safe and warm... snug as a bug in a rug. (beat) I'll sit with you, think you can sleep? LITTLE GIRL Turn on the nightlight. The mother nods. Passes her left hand gently over the girl's forehead. MOM Close your eyes now. I love you. The child subsides, breathing steady. Eyes closed. The mother rises. Regards her through the dimness. Slowly turns, heads for the door. Flicks on a Winnie the Pooh NIGHTLIGHT -- Her entire right forearm is slicked with blood. More blood on her Czech-made MP-5 machine gun. She staggers just a little... barely noticeable. Passes out on the light. Into darkness. Sits beside her daughter's bed. The child sleeps peacefully. Outside snow slithers at the glass. FADE OUT. Pause. Blackness. FADE IN: It's snowing in southwestern Ohio. Before us, nestled in the rolling hills: a postcard slice of suburbia. SUPER the legend: UPPER SANDUSKY, OHIO. Three Weeks Earlier. Peaceful. Serene. It's the town in the glass bubble, the one God shakes to watch it snow... EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY CHILDREN, dozens of them, bursting from houses. Slapping of screen doors. A HORSE-DRIVEN SLEIGH is rattling down Main Street. Flanked by kids. Christmas carols, droning from loudspeakers. HAPPY, LAUGHING SANTA waves howdy, chortling his "Ho's" in groups of three, meanwhile he's really a grizzled old fire marshall named EARL, freezing his nuts off. Beside him sits MRS. CLAUS, about whom we notice two things: First, she's the June in this June/December pair -- and second, she's to kill for, an effortlessly beautiful woman. For the record, meet SAMANTHA CAINE. SAMANTHA How you holdin' up? EARL Freezing my nuts off. Santa produces a bottle of Seagrams. Starts to open it. SAMANTHA *Put that away*. Earl complies, grumbling. Some teenage burnouts howl from a street corner: BURNOUT Ow! Mrs. Claus is HOT! Samantha squirms in her seat, scowling. SAMANTHA I can't take it, Earl, this dumb costume is giving me a wedgie. Driving me crazy, but there's these *kids* here -- EARL Right, you don't wanna be rootin' -- SAMANTHA In front of little Billy, age four, yeah. "Look, Mommy, Mrs. Claus chooses to go butt-mining." EARL This is little Billy talking? SAMANTHA Age four, kid's unbelievable. (sighs) I'm too old for this, Earl. EARL Yeah, yeah. Spare me, I got a prostate the size of a melon. Samantha stares at him. EARL Seriously, half my life's a doctor's hand up my ass, I should marry the fucker. SAMANTHA Say that a little louder, there's a kid in back didn't catch it. EARL It's not that fucking little Billy again, is it? SERIES OF SHOTS: Throughout the following NARRATION, we watch Sam: 1) Rallying the varsity CHEERLEADERS; 2) Showing off a GERBIL to her seventh graders; 3) Kneeling in church with her HUSBAND, blessing herself; 4) Absently fingering a silver KEY which she wears round her neck; and finally 5) Probing at a tiny ridged SCAR under her hairline. SAMANTHA (V.O.) Eight years. I keep hiring detectives, but they never find anything. (beat) I was born 3000 days ago on the beach in New Jersey. I entered the world fully grown, wearing clothes I don't remember buying. Nothing in the pockets but a single key, filed smooth. (beat) I'm married now. Nice guy, early forties. I stand naked in the mirror and try to guess my age. Thirty-five, maybe. I have lots of scars. EXT. SNOWY SUBURBAN STREET - AFTERNOON Samantha walks with her husband HAL. Late thirties. Balding. Coming out of St. Paul's Episcopal Church. SAMANTHA Hal, I gotta tell you, of all the Christmas pageants I've seen, this was by far the most recent. HAL Aw, honey, I had teenage girls playing the wise men, what'd you expect? SAMANTHA Teenage boys? HAL Well, I thought they did fine. SAMANTHA Just fine? Come on, it was ground breaking stuff. The first Nativity where Joseph stares at the wise men's tits all night. She hugs him good-naturedly. As they near their house, an eight year-old GIRL drops from a TREEHOUSE and comes running, leaps into Mommy's arms -- SAMANTHA Hey, you! The kid leaps into her arms, as we HEAR: SAMANTHA (V.O.) Her name is Caitlin. She's my daughter and when I woke up on that long-ago day, she was two months grown in my belly. I don't know who put her there. I may never. I just know she's mine, and she's about to turn eight. The family troops up the driveway to their SUBURBAN HOME. Chipper little A-frame. Christmas lights abound. Behind the house, a vast frozen POND. It is idyllic. INT. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL - NIGHT PARTY in progress. Laughter. Mingling. In the corner, CAITLIN puts pipe cleaner antlers on the gerbil. Samantha shepherds her home room class past the punchbowl. She is radiant. EARL surreptitiously nips from a silver flask. SAMANTHA (V.O.) 3000 days. I teach now, fifth grade. I have the key, I wear it around my neck for luck. Except for that, and my name, all traces of my prior life are lost. (beat) Was I in love ever...? Did someone look in my eyes, did I say, "Darling, I'll never forget you...?" (beat) Because fuck me, darling, I managed. ACROSS THE ROOM -- Her daughter CAITLIN hangs with two young girls. Shows off a plush TEDDY BEAR, says: CAITLIN His name is Mr. Perkins, my Mom named him for me. GIRL #1 points, whispers excitedly: GIRL #1 That's her? Caitlin nods. Kid #2: GIRL #2 That's who? GIRL #1 (excitedly) Her Mom, she's got amnesia. GIRL #2 Swear? CAITLIN Swear. GIRL #2 Too weird. A voice interrupts their reverie: SAMANTHA Excuse me. The girls whirl around, startled -- Samantha is leaning on the desk behind them. Busted. She smiles amiably: SAMANTHA Hello, girls. Caitlin, I'm going to help Dad with the refreshments. (leans in, whispers) Which one's Dad? I forget. The girls look at her like she's grown a tail. SAMANTHA *Kidding*. CUT TO: A DOOR KICKED OPEN, WHAM-! Splintered. Lock shattered. INT. MOTEL ROOM - AKRON, OHIO - NIGHT A NUDE COUPLE on the bed. They look up, startled -- as three men burst through the door. The LEADER: a haggard-looking man sporting a soup-stain on his tie, whoops, that's the design, sorry. MITCH HENESSEY, private investigator and con man extraordinaire. He flashes a phony badge: YOUNG MAN POLICE. DON'T MOVE. MAN ON BED What the hell is this...?!! YOUNG MAN Don't give me an attitude, sir. You're assuming I won't shoot your sorry ass, and everyone knows when you make an assumption, you make an ass out of u and mption. I'm Sergeant Madigan, Vice, and if you cop a 'tude, jerkoff, I will see to it you spend the next ten years in prison getting ass-fucked, and if the case is thrown out because my arrest is too violent, then I will personally HIRE men to ass-fuck you for ten years. So if you're an ass-fucking fan, go ahead and mouth off, but meanwhile you're under arrest for the crime of prostitution, now shut the fuck up before I cut out your kneecaps and use 'em as ashtrays. (beat) Officer Donleavy, read him his rights. Donleavy looks pale, pasty. He stutters a few words. Loses interest. Wanders away across the room. MAN ON BED (a trifle confused) Please, this is my first, I... I've never done this before, I'll do anything...! YOUNG MAN Sir, listen to me. I understand you're not a wealthy man, but in light of the damage this arrest will cause you, we might be able to make an arrangement -- Donleavy plops in a chair. Belches. Grins foolishly. The man in bed points to him: MAN IN BED Is he all right...? THE REMAINING COP is swaying on his feet. Like a tree in a hurricane. Donleavy pukes all over the floor. We CUT TO: INT. BARREN GREY OFFICE - NIGHT THERE'S THE GIRL. The one in bed moments ago. She and Henessey are dividing a wad of bills. GIRL We gotta stop using bums. MITCH (lights a smoke) Forget it. They looked like cops. We pulled it off, didn't we? GIRL It was embarrassing. MITCH You want I should hire actors, for Chrissake? These guys are cheap, they work for food. GIRL Uh-huh. So, when they puke all over you is that, like, a refund? MITCH Trin, I'm pissin' myself over here, you're so funny. What's this? He indicates an envelope earmarked for him. Labeled in magic marker: SAMANTHA CAINE. TRIN New case, honest to God chick with amnesia. You want the job? Henessey opens the envelope. Extracts a black and white HEAD SHOT of Samantha, says immediately: HENESSEY Yep. Yep, yep, yep. Stares, mesmerized. Trin peers over his shoulder: TRIN Wasn't there a lady on TV named Samantha? Had a magic nose or something. HENESSEY 'Bewitched', yeah. Good show. Chick lived with a faggy guy, then in the last season it was a different faggy guy. Okay. Here's what we do; get on the horn to amnesia chick, tell her yes. Then tell her in 1967 she promised to give me a blow job. Worth a try, right? EXT. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL - NIGHT SAMANTHA and HAL bid goodnight to their friends and neighbors. Hal steers her away from a middle-aged teacher. HAL Christ, guy's all over you like a cheap suit. SAMANTHA That's funny, there's a cheap suit all over him like a cheap suit. She notices EARL sitting in the bushes by the side of the building. He is speaking intently to the gerbil. HAL Oh, boy. Someone's gotta take my father home. I'm plowed. Samantha takes the keys from him. Breathes deeply of the chill night air. Smiling. Surveys the scene... their friends. The neighborhood. Sighs: SAMANTHA This is all I ever wanted. At which point, young Caitlin says: CAITLIN How would you know? ESTABLISHING SHOT - STATE PRISON - OHIO - NIGHTTIME Switch gears: A grim, grey building. Guarded. Patrolled. INT. PRISON - TELEVISION VIEWING ROOM - EVENING A tired TV set drones to an audience of one. Let's call him ONE-EYED JACK. In fact, let's give him one eye, the other replaced by a PATCH. He smokes cigarettes, stubs them out on the chair's armrest. Throws offhand glances at the TV screen. NEWS ANCHOR (ON T.V.) ...So much for the flame-swallowing Santa of Boone County. Meanwhile, KTVA news journeyed to Upper Sandusky, where Santa's own *Mrs*. Kringle turned out to celebrate her hubby's worldwide tour. After one look at her, I'm thinking Santa got what he wanted this Christmas. The happy news chatter continues. Jack isn't listening. Jack isn't talking or breathing either. He's simply STARING at the TV screen, jaw slack... ONE-EYED JACK Gotta be fuckin' kidding. No. No way. SHIIIT!! He SCREAMS as we CUT TO: EXT. WOODLANDS - WITH SAMANTHA - DRIVING If you had to pick a night to die horribly, you'd be hard pressed to find a nicer one. A country highway. Bathed in moonlight. Crusted with snow. Pontiac Sunbird, wending its way through the wooded slopes. INT. SUNBIRD - SAME TIME SAMANTHA drives while Earl (the SANTA we saw earlier) reclines, still drunk. EARL You're married what now, five years...? He makes a thumb circle. Jabs his finger in and out of it: EARL You and Hal, how often you two...? SAMANTHA Stick our fingers in out hands and pull them out again? Every chance we get. Shut your piehole. EARL Don't get all snippy... SAMANTHA Earl, do me a favor. Every few words say "hic" and have bubbles come out your mouth, okay? EARL Goddamnit, I'm not drunk. Would a drunk man have this much raw talent? He starts playing the Hawaiian nose harp. In Sam's ear, she can't help it, snorts laughter -- THE ADULT DEER appears perfectly framed in the Sunbird's headlights. Dead ahead. Sam looks up, face etched in sudden TERROR. *No time to think*. SWERVES, no dice...! BROADSIDES the animal -- And it comes THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD. All two hundred and fifteen pounds of it. Fucks up their night altogether. Actually, it only makes it *halfway* through -- But the damn thing is ALIVE. More than alive. KICKING. Thrashing. Squawling with pain and rage. A FLAILING HOOF takes out Earl. Kills him in less than a second. Collapses his skull. Sam rides the wheel, screaming. An antler gouges her chest. Rips. Draws blood. She SWERVES, madly -- Hits the tree doing 50. ANOTHER ANGLE Sam goes airborne. Explodes through the windshield, outward bound. Shower of glass, spritz of blood... And then she's flying. Slow motion, end over end... We lose all SOUND. Silence as she tumbles. Below and behind her, the Sunbird noiselessly ERUPTS. Fireball, sky high -- Sam floating. Describes a lazy arc in mid-air... Whoomph-! Disappears into the snow. Swallows her, leaves a silhouette. Around her, trees catch fire. Burn. She lies in her impromptu sarcophagus. Out of sight. THE FLAMING DEER totters from the wreck, thrashing. Scene from a nightmare. Nightmare part two: from the snow, from the human-shaped divot -- arises a woman of blood. She stumbles from the drift. Toward the wreck. And though it's clearly Sam Caine under all that crimson, there's something wrong about her *eyes*. En route to the car, she kneels beside the suffering deer, its flesh scorched and torn -- and KILLS it. Puts it away with a sharp CRACK-!ing blow to the head. Stands, eyes squirming with madness... The car's an inferno. Earl is dead. She turns away, wiping blood from her eyes -- Comes face to face with a SNOWMAN. A jolly white fellow. Charcoal briquettes for eyes. She watches, fascinated, as he MELTS in the blast furnace heat -- With warning, she *screams*. Crumples to the ground. The snowman's eyes fall out. He melts away and away... DISSOLVE TO: EXT. SUBURBAN HOUSE - AKRON, OHIO - TWILIGHT Elsewhere. Tract housing, late-model cars. MITCH HENESSEY delivers a Christmas gift to his nine year-old son TODD: not just any gift, the *Midtown Saturn Orbiting Precinct*, with action figures. Henessey points to the box, engrossed: HENESSEY ...and here's the jail here, see...? Escape chute for the Borian, he's a dinosaur guy, Moves quick, don't take no shit neither. See, you can make him shoot the guard -- ah, hell, look, I played with it a little myself, I'm sorry. VOICE interrupts them: VOICE (O.S.) TODD, TIME FOR DINNER. NOW. An awkward pause. Henessey scowls. HENESSEY Hey, you go ahead, um... hope you like the present. TODD It's awesome, Dad. Mom, though, she... (sighs) She gets weird. On my birthday, when you gave me the Schwinn... she called bicycle stores to see if there'd been any robberies. Henessey manages to control his face. Says tightly: HENESSEY Tell her I don't steal them locally. He watches, forlorn, as his son vanishes inside the house. Christmas lights, blinking feebly. We HEAR, supered: HENESSEY (V.O.) Dear Ma: Filled out the child support stuff last week. Office got pissed, under ex-spouse I put "Spawn of Satan, Dweller in Eternal Dark." Just being honest, Ma, lady wants me to die. As he reaches his car, his BEEPER goes off. EXT. PHONE BOOTH - MINUTES LATER Henessey on the phone. Dials. Waits. We HEAR: HENESSEY (V.O.) I'd go without a ripple, that's the truth. Ex-con. Ex-husband. Expired. Thanks, Ma, for hiding the truth from me for so long. Or maybe you believed in me. I miss you. I hope you believed, even for a day. No one did, Ma. No one at all. It's cold here. I'm sorry you're dead. Your son, Mitch. The phone picks up. He says: HENESSEY Me. What's up? TRIN (O.S.) Mitch, we got a bite on amnesia chick's photo. Found a guy remembers seeing her, fall of '87. He wants cash, should I grease him? HENESSEY Hell, no! Use your head, girl. Let the fucker squeeze the Charmin. TRIN You kidding? Guy's hideous. I'll do it, but we're talking time and a half. Plus a night on the town when I get back, and *no cockfights this time*. INT. SAMANTHA'S HOSPITAL ROOM - TWO DAYS LATER Samantha, having survived. Laid up now in an austere hospital room. Listening to silence. Stares out the window at a sunlit tree. Head bandaged. Frowns: SAMANTHA I want a cigarette, why do I want a cigarette...? Outside, snow slithers... Her eyelids, slowly closing. Slides off the edge of consciousness... IN THE DREAM: She stands on a windswept cliff, before an incongruous FULL-LENGTH MIRROR. Staring at her reflection -- it's bleeding from a scalp wound. She probes her head... frowns. Nothing. Nothing but the tiny RIDGED SCAR she's had for as long as she can remember. SAMANTHA What... what do you want...? The reflection eyes her grimly. Haggard. Tired. REFLECTION I want a cigarette. SAMANTHA I don't smoke. REFLECTION (chuckles) You used to. Samantha is suddenly holding a cigarette. She raises it to her lips. Her reflection MIRRORS her precisely. Except Samantha COUGHS, chokes on the smoke -- While her bloody reflection takes a long, satisfying drag. REFLECTION Relax, you can drop the act. Nice and smooth, take another hit. There you go. See how easy it comes back? They are now in perfect synchronicity. Sam inhales easily. REFLECTION *I'm* coming back. You know that, don't you? Name's Charly, by the way. You're gonna love me. The reflection grins. There's blood on its TEETH. INT. SAMANTHA'S HOME - DAY Back at home, business as usual, pre-Christmas. A COMMOTION has arisen: Gingerly, bones still aching, Samantha moves toward the KITCHEN. HAL and CAITLIN trail behind. HAL Honey, you can't cook, I'm not wrong about this. SAMANTHA I'm *remembering*, Hal. Things are coming back. Trust me, I'm a chef, I know it. CAITLIN Daddy, make her stop! SAMANTHA Hush. Go to the garage and get me something, anything. A veggie, go, man, go! I'm hot to trot. INT. KITCHEN/GARAGE - SAME Hal worriedly exits to the garage. Plucks a tomato from the fridge, tosses it to Caitlin, who stands in the door. HAL Tomato. Caitlin turns, tosses it to Sam -- CAITLIN Tomato. Who catches it, plops it on the cutting board and proceeds to DICE it to SIMTHEREENS. Razor-thin slices. Knife a blur. Missing her fingers by millimeters, never faltering, like a mad mumblety-pegger -- HAL Onion, flying in. Sam catches it. Knife flurries. Pieces, flying up. SAMANTHA More. Faster. And it becomes a bucket brigade. Hal heaves veggies to Caitlin who spins and relays to Mom who slices, dices, purees, and even makes curly fries. Veggies, incoming. HAL starts to lose it, starts lobbing them at Caitlin, one after another, she giggles, starts throwing them overhand -- CAITLIN Tomato. Tomato. Tomato. And now it's a food fight, PELTING Mom, and the floor is COVERED with food as Hal stumbles in laughing, scoops up Caitlin -- Samantha shakes her head, grinning, dices to pieces a last, lovely radish. Ends with a flourish, TA-DAH-! Doesn't think: Flips the knife point up on ONE FINGER. Tips it for balance. Lobs a tomato. Slings the knife without looking, pins it to the wall, KA-CHUK--! Everyone goes silent. The knife, quivering. Caitlin and Hal turn as one, gaping at her. She shrugs numbly. Blinks. SAMANTHA Uh... chefs do that. INT. BOILER ROOM - DAY OR NIGHT, IMPOSSIBLE TO TELL Underground. Water GURGLES through overhead pipes. Furnaces hum and tick in the sweaty gloom. A SHIRTLESS MAN is tied to a chair. Weeping. Before him, what looks like a young GQ model. Blonde. Gorgeous. Impeccably attired. For the record, TIMOTHY. He looks his captive in the eye as the guy blubbers: MAN Please, man... I don't know why you gotta kill me... But use the gun, not the knife. Please. As a fucking favor, I'm begging you... TIMOTHY It'll be over soon. MAN Jesus, man... I... I'm scared of the knife... Shit, I can't handle getting shots at the doctors, man, PLEASE...! TIMOTHY Last chance. What do you know about a town called Santa Claus? MAN What is this, *what the fuck is this*?? I'm FBI, for Chrissake, you can't do this to me. I don't know ANYTHING. Timothy stares him full in the face, eyes narrowed... as though seeing into his brain. He nods, satisfied. TIMOTHY No. You don't. (beat) I can always tell, you know... If someone's lying to me. A little skill of mine, something to trot out at parties. He slams home the knife. We don't see it, but we FEEL the impact. The FBI man's face contorts in SHOCK. Twisted. Inches away from Timothy, their eyes lock... A CELLULAR PHONE BEEPS. Timothy reacts, annoyed. Plucks it from his belt and flips it open: TIMOTHY Timothy. VOICE (O.S.) Message from Mr. Daedalus. TIMOTHY I'm listening. He shrugs at his captive. Rolls his eyes. The guy's still dying, still on the KNIFE. VOICE (O.S.) He says he's sorry, but he needs you right away. Something's come up. TIMOTHY Nix. I'm just finishing up here. Then I'm going bunjee jumping. VOICE (O.S.) He's aware of your weekend plans, and he apologizes. TIMOTHY All right, what's so fucking important? VOICE (O.S.) Your old colleague, One-Eyed Jack...? Recently escaped from a high-security prison, as you're aware. But listen to this: prior to his escape, seems he saw something on TV that disturbed him. So much he had to be sedated. TIMOTHY I saw it, too. It's called "Empty Nest." How the fuck is it my business? VOICE (O.S.) The man was overheard talking to himself under sedation. (beat) He said Charly Baltimore's alive, sir. Timothy is silent. SUIT I know it's incredible, sir, but... if she were alive, I'm thinking she might be in contact with the old man in Pennsylvania. Should I -- TIMOTHY Tap his phone, yes. And tell Daedalus I'm on my way. Timothy out. He clicks off, face troubled. Withdraws the knife. Checks his clothing. Not one speck of blood. INT. SUPERMARKET - CHECKOUT STAND - AFTERNOON A CARTON OF MARLBORO REDS hits the stack of groceries. HAL looks at his wife, bewildered. SAMANTHA They were on sale. At the next register over, a duo of Canadians throw looks her way. Confer in rapid-fire French, subtitled for us: CANADIAN #1 Ooh, j'aimerais la baiser. (Subtitle: I'd like to fuck her.) The checker looks up, smiles: CHECKER Don't you love hearing people speak French? CANADIAN #2 Oui, j'veux etirer celle-la autour d'une chaise. Comme je le vois, une femme c'est comme Gumby avec des seins. (Subtitle: I'll stretch her over a chair, women are merely Gumbys with tits.) HAL Beautiful language. He turns to Samantha -- except Sam isn't there. Her arm shoots out-! CLAMPS on one of the men. By the throat. Catches him like a fucking VICE. Her voice a sibilant hiss: SAMANTHA *Allez, Gumby etiriait le cou, fils de pute*. Subtitle: "Gumby's gonna stretch your neck, motherfucker." Accent flawless. Eyes like steel. The man will go on to start a profitable construction business with the bricks he shits. SLAM CUT TO: SAMANTHA - ON THE PHONE TO HER SHRINK - INTERCUT Jubilant, can't contain herself: SAMANTHA I speak French. PSYCHIATRIST You do. SAMANTHA You bet your life, fluent French, whatever the fuck that means. (chortles) Quand j'étais a l'ecole, Jai eu un professeur qui s'est fabriqué du dentifrice! PSYCHIATRIST You just said when you were in school, your teacher was made of toothpaste. SAMANTHA Right, he was, you got a problem with that? Pasty Joe, we called him. Look, the accent's perfect, so piss off. I'M A FRENCH CHEF, YA-HOO. EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY Samantha and daughter CAITLIN sing a hearty chorus of "Frere Jaques." Sam giggles , Caitlin looks nervous; astride her new two-wheeler BICYCLE while Sam finishes removing the training wheels. Caitlin points to her stuffed TEDDY BEAR. CAITLIN Put Perkins in the basket. He's luck. SAMANTHA Mr. Perkins, going in the basket. CAITLIN Are the training wheels off? SAMANTHA Just pretend they're still there. Piece of cake. You can do it. CAITLIN Wait...! I'm scared. SAMANTHA Shhh. Nothing to be scared of. Pretend you're one of the X-men, you're tough. Let's go, now. Three, two, one... CAITLIN Mom, I can't do it, swear -- Samantha sets her sailing. Laughs excitedly. The bike weaves, side to side... hits the curb and topples with a CRASH. Spills Caitlin to the pavement. Now's she's CRYING. CAITLIN Ouch--! I can't do it, it HURTS-! Samantha walks over briskly. Face set in determined lines. SAMANTHA Nonsense. You can do it. You don't want to, but you can. CAITLIN My arm hurts, please take me home...! SAMANTHA You can go home, Caitlin. You can ride there. An unpleasant note is edging into her voice. The louder the kid cries, the more Samantha starts to SIMMER. CAITLIN Mom, no...! SAMANTHA Look, I know you're afraid, that's the whole *point*, can you see that? Now stop being a little baby and get on the damn bike. She hoists her onto the seat. Caitlin cries and hollers. SAMANTHA You gonna be afraid of things all your life? Huh? That what you want? CAITLIN My wrist hurts...! *Snap*. Something lets go. Suddenly Samantha's right in her face: SAMANTHA Life is pain. Get used to it. See, you *will* ride this bike home, princess. You will ride it and you will not fall again, *is that understood*...? Eyes cold and lifeless. She is not herself. CUT TO: INT. SAMANTHA'S HOUSE - TWILIGHT CAITLIN huddles on the steps, itching at her brand new WRIST CAST. Eavesdropping on her parents. In the kitchen a counter- top TV is on, the Three Stooges. Samantha is on the phone, saying: SAMANTHA Yes, I'm three blocks past the gas station... Right. Thank you Mr. Henessey, I'll see you shortly. She hangs up as HAL ENTERS behind her... She doesn't turn around. Samples the topping of a cream pie. Stares at the linoleum floor. He regards her with angry, vindictive eyes: HAL She rode all the way home. She didn't fall, not once. She didn't cry. (beat) You're good. You should work with kids, you know that? SAMANTHA She said her wrist hurt. I didn't know it was broken, God. I can't even remember what I said to her...! Hal takes a breath, composes himself. HAL We can still make six o'clock mass, you coming? Sam surveys her perfect kitchen. Runs her hand over a hanging pot. Looks sadly at her husband. Whispers: SAMANTHA A private detective's coming by, he... he's found something. (beat) I may have to go away. For a bit. Now please leave me alone. HAL Go away. With a detective. Jesus, it's the holidays, Sam -- SAMANTHA Are you deaf? I said leave me alone. Go to church. Drink blood. Drink some for me. They stand in tableau. An electric silence... Broken quite suddenly by the sound of SINGING. CHRISTMAS CAROLERS. Outside the front door. The sweet strains of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" wafts in through the window. Except the sweet strains ain't so sweet. These carolers are TERRIBLE. Missing by a country octave. Sam and Hal look at each other, what the hell...? EXT. THE FRONT PORCH - JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR - NIGHT THE CAROLERS continue their interesting rendition. Snowflakes fall. All is quiet. All is bright. Especially bright is the SHOTGUN BARREL pressed to the throat of the lead soprano. HE- 109. Over and under combo. Shotgun on top. HE cannon on bottom. You'd sing shitty too. INT. HOUSE - SAME Samantha hurries to the door. Carrying a bowl of festive M&M's. Just as she gets to the door, the singing STOPS. Footfalls running away, that's odd... She opens the door. Carolers, gone. She's eye to eye with ONE-EYED JACK. ONE-EYED JACK Evening Charly. Long time. He swings the big GUN. Slams the barrel into her. Glass shatters, M&M's everywhere. She gapes at him, dumbstruck, unable to THINK... Hurry it up, lady, we need a decision, live or *die* -- SHE GRABS THE GUN BARREL. Wrenches the gun...! On the steps CAITLIN howls, eyes like saucers -- CAITLIN Mommy...! SAMANTHA GET OUUTTTTT!!!! Sam's cry is a veritable shriek. HAL LAUNCHES himself from the kitchen doorway. Pounces on Jack, snarling -- brave, useless. For his trouble, gets three broken ribs and a trip to the fireplace, airborne. Comes down. Catches fire. ROLLS, over and over on broken ribs -- JACK kicks Samantha in the gut. She collapses onto the stairs. Splinters the banister. That's when he sees CAITLIN. Top of the stairs, paralyzed. SAMANTHA NO!!!! Jack is already moving forward. SPIN-COCKS the shotgun, draws a bead -- Promptly slips on festive M&M's. Goes down. Gun goes off, WHAM-! A flat concussion. The banister EXPLODES. A storm of wood chips, as SAMANTHA surges up the stairs, toward her daughter -- JACK. On the ground. Fires, *wham*--! The wall DISAPPEARS three inches from Caitlin's head. Blown to shreds, you can see outdoors. Samantha doesn't miss a beat. Grabs her daughter -- flings her OUTSIDE. Through the hole in the wall. Takes her by the belt and fucking HURLS her out into space...! EXT. SIDE OF HOUSE - SAME TIME Two stories up. The kid is ejected, flailing. Floats in SLOW MOTION. Across a ten foot gap -- INTO THE TREEHOUSE. Sails head over heels into the place. Hits with a CRASH. Alive and unhurt. BACK INSIDE THE HOUSE Samantha didn't even look. Didn't need to. Here comes JACK. Up the staircase. Reloading. Samantha launches herself down the stairs. COLLIDES, head on -- Down they go. Jack, rolls to his feet. Propels her into the KITCHEN. INT. KITCHEN - SAME TIME She hits, spray of cat food. SKIDS. Across the linoleum, slams to a stop. Hard. Cupboard pops open, out comes the IRONING BOARD. Falls into place, SNAP--! A GUN BLAST disintegrates it. Reveals Sam, cowering behind. ONE-EYED JACK I want my eye back, bitch. Samantha struggles to her feet. Dazed. Jack abandons the shotgun. Takes the IRON down from its spot on the shelf -- Slams it against her head. ONE-EYED JACK Goddamn you. Fight me. What's wrong with you, *fight* me! CLOSE ON TV: Stooge Joe Besser mugs wildly, takes a pie in the face. Jack raises his arm for the killing stroke -- Samantha takes Hal's cream pie from the counter and shatters every bone in his face. Comes from nowhere. Back foot planted, body twisting, entire organism focused into the outstretched arm, WHACK-! We have never seen anyone move this fast. Samantha RECOILS. Startled by what she's done -- The glass dish is SPLINTERED into his head. It STICKS there. He topples. Hits the linoleum. She straddles him, breathing hard. Winded. The barking dog "Jingle Bells" plays inanely in the background. Samantha stares. Trembling. Pokes the body. Nothing. Pokes it again. Still nothing. She leans forward. Grips the neck and wrenches, CRACK-! Just making sure. She out of it. In shock. Glaring at her own hands as if demanding an excuse for their behavior. There is pie filling on her fingers. She kneels beside the corpse, catatonic. Stares. Absent-mindedly licks the bloodied cream. HAL is standing in the doorway. Wide-eyed. He has seen Samantha break the man's neck. She looks at him, frowns. SAMANTHA It took me three seconds. That's... that's good, huh...? He stares, dumbstruck. She blinks. *Snaps out of it*. SAMANTHA Caitlin. We gotta find Caitlin. She gets up. We RUN with her to the front door -- she flings it open and collides with MITCHELL HENESSEY. Private dick. Runs right into him. HENESSEY Hey--! Slow down. The kid's okay, she's in my car, what the hell is going on? Henessey spins, as FOUR POLICE CRUISERS pull up. Vomit up a bevy of COPS, swarming toward the house. He spins back to Samantha -- As she collapses to the floor. FADE OUT: Pause. FADE IN. Super the legend: ONE WEEK LATER. ESTABLISHING - SAMANTHA'S HOUSE - MORNING Early morning quiet. HENESSEY and SAMANTHA are throwing suitcases into the back of his battered Chrysler. INT. HOUSE - LATER - EVERYTHING'S PACKED Sam's looked better. Kneels beside Caitlin, says softly: SAMANTHA That man who tried to hurt us...? If I stay here... other people will come. I have to leave. Just for a little while. Caitlin looks at the floor. Doesn't respond. Samantha reaches in a cupboard. Produces a box of CANDLES. Lights a match, touches flame to one of them. SAMANTHA I want you to light a candle and keep it in the kitchen window. And never, *ever* let it go out, because as long as it burns...? It means you're thinking of me. And if I'm alone... if it's dark and I'm lost... It's how I'll find my way home. She touches Caitlin's wrist cast. Pain in her features. She grabs a marker pen and writes a TELEPHONE NUMBER on it. SAMANTHA That's for a portable phone. I keep it with me, you call me anytime, you don't worry about the bill. And last but not least -- She reaches behind her head. Unhooks the KEY, the one she wears around her neck. SAMANTHA For luck. Slips it over her daughter's head. Looks up at HAL, eyes brimming. He whispers: HAL No matter what you find, I'm not scared. Not of you. Not ever... SERIES OF SHOTS: EXT. SUBURBAN TOWN As it fades behind Henessey's Chrysler. Leaving behind porch- bound elders, dimestore clerks. Grinning children, hair like spun straw. All fading... DISSOLVE TO: INT. HENESSEY'S PLYMOUTH - THE OPEN ROAD - DAY Henessey sings with the radio. Loudly. He's got the lyrics wrong: "I'm not talking 'bout the linen... And I don't wanna change your life..." Samantha endures as much as she can. Speaks up: SAMANTHA "Movin' in." HENESSEY Hah? SAMANTHA It's not linen. The song's not about linen. HENESSEY Whatever. You cold? SAMANTHA (shivers) I'm freezing. HENESSEY Turn on the heater. It doesn't work, but it makes a very annoying noise which distracts from the cold. SAMANTHA I'll pass. (clears her throat) So, you're a former cop. Atlanta, was it...? Stop me if I'm out of line, but I'm curious. How did you... well, succeed? I mean, where six other detectives failed? HENESSEY You kidding? Pure luck. Plus my secretary used her feminine wiles. She's got two, one wile per side. Huge. No kidding, you can see 'em coming around a corner, you got time to comb your hair. Nice kid, you'd dig her. (beat) Ah. Here we are. EXT. STORAGE RENTAL PLACE - DAY As they clamber from the car, Henessey shoves his sunglasses into his sportcoat. SINGS: HENESSEY Putting my glasses in my cooooat..." Samantha looks at him like he's sprouted wings. HENESSEY I sing what I do so I'll remember it. "Turning off the downstairs liiiight..." You know? Samantha smiles thinly. The man's a lunatic. INT. STORAGE FACILITY - DAY An old, walrus-mustached IRISHMAN ushers them down a concrete hallway. The old man hangs back with Henessey. Whispers: WALRUS MAN The elder Trelawney rented to her in '87, aye. Ne'er could bring himself to dispose of her things. I'faith, she's welcome to whatsoe'er she wishes, for ne'er has trod these walls a lass so easy on the eye, divil take me if I'm lyin'. Henessey lights a cigarette, says: HENESSEY Do me a favor. Say, "Always after me Lucky Charms." ANGUS "Always after me Lucky Charms." HENESSEY Thanks. Just needed to hear that. INT. STORAGE ROOM - MOMENTS LATER Drab, musty. Filled with disused tables, lamps, farm implements... Jimmy Hoffa watches TV in the corner. HENESSEY See anything you recognize? SAMANTHA Yeah, this dirt used to be outside my window, shut up and let me look. (sighs) I'm sorry, Mr. Henessey, I'm a little on edge. She pauses. Surveys the musty compartment, faraway look in her eye... says softly: SAMANTHA I can feel her. Like a ghost. (beat) We could walk away, you know. There's still time, we could just... leave her dead. She hefts a SUITCASE onto a bench. OPENS it -- Draws a sharp breath: SAMANTHA Ay-i-yi! Clothes to kill for. Smooth velvet. Creamy silk. The finest, the best. The sexiest. Sam peeks at the tags: SAMANTHA Size four, no way. You know how long it's been since I could wear a size four? (beat) Can't be mine. Can they...? She checks the case for INITIALS -- C.E.B. Who...? Henessey grunts. In his book, well dressed is clean underwear. Holds up a small manila envelope. HENESSEY Unmailed envelope. Addressed to a guy. SAMANTHA What's in it? HENESSEY Another guy's address. Two addresses, is basically what I'm saying. Meanwhile, her hands, still pawing through the suitcase... A SHAPE. She feels it. At the bottom of the case. Lifts up the mound of fabric -- HKM-40 sniper rifle. Disassembled. Sam looks like she just took a stomach punch. Up until now, it could've been adrenaline. She could still be just a schoolteacher. A rifle, that changes everything. She plunks the clothing back in place. Hides it. HENESSEY Anything else in there? SAMANTHA Hmm...? Uh, no. Just... more clothes. HENESSEY Yeah, well take a look at this. He holds up the envelope: addresses to one *Nathan Windeman*. Fishes in his coat, brings out Samantha's CHECK. Written to him, earlier that day... identical handwriting. CUT TO: INT. COLONIAL STYLE HOME - LATE AFTERNOON NATHAN WINDEMAN is in a bad mood. A frail-looking man, mid- seventies. Tiredly spooning a bowl of soup. His sister ALICE watches TV nearby. In her lap, a Pomeranian cleans itself. Windeman scowls: NATHAN Alice, please...? Alice stares at him. Uncomprehending. NATHAN Your dog, Alice. It and my appetite are mutually exclusive. ALICE What's wrong with the dog? NATHAN It's simple. He's been licking his asshole for three straight hours. I submit to you that there's nothing there worth more than an hour's attention, and I should think whatever he's attempting to dislodge is either gone for good or there to stay. *Wouldn't you agree*? Theatrical? Nah. The old bat scoops up her pooch and beats feet for the door. THE PHONE RINGS. Nathan snatches it up: NATHAN Hello? The voice is soft. Controlled: SAMANTHA (O.S.) Hello, Mr. Windeman, I got this number from a realtor in Pennsylvania. I'd like to speak with you. NATHAN Who... who is this? SAMANTHA You tell me, Mr. Windeman. Nathan pales. Blinks once. Twice. Manages: NATHAN ...Charly...? SAMANTHA (O.S.) My full name, please. NATHAN God, it really is you...!? Chapter, they think you're dead, *everyone* thinks -- SAMANTHA *My full name*. Please...! A pause. Then: NATHAN You don't know your name. He chews his lower lip, mind racing. Jesus, no joke, this is *her*... He fights to control his voice: NATHAN Your full name... is Charlene Elizabeth Baltimore. INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - SAME TIME A MAN in shirtsleeves flips a switch. Speaks into a headset: MAN Signal Daedalus. We just got her, she made contact. Initiating phone trace. INT. HOUSE - BACK WITH NATHAN NATHAN Charly, don't talk, just listen: We have to meet, understand? We have to meet *right away*. SAMANTHA (O.S.) Meet me off I-79. Highmile exit, Salt & Pepper Lounge. Eleven a.m. She hangs up. Nathan stares, trembling. Turns to ALICE, standing in the doorway. Swallows hard, says: NATHAN A former student... is in trouble. INT. RESTAURANT BATHROOM - WITH CHARLY She hangs up the telephone in the ladies' room. Stands, alone in the stillness. Hands to her head, mind churning... Turns, checks to make sure the door is locked. Props her SUITCASE on the sink and opens it. Flips back the mound of clothing -- And there it is. The pieces, disassembled, of an M-40 sniper rifle. Her trembling hands find the parts, seemingly of their own volition... Hefting them. Gauging their feel. And then, slowly... terrifyingly... Knowing how they go together. She SNAPS the barrel in place, *click*-! The sound breaks her reverie. She drops the thing like it's alive. Looks down, trembling... ALSO in the case: a wicked looking HUNTING KNIFE. She picks it up gingerly. Shiny, brand new. Turns it over in her hand, fascinated by the play of light off the blade... Looks up. Her REFLECTION, in the mirror. Staring back. She frowns -- It frowns. She turns away -- THE REFLECTION DOESN'T. It stays right fucking put, except now it's *smiling*. Malignant. Deadly. Sam feels something wrong. Spins back toward the mirror -- Her reflected arm comes through the looking glass. Reaches into Sam's world and SLICES FOR HER THROAT. EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DRIVING - LATE AFTERNOON Samantha JERKS, comes awake in the passenger seat of Henessey's Plymouth. Bad dream. Looks over to see if he noticed -- he's honking his horn at a TRAFFIC JAM. Sea of taillights, dead ahead. SAMANTHA What's this? What the hell is this...? We don't have time for this, of all the cocksucking bullshit -- HENESSEY Whoa. Ms. Class, drive a little truck on the side, do you? SAMANTHA What are you, a Mormon? HENESSEY No, ma'am, it's just that... well, when we met you're all, "Oh, fooey, I burned the darn cupcakes." Now, you go into a bar, ten minutes later sailors come running out, they can't take it. Just then, THREE POLICE CRUISERS blow by, sirens screaming. Henessey frowns, puzzled. HENESSEY What the hell...? Lemme check the scanner. He switches on a police band radio. Listens, hears: VOICE (O.S.) ...without endangering the hostages, over... ...Roger that two-niner. PCP confirmed, he's on a fuse, please provide backup, over... ...Conneaut, I'm waiting on Special Weapons, sorry, over... EXT. ROADSIDE DINER - CONNEAUT LAKE, PA. - SAME POLICE FLASHERS, spinning. Cop cars, incoming. SLAMMING to a halt. Disgorging uniformed cops. THE DINER is rapidly surrounded. Its a cheery decor, the giant roofbound Santa, all in stark contrast -- To the SCREAMING we hear, dimly, from within. INT. DINER - SAME Hostage drama, unfolding. The perp's a big ugly meatloaf with his mitts on a waitress. She's sixteen, she's a baby. She's sucking the barrel of his shotgun. His finger on the trigger. From outside, we hear the COPS: COP VOICE (O.S.) GIVE YOURSELF UP AT ONCE. LEAVE THE BUILDING, HANDS ON HEAD. DROP THE WEAPON, REPEAT, DROP THE WEAPON. Mr. Shotgun snorts laughter. Does a little dance, yells: MR. SHOTGUN I'm the man! I'm the man! I elicit the explicit! EXT. DINER - SAME TIME The police are just starting to re-route traffic. A highway cop signals to HENESSEY, "Turn around, go back." INT. CAR - SAME TIME Henessey swears. Swings wide, when suddenly a HAND clutches his arm. He looks over and suppresses a shiver -- Samantha's eyes have gone dead and cold. She lights a cigarette, shakes out the match and says: SAMANTHA Go up this hill. HENESSEY Why? SAMANTHA *Drive up the fucking hill*. Now Henessey shivers. Cranks the wheel as we CUT TO: EXT. HILLTOP - OVERLOOKING TOWN - NIGHT SAMANTHA flops on the frozen ground in a stand of pine trees. HENESSEY Where the shit did you get that? No answer. She deftly assembles the SNIPER RIFLE. Rests the rifle barrel on a dead branch. Flicks on the starlight scope. HENESSEY Sam, Goddammit, you're gonna kill someone! Hey! She ignores him. Focuses through the scope. POV SAMANTHA: Framed in spectral GREEN, the diner's interior. Hostages. Crying mothers. Children, catatonic. Through a tiny window -- a limited view of the KITCHEN. He's in there. Girl, eating both barrels. Samantha's jaw tightens. HENESSEY The diner...? That's half a mile away, are you fucking crazy? SAMANTHA HK M-40 assault rifle. At three hundred yards, vertical drop six inches. Mr. Shotgun leans in. WHISPERS something to the waitress. SAMANTHA Shit. He's gonna do the girl. HENESSEY How the fuck can you tell? She steadies the rifle. Takes aim. SAMANTHA I read lips. She fires. Splintered CRACK-! INT. DINER Mr. Shotgun dies on his feet. Outgoing matter. Flung. Spattered on the grill where it sizzles along with burnt hamburger. He drops. Screams. Pandemonium. EXT. HILLTOP - MOMENTS LATER Samantha slams the trunk of the Chrysler. Gets in the passenger side without a word. Henessey pulls away. INT. CAR - DRIVING - SAME Samantha stares straight ahead. Gives a high, brittle laugh. SAMANTHA See? Took care of it. Knew I could. She laughs again. Henessey favors her with a look reserved for people with major deformities. Suddenly she says: SAMANTHA Pull over. He stops the car. She gets out. Stumbles across the shoulder. Kneels. Throws up. Henessey watches. Lights a smoke with trembling hands. SAMANTHA Had to, he... he would've killed her... Had to... Oh God I took him, such a good shot... I felt proud of it, such a shot, Jesus, *how could I be proud*...? (sobs) I'm scared... I want to go home... Henessey kneels beside her awkwardly. She clutches his shoulder. Presses her head to his chest. Cries. EXT. THE WHITE HOUSE - ESTABLISHING - NIGHT Yes, it certainly is. CUT TO: INT. SITUATION BRIEFING ROOM - SAME TIME Three stories below the White House proper. THE PRESIDENT is seated in his robe and slippers. Before him sits a panel of three: National Security Adviser; Deputy Director of the CIA; and ANOTHER MAN in his sixties, sporting a distinguished mane of silver hair. The President addresses him: PRESIDENT *Mister Perkins*. (frowns) Please, say it again, I'm a little slow. Better yet, I'll try it. You lost an operative, a trained counterassassin, and you just saw her on TV in a Christmas parade. The silver-haired man appears unperturbed. And no, by the way, it didn't escape us that he shares his surname with Caitlin's TEDDY BEAR, the one Mom named -- He nods, says: SILVER-HAIRED MAN On TV, that's correct. It's two weeks old, intelligence just caught it. PRESIDENT You recruited this woman in the late seventies? SILVER-HAIRED MAN For Chapter, yes. I was a friend of her father's, you see, and... I took her in. PRESIDENT Well, it looks like she returned the favor, now doesn't it? (throws up his hands) Unbelievable. You people, you dump this on me, then next week you're screaming, "Where's our funding?" Shit. I'll tell you where it is, can you say health care? The head of the CIA pipes up: CIA DIRECTOR Mr. President, please calm down. The CIA bears no responsibility for this problem. PRESIDENT Thanks for sharing, Kent. How many double agents you got on the payroll, last count...? CIA DIRECTOR Sir! That controversy has been thoroughly dealt with, and if there still exists a leak, perhaps this... woman agent of his -- SILVER-HAIRED MAN If I may, sir, Colonel Baltimore hasn't had classified access since 1987. (beat) But thank you, Kent, for trying to fuck me in the ass. He directs his baleful gaze at the President. Lights a pipe. SILVER-HAIRED MAN I'm afraid rooting out double agents may have to wait. The primary threat is the woman. Her specialty is counterassassination, a horseshit turn of phrase which implies the other fellow shot first, but in point of fact she's a takeout artist of the first order. Nearly disposed of our friend the Beard down in Cuba a few years back. Specializes in long rifles, accurate to a mile and a half. Presumed dead; now, after eight years, back in the field, agenda unknown. She knows enough to hurt us. I'm frightened. Understand? PRESIDENT Yes, yes. I believe you. Just one question: (beat) *What in pluperfect hell is she doing in a Christmas parade*??? INT. ROADSIDE GAS STATION - NIGHTTIME Henessey is on the phone to his ex-wife. Glowering. HENESSEY Aw, cut me a break, Fran. I been out eight months, I'm back doing skip traces, now you got me stealing fuckin' bicycles? EX-WIFE (O.S.) I don't want you around Todd, hear me? Shrink told me what those men did to you in prison. This is a Christian household, my son's not gonna develop any... tendencies. Understand? For a moment her ignorance is so stunning he's speechless. Then he slams down the phone. Cracks it. Returns to the pumps, where SAMANTHA leans against his car, still dazed. Looks up at him, says: SAMANTHA I still can't believe it. You're saying my hands didn't even shake...? Henessey doesn't look at her. Puts the nozzle back in the pump. Crosses to the driver side without a word. SAMANTHA What's the matter with you? HENESSEY You. You're the matter. Look, you wanna keep going, good luck. I'm driving back to Ohio. You're free to come with me. SAMANTHA What... what are you telling me? He gets into the car. Starts the engine. Samantha reacts, distraught. Leans in, kills the ignition. Pulls him out of the car. HENESSEY Goddammit, lady, I'm taking you *home*. She slaps him. HARD. He falls back, stunned. SAMANTHA I'll spell it out for you, ready? I have no future, *I can't go home*. Until I know what's happening, I'm in *prison*, you know how that feels...? HENESSEY Yeah, matter of fact. Four years inside. Marion, Illinois, real shithole. Get in the car. SAMANTHA I'm sorry. (clears her throat) Um... what did you...? HENESSEY Seven years ago, Atlanta PD. Me and my partner, we handled a lot of impounded shit. Fucker hated me, boy. One weekend, when he was conveniently gone...? Some bearer bonds disappeared from his office. And lo and behold, when the police responded to an anonymous tip, you'll never guess what just happened to be sitting in my closet. SAMANTHA The bonds. Your partner put them there? HENESSEY (laughs) Hell no, I did, I stole the fucking things. He serious. Samantha frowns, a little thrown -- Then she snorts, loses it. They both lean against his Chrysler. HENESSEY Now every dollar I hand my kid, he asks his mother did I steal it. He smiles ruefully. Spits. A pause, then: HENESSEY No more killing. Samantha's voice is cool and level: SAMANTHA No more killing. She blows her nose. SAMANTHA It was a helluva shot, wasn't it..." DISSOLVES TO: ESTABLISHING - SALT & PEPPER LOUNGE - MORNING A gunmetal grey sky looms overhead. The aforementioned LOUNGE is a faded old roadhouse, gravel parking lot strewn with mud- covered trucks. The kind that get a man laid in these parts. HENESSEY'S PLYMOUTH pulls into the lot, rolls to a halt. He'll never get any. INT. SALT & PEPPER LOUNGE - DAY Honky-tonk. SAMANTHA and HENESSEY enter, blinking in the dimness. Around them, drunk mid-day cowboys. Stringy-haired girls in their ample laps. SAMANTHA consults her watch: SAMANTHA Quarter til. Any time now. They sit at the counter. Henessey flags the bartender. Signals for a beer. Lights a cigarette, blows smoke: HENESSEY Nice crowd. SAMANTHA You're just jealous of their girlfriends. HENESSEY Who wouldn't be? Corner booth, there's a beaut. While you're doing her doggie- style you can pop the zits on her back. Samantha shoots him a look. ON A TV above the bar, a British- sounding CNN announcer is saying: CNN COMMENTATOR (V.O.) Violence in Northern Ireland continues today, despite a plea by British prime minister John Major -- Samantha sits up straight. Draws a sharp breath. He shoots her a questioning look -- SAMANTHA I just... got a flash of something, I... (blinks) I hurt my father. HENESSEY Whoa. You remember your father? SAMANTHA No... that's what's strange. (shakes her head) If I saw him on the street, I... I wouldn't... oh. She rubs her eyes. Her voice breaks. She's utterly miserable. Henessey leans in, says softly: HENESSEY Ms. Caine, last week at a party I ran into a girl I knew from college and we chatted for a few minutes. And it wasn't til I was driving home on the freeway that I remembered that I'd screwed her in the back of a car once. (beat) Everyone forgets. He pats her arm. Smiles reassuringly. A pause. She stares. SAMANTHA That's it? That's your helpful story? Jesus Christ! HENESSEY No, see, all's I'm saying is you're not alone. SAMANTHA Oh, shut up. HENESSEY Fine. I gotta use the head. He stands, heads off. Samantha nervously lights a cigarette. The bartender suddenly puts a BEER in front of her. She reaches for her purse. He waves it away, points beside her. She turns... The assassin called TIMOTHY sits down two stools away. TIMOTHY For you. Another in a long line of bad investments. SAMANTHA Excuse me? TIMOTHY Just saw the ring on your finger. He reveals a surprisingly WINNING smile, says: TIMOTHY Do I know you from somewhere...? Grimaces: TIMOTHY Whoa. Back up. Total pickup line, let's forget I said that. Still staring in her eyes. Noting absolutely NO RECOGNITION on her features. She gives him a cursory smile. SAMANTHA Thanks for the drink. But no. I don't know you. Timothy nods slowly. TIMOTHY No, you don't, do you...? I'd know if you did. I can tell if someone's lying. (smiles) Sorry to bother you. He takes his own drink and crosses to a back booth. Sits, a very puzzled look on his face. Adjusts his coat collar, whispers into a concealed transmitter: TIMOTHY Okay, people, I got what I needed. Wait until she comes out. Then do them both. (beat) Walk soft, we got local law. He sits back as TWO SHERIFF'S DEPUTIES suddenly enter, doffing their stetsons. Cross to the bar. HENESSEY, coming out of the bathroom. Sees the deputies. Grabs SAMANTHA by the elbow. Tosses down a fin, steers her toward the door. SAMANTHA (sotto) What are you doing? HENESSEY Pork. On your nine. SAMANTHA So? HENESSEY So you shot a guy in the head yesterday. We wait outside. SAMANTHA It's freezing. HENESSEY Too bad. People shouldn't shoot other people in the head. Just themselves. During that show with the little girl who's a robot. EXT. SALT & PEPPER LOUNGE - SAME TIME They emerge into the chill air. Breath pluming from their mouths. Samantha surveys the parking lot. Grabs Henessey, points -- A LATE-MODEL CAR pulls into the gravel lot. Stops. SAMANTHA Bingo. That's an old guy's car. HENESSEY How do you know? SAMANTHA Because there's an old guy in it. Come on. They cross toward the car. She frowns, points to his coat. SAMANTHA Gun bulge. HENESSEY You think I'm gonna shove it down my pants? Shoot my damn dick off. SAMANTHA So now you're a sharpshooter? HENESSEY Ho, ho. As they approach the other car, the engine stops. The door opens and a middle aged man emerges -- IT AIN'T NATHAN. He pauses, lighting a cigarette. SAMANTHA Mr. Windeman...? She strides right up, Henessey in tow. Flashes a dazzling smile -- *Slow motion*. The guy DROPS HIS LIGHTER, darts a hand inside his coat with practiced ease... Pulls out a SILENCED PISTOL. SAMANTHA Oh, SHIT! *Slow motion*. Samantha tackles Henessey. Hurls them both to the ground... During their fall, STUFF HAPPENS: She clutches his sportcoat -- Grips his .38 special THROUGH THE FABRIC and squeezes... A sharp report, BAM-! Another, BAM-! The jacket, shredded. HITMAN just caught two in the chest. He goes over backwards, gun spitting -- Sam and Henessey hit the ground. *Back to regular speed*. Henessey rolls over, stunned. Samantha's staring at her hand, wondering how in the hell it just did that. HENESSEY *Jesus wept*...! They scamper to their feet. Running hellbent for leather toward the Plymouth... They never make it. ANOTHER HITMAN steps calmly from the trees. Stands at the shoulder of the highway, full view of the parking lot... Adopts a two-fisted stance. Draws a bead, locks on target -- Leaves his feet. Takes to the air as a BLACK LE SABRE swerves off the highway with no advance warning and DEMOLISHES the bastard, wham--! The car roars across the lot, NATHAN WINDEMAN at the wheel. INT. BARROOM - SAME TIME The snapped-in-two hitman announces Nathan's arrival by FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW in an explosion of glass. Caroms off a table and bounces head over heels. Hits, dead. TIMOTHY swears. Leaps up and bolts for the door, right behind the SHERIFF'S DEPUTIES, as EXT. BUILDING - SAME TIME The black Le Sabre SLEWS to a stop, showering gravel -- NATHAN shouts at Sam and Henessey: NATHAN Get in! Both of you, NOW! They pile into the backseat. Nathan floors it. PEELS OUT, bouncing onto the highway -- and meanwhile here comes TIMOTHY. On the run. Barks into his transmitter: TIMOTHY East, they're going east. *Head them off*. He begins to run: we have never seen anyone run this fast. INT. NATHAN'S CAR - DRIVING NATHAN kicks in the afterburners. Squinting, can't see... WIPERS, squeaking to and fro. Erasing the hitman's blood. Henessey is trembling; Samantha comatose. Nathan steals a look in the rear view mirror. Gets his first good view of Samantha. Reacts, stunned: NATHAN Charly. Jesus Christ, I don't believe what I'm seeing, you're so *fat*. This is not what she expected to hear. SAMANTHA I'm... um, I mean... what? NATHAN What in God's hell have you been *eating*, you look positively bovine! Hang on. 50 yards down the highway. Beside a parked car, a guy with an ELEPHANT GUN. SAMANTHA Oh, God, no more--! The big rifle BUCKS concussively. The car window SPLINTERS...! Does not break. NATHAN Bulletproof. Put it in myself. Almost as an afterthought, he swerves slightly. CRUNCHES the gunman against the parked car. Shatters him. His SCREAMING VISAGE goes by an inch from Samantha, he coughs blood onto her window... EXT. FROZEN WOODSCAPE - SAME TIME Timothy, on the move. RUNS, breakneck through the woods. Jumps fallen logs. Ducking, swerving. In and out through the trees, as INT. NATHAN'S CAR - DRIVING Scenery whips past. In the backseat, Henessey is trembling; Samantha comatose. Nathan snaps his fingers sharply: NATHAN Charlene, darling -- SAMANTHA My name is Caine. Samantha Caine. NATHAN (exasperated) Yes, yes, you said that on the phone. *Must* I point out to you that the letters in the name SAM CAINE, when rearranged, spell out AMNESIAC? Your mind was missing a name, so it simple invented one that was an anagram of your current condition. Samantha reacts, floored. NATHAN Dammit, Charly. The schoolteacher, that was your cover! Your memory was gone, you got confused and you BOUGHT YOUR OWN COVER. This ridiculous Ohio housewife business, it's a fantasy, you *wrote* the bloody thing! SAMANTHA It's not a fantasy, *I'm in the fucking PTA*. NATHAN Then quit. You're an assassin for the United States government. (beat) I ought to know, I trained you. Henessey is so shocked he's LAUGHING: HENESSEY Beautiful. Fuckin' beautiful. EXT. SHEER EMBANKMENT - OVERLOOKING HIGHWAY - SAME TIME A forty foot embankment, damn near vertical. Plunging to the road below. Topped by a chain-link FENCE. Timothy hits the fence at a dead run. Up and over. Pitches head over heels down the embankment, BOUNCING. Hits bottom in a shower of dirt, rolls, comes up... .357 AMP in a two- fisted grip, and *there's Nathan's car*. Blows by, doing 90. Timothy swivels calmly, BLASTS AN ENTIRE CLIP at the retreating car. Shot after shot, like a machine -- INT. NATHAN'S CAR - SAME TIME Sam SCREAMS as the side windows COLLAPSE INWARD. Nathan rides the wheel, swerving. HENESSEY *What happened to bulletproof*? NATHAN *The side windows were next, I swear*. BACK WITH TIMOTHY Watching them go. Oh, well. He tried, right...? Did his best, tomorrow's another day -- Without missing a beat, Timothy walks out in the middle of the road. ANOTHER CAR, coming. Sports car. He snaps in a fresh clip. Raises his fist and PUMPS ONE through the fast- approaching windshield. Kills the driver. The car throws a skid. Slewing SIDEWAYS at him. Onrushing juggernaut, immense...! He vaults the hood without breaking stride. Catches the drive- side doorhandle, jerks -- then he's in, and out comes the corpse and the car *never stops moving*. Completes an out-of-control 360, showering muddy water... and then he's stomping the gas. Utterly relentless. Leaving behind a wet and very surprised-looking corpse. INT. STOLEN CAR Timothy GUNS IT, eyes locked dead ahead on the Le Sabre -- Hears a SCREECH. Whips his eyes to the rearview mirror: POLICE CRUISER. Fishtailing onto the road behind him. Falls in behind, SIREN wailing. One of the deputies from the bar. INT. NATHAN'S CAR - DRIVING - SAME TIME Nathan fishes a gun from his coat. Hands it to Samantha. NATHAN Here, you might as well have one too. SAMANTHA My God. How many do you carry? NATHAN Three. One shoulder, one hip, and one right next to Mr. Wally -- (pats his groin) Where most patdowns never reveal it, as an agent is often reluctant to feel up another man's groin. Henessey looks out the back windshield, says: HENESSEY Got a tail. Nathan looks, SWEARS. The chase car's gaining on them. NATHAN Lucky bastard found the only cool car in the fucking midwest. He accelerates into a curve. Rockets past a connecting road, as, without warning -- ANOTHER COP CAR skids out of the side road, after him. The other deputy... TIMOTHY, boxed. Going too fast, swerves...! PLOWS into the deputy headlong. BROADSIDES him. Glass flies. The cop car's TIRES blow out as it's SPUN 180 degrees... Timothy's car careens into a GULLEY -- BAM-! Hits a dead stop. Hood shears off, goes flying. Back end sticking up, tires spinning... The horn blares continuously. UP ABOVE: The other cop arrives, brakes to a halt -- Door opens and out he comes. Helps Deputy #2 clamber from his crippled black-and-white. Together they leap down into the gulley, guns drawn. Cringing as the long HOOOOOOOONNNNNK continues unabated. Approaching the crashed car. Walking up, guns at their sides... TWO SHOTS. They jitter and twitch. Topple over dead, slide to the bottom of the gulley. INSIDE THE CAR, we see that a very annoyed Timothy is also very conscious. Splayed against the driver's side door. Holding one hand down on the horn, HOOOOOOOONNK... He releases it. Horn stops. On the radio Conway Twitty is singing. He puts a shot through the radio. Silences it. Climbs from the car and stares off down the road. Of Nathan and his companions, there is neither whisper nor breath... EXT. ROADSIDE - LATE AFTERNOON Nathan has pulled over in a grove of pine trees. The car is covered with branches. He watches through a gap as two police cars go by on the distant highway. NATHAN Your father was in the British SIS, assigned to the Irish situation. After he was murdered in 1971, his friend Perkins recruited you for Chapter, a black bag operation working out of the U.S. State Department. Charly is overloaded. Trying to keep up, not wanting to: NATHAN Fall, 1987: Presidential orders come down. You're to flush out a terrorist by the name of Daedalus. You never complete the mission, electing instead to die, of all things, despite clear orders to the contrary. And dead you remain until, without preamble, you re-emerge, eight years later and fifteen pounds heavier. SAMANTHA Would you lay off the weight? NATHAN I think we can safely assume Daedalus is aware of your resurrection and is attempting to reverse it. *Damn*, I can't drive around in this thing. (beat) Any idea where we can go to stash this car? IN SAMANTHA'S LAP Her fingers unconsciously fiddle with something. Damp, crumpled. The ENVELOPE. One address left. SAMANTHA This address...? I... I recognize it now. I think it belongs to a friend. Henessey stares at her. As Nathan reaches for the envelope, his coat falls open and Samantha GASPS; his left side is soaked with blood. NATHAN Perhaps you'd best drive. EXT. HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY - DAY The house is actually an old converted MILL. Beyond it, frozen landscape stretches to the lakeshore. In the BARNYARD, a scruffy looking COWBOY TYPE is splitting logs on a tree stump. Drops the axe. Scoops up an armload of firewood. Comes around the corner -- Drops the logs, startled. AN UNLIKELY TRIO approaches. NATHAN, sweating. Pasty. Levels a revolver. Samantha says: SAMANTHA Don't be afraid, we don't want to hurt you. (beat) I just want to know who you are. Seeing her, his eyes go wide -- He locks her in a whooping BEAR HUG, shouts: MAN CHARLY, BABY!! Picks her up, SPINS HER around, laughing... Henessey and Nathan stare. Befuddled. TIME CUT - MINUTES LATER The strange man (let's call him LUKE) stands awkwardly in the dooryard. Shifting from foot to foot. NATHAN watches him dispassionately from the tree stump. Gun on his knee. LUKE (sighs) Look, is this America's Funniest Practical Videos or something? The DOOR bangs open and Samantha comes out of the house. Carrying bandages. Alcohol. Crosses to the tree stump, kneels before Nathan. His voice is a harsh rasp: NATHAN Let me do it. He bats her away, administers his own first aid. LUKE pipes up, exasperated: LUKE I can't believe you don't remember dating me. Charly, please, you pursued me for months. SAMANTHA Yeah, well. I caught you and forgot you. Sorry. LUKE It's December, you'll remember. Right...? He chuckles. Looks at her face. Stops chuckling, takes a sudden interest in the ground. Sam crosses to HENESSEY, standing nearby. Takes him aside, whispers: SAMANTHA (sotto) This is ridiculous. What do we do with this guy? HENESSEY Don't ask me, I just work here. Did you bump pelvises with him or not? SAMANTHA It's possible. HENESSEY And you kid, Cathead -- SAMANTHA Caitlin. HENESSEY Yeah, whatever. Um, could he be the...? SAMANTHA I don't know. (beat) It's coming back, though. All these... little details about him. She studies Luke. Frowning. Concentrating. SAMANTHA I know he's got a pin in his leg, car accident. I know he cuts his own hair... thinks Rush Limbaugh's an ass. I know he sits down when he pees. I know -- HENESSEY Enough. You're giving me a stiffy. Just then NATHAN is hit with a dreadful-sounding cough. It wracks him. Doubles him up. LUKE blurts out: LUKE Goddammit, he's *dying*. Let me call the poor bastard an ambulance! Nathan grits his teeth: NATHAN *No ambulance*. The car I ordered will be here soon. SAMANTHA Mr. Windeman, please let him help you. I know this man, I... I'm pretty sure I slept with him. Nathan presses a bandage to his side. NATHAN I'm about to faint... And if you call an ambulance, I will fucking kill you. He pitches forward into Henessey's arms. EXT. SHADED PORCH - MID-AFTERNOON Beside the lakeshore LUKE AND SAMANTHA walk side by side. RACK FOCUS to the porch: NATHAN is laid out on a chaise lounge. Henessey beside him, applying cold compresses. The older man stirs, coming awake... Tries to sit up, Henessey nudges him flat again. NATHAN Where's Charly...? HENESSEY Relax. She's with Luke. That's his name, Luke. NATHAN Goddammit, I told you -- HENESSEY Yeah, yeah, we weren't real big on what you told us. I had him call you an ambulance, so shoot me. Should be here within fifteen minutes. Nathan groans. Henessey presses a cloth to the man's head. HENESSEY The guy's story checks out. Sam knows things about him. Stuff only a lover would know. NATHAN Sod that... just watch them. HENESSEY Don't worry about it. Chick signs my checks, I'm gonna watch her get aced? Lie back down. Nathan swallows. Grimaces. Lies back down. NATHAN Checks. You're not fooling anyone, dear boy. (bemused) You'd wash her feet and drink the water... wouldn't you? HENESSEY Cut me a break, nimrod. She's married with a kid. Busted. Nathan coughs. Speaks, eyes faraway: NATHAN My star pupil... (smiles thinly) That man in Pennsylvania yesterday... The one at the diner, that was hers, wasn't it...? HENESSEY How'd you know? NATHAN (nods) I saw the news report, they found a shell casing a thousand yards away, helluva shot. HENESSEY Tell me about Daedalus, what's his story? NATHAN Arms broker, man without a face. Veteran of Baader-Meinhoff and the Red Brigades. He's rumored to be based in the U.S. Doesn't travel much, they say. Too afraid of metal detectors, the poor sod's got a foot- long piece of steel in his leg. At which point, Henessey stops. Frowns. HENESSEY Come again? NATHAN A pin, Mr. Henessey. A surgical pin. He scuffs his shoe in the porch dust. Eyes narrowed: HENESSEY Where the hell...? I know I just heard that somewhere, something about a... His eyes widen: HENESSEY Oh, fuck. Points to the lake: HENESSEY Nathan, that son of a bitch has one in *his* leg. Nathan freezes, thoughts racing... swears violently: NATHAN You blithering idiot, the son of a bitch wasn't her lover, he was her target, he's Daedalus! HENESSEY Oh, Jesus...! That's how she knew all that shit, not from *dating* him -- she *studied* the fucker to take him out! He takes off for the lake at a dead run. Behind him, the bloodied Nathan DRAGS himself to his feet and lurches off the porch, stumbling. Weaving. Refusing to go down. AT THE LAKESIDE -- Luke walks behind Samantha. Talking softly in her ear, smiling... She hears something. A RATCHETING noise, drawing closer, hmmm...? Looks up. Wishes she hadn't -- A BELL RANGER HELICOPTER is descending over the lake. Inside, TIMOTHY shoulders a bolt action rifle, coolly professional. FIRES, kicks up dirt at Henessey's feet. Stops the fucker cold. On the shore, LUKE smiles at Samantha, says: LUKE Sure don't look like an ambulance, does it? SLUGS HER IN THE FACE. Drops her to the ice like a broken doll. CUT TO BLACK: Black indeed. Deep. Empty. Out of the darkness, we hear a NEWS COMMENTATOR. Voice scratchy. Indistinct. Far away or long ago... A TELEVISION IMAGE fills the screen. Black and white. Grainy. The legend: BELFAST, NORTHERN IRELAND, over footage of a sidewalk bombing. We're back in time, the year 1971. A crisp- looking BRIGADIER is speaking to the off-camera reporter: BRIGADIER ...the bombing has been linked to the Ulster Volunteer Force, which, as you know, is the counterpart of the provisional IRA and the most violent of the Protestant Paramilitary groups. An ANNOUNCER's face replaces him: ANNOUNCER Despite threats of reprisals, Brigadier Baltimore repeats that he will seek to cut UVF supply lines, especially from Tripoli, Lybia. U.S. President Nixon concurs that... PULL BACK TO REVEAL A battered TV, volume turned low. Snoozing in a chair, a rumpled older man -- It's the BRIGADIER, the one we just saw speaking on TV. A CALENDAR on the table identifies the date as June 23, 1971. IN THE NEXT ROOM Girlish decor. Pinups of rock stars. A YOUNG GIRL is awake, dressed and currently stuffing two pillows under a blanket. She inspects her handiwork. Human-looking lump. Turns, satisfied. One last look at the WOODEN JESUS on the wall -- Creeps from the room. Past the sleeping Brigadier. To the front door. She checks over her shoulder, nervous. Taps out five digits. Shuts off the alarm. Unlocks the door and slips out. EXT. STREET - BELFAST - NIGHT The boy's name is GREGORY. Sixteen, with a quick, easy grin. Huddled beneath a tree with him, the girl is gelatin. GREGORY You've never made it with a boy, then? GIRL There's nothing odd about it. I'm only sixteen. GREGORY Rubbish. GIRL What? GREGORY You're fourteen and not a day more. Here now, I'm right, you're blushing. GIRL Look, what if I'm ignorant? It's my father, we never stay in one place, I never meet bloody anyone. GREGORY Saw him on the telly. Think he'd kill me? I'm a nasty one, I am. He slides a hand under her sweater. She stiffens, terrified and exhilarated, as he gently strokes her nipple with a thumb. GREGORY You know what, I'll bet you've never even kissed a boy... now, have you? (beat) Aye, but you want to... He leans in. She leans forward. A jerky, tentative duckling on the road to swan-dom. Their lips touch. Across the road, THE WINDOWS BLOW OUT in her father's flat. She spins, scream caught in her throat -- as ARMED MEN rush from the house. Through the door, the one she left unlocked. Stutter of SMALL ARMS FIRE. She whirls on Gregory, realizes only then that the guy is LAUGHING. GREGORY Thanks for shutting off the alarm, you bloody Papist bitch. He slaps her full across the face. GREGORY Tell the press the Ulster Force claims full credit. He spins and flees. INT. BRIGADIER'S FLAT - MOMENTS LATER Girl, moving. Walls racing past, shot to PIECES, run run run into her bedroom and LURCHES to a stop, screaming: GIRL *DA*! Propped against the wall. By the bed. He's still alive. Incredibly. The man has DRAGGED himself in here. He refused to die, simply couldn't, you see... Not until he reached his daughter. ANGLE ON BED Two pillows, jammed beneath a blanket. The Brigadier just stares at them. His face slack. White and gastly. Shifts his gaze to his daughter. Tears running from his dulled eyes. BRIGADIER How much... He raises the pistol to his head. BRIGADIER ...did they pay you...? He fires. On a young girl's dissolve into insanity we FADE OUT... Sound, echoing away. Blackness, total. FADE IN: INT. BASEMENT OF OLD MILL - NIGHT Waking is slow. Samantha opens her eyes. Blinks. Hazy, out of focus. Tries to rub her eyes, can't. Hands. Something's wrong, what the hell'd she do with her hands...? Ah. They're stretched over her head. BOUND WITH CORD. Suddenly she's very awake. ANOTHER ANGLE The basement of the old converted mill. A drafty, windswept place full of old, broken timbers. A river runs through it. A stream, at any rate. The waters are still and frozen now. Above the stream -- A GREAT WOODEN WHEEL. Smaller corollary of the wheel outside. Mounted on the same axis. SAMANTHA is tied to that wheel. Lashed to its SIDE, affixed to it like a goddess to a Greek sailing ship. Now the bad news, the ice has been chopped away so the wheel can TURN... And it will plunge Samantha UNDER THE FREEZING WATER. Beneath the ice. Bound hand and foot. Strapped to the wheel, wearing only a nightgown, she is utterly helpless. THE MAN KNOWN AS DAEDALUS (AKA Luke) stands before her, giving instructions to the ubiquitous TIMOTHY. He looks up at Samantha. Seeing her eyelids flutter, he tosses her a cherry wave. Gone is the gee-whiz country boy schtick; in its place, a frightening arrogance. He tosses her his cheeriest wave: DAEDALUS Well, good afternoon. If it isn't the forgetful spy. How you feeling? SAMANTHA Not-so fresh. Samantha struggles against her bonds. No dice. Subsides. Takes a look around at her predicament. TIMOTHY stands at the edge of the ice. Watching her intently. Smiles thinly: SAMANTHA You... you're... the man from the bar...? TIMOTHY Look at her. She's not faking it, she doesn't know me from Adam. Daedalus shakes his head, frowning: DAEDALUS It's not that I don't trust my compatriot, Colonel Baltimore. In fact, I had every confidence that your amnesia was genuine -- until you showed up *here*. You follow? (beat) Meanwhile, I just got around to reading the papers, there's the small matter of an incident upstate. Long range rifle shot, blew a man out of his socks. (coldly) You can see where I'm coming from. I'm trying to pull of the biggest job of my career. I have to know. How much you really remember... and who you've told. SAMANTHA I didn't tell a soul, I swear. DAEDALUS We'll soon know. He crosses toward a large RED BUTTON. Set into a wooden beam. Samantha thrashes at the bindings. Looks down at the water where it intercepts the mammoth wheel. Fighting panic: SAMANTHA Is... is this a torture thing...? DAEDALUS Torture, yes. The torturing of beautiful women, albeit politically incorrect, is an addiction with me. (beat) A woman never looks quite so beautiful as when her face is distended in pain. Witness the beauty of childbirth. SAMANTHA Please, I'm getting all misty. Look, untie me, I'll make any face you want. DAEDALUS Let's not, and say we did. Do you smoke? SAMANTHA Smoke...? Um, no. Not... not really. DAEDALUS Good. You'll last longer. Now hush yourself, and take a deep breath. We're gonna do the torture thing. He hits the button. An electric WHINE -- THE BIG WHEEL TURNS. Feet first into the water. Struggling. Arms stretched above her head. She plunges below the surface. A new dimension in PAIN. Frozen, mind-numbing. She WRITHES against the wheel. It's like a crushing VICE is ripping her limb from limb. She opens her eyes, briefly. Discovers she's not alone -- A mere foot from her face, THE BLOATED CORPSE of the drowned NATHAN. Staring away and away. Blue with cyanosis. Meanwhile, back ON THE SURFACE: Daedalus turns to his right- hand man, who says: TIMOTHY We're running on schedule, I just secured the tanker. We're borrowing it from Carbide in South Carolina. Cargo listed as fire retardant. DAEDALUS (nods) Juice up the bird, we head out soon as I'm done here. He turns. Hits the red button again. THE WHEEL reverses itself. Creaks and moans, turning -- SAMANTHA BREAKS THE SURFACE. Gasping for air. Wheezing. Choking. The FREEZING WIND plasters the nightgown to her. DAEDALUS Take all the air you can, that's right. If you need to vomit, do it now. Samantha, face twisted. Coughs. Wheezes. TIMOTHY looks her in the eye... shakes his head: TIMOTHY You don't remember *at all*...? The greatest night of your life, shit, drown this ungrateful wench. He exits. Daedalus, alone with his captive. On her features, unbridled HATRED. He chuckles: DAEDALUS Talk to me Colonel. Is my identity safe...? The truth, and I'll shoot you in the head. Nice and quick. Otherwise, you're in for a long night. *Who did you talk to*? SAMANTHA ...Nobody... fuck you... He shakes his head, makes a "tsk tsk" gesture. Smiles grimly as he turns his attention to the red switch. DAEDALUS Hate to see you like this, Charly. I heard you were a helluva spy once. Without warning, her head snaps upward -- Eyes cold. Voice, not her own: SAMANTHA Watch your back. I'm not done yet. DAEDALUS That's a very funny joke. You're an entertaining woman. Good night. He hits the button. She plunges beneath the surface. Daedalus walks over to one corner. Sits down. Takes out a pipe. Lights it. Picks up a book. Reads. And reads. UNDERWATER -- Sam THRASHES and jerks, to and fro. Dead Nathan, mocking her. There, under the water, the memories come... In a flood. Stark and vivid. MEMORY FLASH - THE YEAR THE TRUNK OF A CAR opens, revealing a patch of night sky. Mostly obscured by two familiar individuals -- There's ONE-EYED JACK, remember him? Few years younger. One eyeball heavier. The other man is TIMOTHY. He looks in the trunk. Nods. TIMOTHY Okay, I'll signal Daedalus. Your money will be waiting, and Jack...? Do yourself a favor, do her and dump her, I'm serious. Don't get cute, try to play doctor first. I made that mistake. The lid SLAMS SHUT. BACK UNDER THE WATER The world of rushing MADNESS, memories unspooling now, faster and faster -- MEMORY FLASH: A CLIFF overlooking the ocean. Darkness. Sheeting rain. Our heroine (for it is unquestionably SAMANTHA) is lying unconscious atop a rocky bluff. Drenched. ONE-EYED JACK produces a SYRINGE from a leather case. Rolls up her sleeve. Starts to administer the injection. Stops. He can't resist... Can't help LOOSENING the buttons on her shirt. Her eyes snap open. And before it even registers, she's grabbed the hypodermic and plunged it deep INTO HIS EYE -- Then she's up and running. Along the cliff, toward the car... Jack, HOWLING in pain, stumbling... Draws his gun and shoots her. In the head. She pitches backward. Tumbles from the cliff...! Rushes headlong toward the waters below, getting smaller -- INT. BASEMENT OF OLD MILL - THE PRESENT Here. Now. She breaks the surface. Gasping for breath. SHRIEKS, a sound ripped from her by the PAIN, the COLD -- By her ruptured sanity. She hangs there. Drenched. Half frozen. DAEDALUS can't help it. A chill dances up his spine, watching... She is not afraid. She is not whimpering. She is looking directly AT HIM. With a sick smile. CHARLY Daedalus... Make you a deal... Let me go now...? I'll leave you the use of your legs... Bargain, trust me... Daedalus struggles to recover his poise. DAEDALUS How did you find me? Who knows about this place, WHO HAVE YOU TOLD? Charly's eyes bore into his: CHARLY I let you touch me, cowboy... I think I need a bath. Daedalus stabs the red button. THE BIG WHEEL TURNS... Into the water goes Charly. Going down for the third time. UNDER THE WATER - HELL - SAME Here we are again, in the world of silence and blinding PAIN. Despair and madness but now there's something else -- Now there's RAGE. It takes losing most of the FLESH from her right wrist... But she frees the hand. WRENCHES it loose. The water turns soupy red around it. GROPES, blindly. Fingers NUMB, so fucking cold -- Breath, running out. No air. NO TIME. She darts her right hand forward. Toward the obscenely bobbing CORPSE of Nathan. Does something grotesque, jams her hand DOWN THE CORPSE'S PANTS -- Hideaway gun, it's right where he said, right beside Mr. Wally. PSP-25. Semi-auto, steel jackets. She waits. Rage inside her. Death in her hands. MEANWHILE, BACK ON THE SURFACE The wheel CREAKS. Groans. The terrorist in the western boots watches her emerge, face first -- She comes up firing. The first slug takes him in the knee. Blows it to scraps. He collapses, howling. She shifts aim. THE RED BUTTON. No hesitation. BLAM-! Hits it DEAD ON. Stops the wheel. Incredible. Doesn't blink. Unties her captive hand. BLOWS TO SPLINTERS the wood surrounding her feet. Leaps to solid ground, as ANOTHER ANGLE Daedalus looks up from his prone position. In agony. A vision from Hell approaches: A fiendish blue-skinned woman in a sodden nightgown. Blood leaking from one wrist. She has risen, REBORN, from the icy waters. DAEDALUS Samantha... Please...! CHARLY Who's Samantha? She shoots him in the other knee. He HOWLS. Gun, empty. She tosses it aside. In a nearby crate: ASSAULT RIFLES. Snatches up a Kalashnikov and clip. Kneels and says: CHARLY You see in the movies, badguy says, "Talk to me and I'll let you live." We're gonna run a variation, it goes like this: Talk to me...? I'll let you die. She fires again. CHARLY Where's Henessey...? INT. ROOT CELLAR - WITH HENESSEY The detective lies naked, bound hand and foot. Beaten. FREEZING. A single ray of LIGHT through a tiny crack. He hears a SPLINTERING noise, as if a door's been ripped from its hinges. Pause -- A FUSILLADE of gunfire. Shouts, cries. A heavy weight SLAMS to the floorboards above him. Through a crack comes a tiny stream of BLOOD, dribbling onto him, as -- EXT. OLD MILL - SAME TIME TIMOTHY bolts from the house, clutching a bleeding hand. Running hellbent for leather. Reaches a parked car. Leaps in and kicks over the engine as, behind him -- MORE MEN come piling out of the house, shouting. Running for their cars -- never make it. CUT DOWN IN THEIR TRACKS. Wracked by gunfire, bodies twitching... And as Timothy PEELS OUT, spraying mud, we pull UP, UP, AND AWAY... Into the sky, moving ever higher, gunfire fading... Until now we're WAY UP, we can see Timothy's car... the OLD MILL, ever so tiny below us... It blows to pieces. Sends flaming boards flying STRAIGHT UP AT US. INT. VICTORIAN BUILDING - CHAPTER HQ - NIGHTTIME The door bursts open as PERKINS stalks in, shedding his coat. His aide -- let's call him HARRY -- looks up nervously. PERKINS This can't happen, Harry. The President's already up at night, prowling his sock drawer for double agents, and now we've got a fucking rogue on our hands. HARRY Sir, there's someone in the conference room to see you. PERKINS Oh, for the love of Christ, who can be so fucking important? He throws open a door off the passage: THERE'S TIMOTHY. Perched on the edge of a conference table, tamping a pack of smokes. Perkins reacts, stunned. TIMOTHY It's me, your poor black cousin. The one you can't be seen with. PERKINS *You*...! Are you crazy, coming here?? TIMOTHY (Lights a cigarette) My boss is dead. PERKINS What...? TIMOTHY Your rogue bitch just took him out. Probably went shopping in his weapons storage too. He blows smoke. Trains his eyes on the older man. Piercing. TIMOTHY We're still on, Perkins. I've got the tanker, the chemist, all ready to go... but you gotta contain her, man. We gotta step on her hard and fast. An agent on the SWITCHBOARD calls out: SWITCHBOARD You have a call on line three, sir. PERKINS Who is it? SWITCHBOARD Charly Baltimore, sir. Perkins stops dead. Lunges for the phone, nearly drops it: PERKINS Perkins. INTERCUT - OUR HEROINE AT PAY PHONE We only see her mouth. Set in hard, grim lines. She says: CHARLY It's cold, I want to come in. PERKINS Charly...? Oh, my God, what the hell are you *doing*? Listen to me, I'm going to direct you to a safe house, get you on a plane -- CHARLY Can the bullshit, I'm not telling you where I am. I'll come in for a full debriefing, but we do it my way. PERKINS Charly, you're being paranoid. It's not like it used to be, you're eight years out of date. CHARLY Do tell. PERKINS Congress won't authorize a dime, Charly. Chapter's on the way out, we've been reduced to a records- keeping agency, we *don't have enough money to kill you*, understand...? CHARLY Fuck you, Perkins. If you want me dead, you'll pass a hat in the typing pool to buy bullets. We do things my way. PERKINS Your way, I see. And if I say go to hell? CHARLY From where I stand, it ain't much of a commute. You'll hear from me. She clicks off. Perkins darts a look at the techie -- guy shakes his head, no go on the trace. Perkins swears. PERKINS She mustn't threaten our success. Contain her, whatever it takes. But be *careful*. If it gets out you're working for me... we'll both be grabbing our ankles on the White House lawn. ESTABLISHING SHOT - ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY - NIGHT There. Thank you, New Jersey, that'll be all. You can go now. Um, please. INT. HOTEL SUITE - ATLANTIC CITY - NIGHT Waking is slow for Mitch Henessey. He swallows dryly. Eyes creak open, struggle to focus... Hears WATER running. A shower. Squints at his watch. He's not wearing a watch, he knew that... In BED, naked. Chest swathed in bandages, what the hell...? He pokes them. Jerks his head, hissing in pain. EXT. LIVING ROOM OF SUITE - WITH HENESSEY - NIGHT Henessey lights a smoke at the bar. Flicks the match in a trashcan. Starts to go, stops... Reaches into the can. Plucks out a tiny scrap: PHOTOGRAPH, ripped in two. A photo of Hal and Caitlin. He pockets it, disturbed. Crosses to the bathroom door. The shower has stopped. Raises a tentative hand, starts to knock... It OPENS. There, in a thin silk robe, is a WOMAN, swabbing at her hair. She breezes out of the bathroom all chipper, like nothing's unusual. Notices Henessey cursorily. Raises a finger: "one sec." Lowers her head and shakes it like a terrier, spraying him. He cannot stop staring. It's Samantha, it *has* to be... Now she's BLONDE, though. Hair clipped short. Bobbed. Blood- red fingernails. Red cotton shift, legs for days. Then, she *smiles* at him -- and it's not her, not Samantha. Amnesia's over, folks, because we're clearly looking at a changed woman: This one's name is CHARLY BALTIMORE, and she hasn't seen the light of day in eight years. CHARLY Hey, Mitch. Glad you're awake. Uh- oh, you're seeping. She grabs a washcloth. Frowns, says: CHARLY Here, look at this. With that, she opens her robe and exposes her breasts. Henessey perks up considerably -- then SCREAMS as she RIPS the gauze from his chest. She clinchs the robe again. HENESSEY Ah, that hurt like shit!! CHARLY That's why I distracted you first. (dabs at his wounds) Same principle as breaking in virgins. HENESSEY Same as -- virgins, *what*...? CHARLY Saw it in a Harold Robbins book. Guy bites her on the ear as he goes in. Distracts from the pain. You ever try that? HENESSEY No, I slug 'em in the jaw and yell "pop goes the weasel," what the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?? CHARLY Name's Charly. The spy. Nice to meet'cha. Drink? INT. CASINO BAR - EVENING Henessey watches, fascinated. All the little mannerisms, the differences. Shaking out a match, running a hand through her hair... And never missing a thing, eyes constantly roving, scanning. Guard never down. She plucks a drink from a nearby table, steals it outright. CHARLY See? Sit next to the dance floor, every drink's free. People finish dancing, they think the waiter lifted 'em. Henessey grimaces. Clears his throat, says: HENESSEY I'm confused. Gimme a minute. CHARLY Take two, they're small. She knocks back her drink. No hesitation. Henessey shifts uncomfortably, lights a smoke. HENESSEY Okay. Let's say I buy it. You're actually a trained killer, Jesus, I can't even say it with a straight face. (frowns) So then... Samantha, she... CHARLY Never really existed. Like Nathan said, she was a total fabrication, I made her up. HENESSEY Fabrication. And now she's just... gone? Forever and ever? CHARLY Thank God. Look at my inordinately large ass, look what she did to me. Henessey squirms, this one's gonna take some time to digest. HENESSEY Pretty convincing act. CHARLY Guess so. HENESSEY I mean, her personality, it had to come from *somewhere* -- CHARLY Change the subject. Better yet, steal me another drink. Henessey sighs. Next to him a couple get up to dance. He reaches over and lifts their beers. HENESSEY Drink up. What's next? CHARLY I called Chapter. I'm trying to bring us in from the field alive... HENESSEY Chapter. Can you trust them? CHARLY Not sure. Until I know, you might wanna stay away from curbs. He looks at her, confused: CHARLY They like to push people in front of buses. Didn't need to know that. A DANCING SANTA goes by: SANTA CLAUS (bad Caribbean accent) Hey, lady, Santa want to dance the lambada wit'choo. *Come this way, everybody*! He shimmies away. Charly grins at Henessey: CHARLY If I could come that way I wouldn't need to dance the lambada. Follow me, I need you to do something. EXT. DANCE CLUB - PAY PHONE - NIGHTTIME Henessey hunches forward, speaks rapidly into the phone: HENESSEY ...The lady's whacked, Trin, she's lost it and I want fucking out, now *call the Feds*. She's moving us tonight, I'll sneak out to this phone, call you back at midnight with the details. He hangs up quickly. Turns -- reveal CHARLY, lounging a foot away, watching him. HENESSEY All right, Charly. What did that accomplish? CHARLY I'm testing our boy Perkins. I figure he's gotta be tapping your office. Got a light...? HENESSEY (pause, then:) Oh, no. He just traced that call? She swipes matches from his pocket. Nods. CHARLY Come midnight, you hang by the phone. Nobody shows, we think about trusting him. He tries to kidnap and torture you, well, there it is. HENESSEY Whoa, time out. CHARLY Oh, don't be such a baby. (lights her cigarette) Ten o'clock, we got two hours to kill. I'm a woman, feed me. EXT. ATLANTIC CITY BOARDWALK - NIGHTTIME CARNIVAL RIDES, dead for the winter. Henessey and Charly stroll beneath them. He smokes. She eats Chinese. CHARLY Ugh. God I'm full, I'm gonna have a food baby. He takes a good long look at her, still can't fathom it. HENESSEY "Charly." fucking unbelievable. (beat) Shame about the fat ass. I bet you were really attractive once. CHARLY Oh, I was. Check this out. One time? A guy said he'd fuck me. HENESSEY No. CHARLY Swear to God. HENESSEY Did he make good? CHARLY Absolutely. Oh, and afterwards? Oh my God, afterwards I said the most funny thing, you know what I said...? (beat) I said, "Go back to your room. Dad..." She laughs through a swig of beer. MEMORY FLASH: Charly's bedroom as DAD puts the gun to his head and fires, CRACK... CHARLY It's why he thought I had him killed. Henessey huddles, watching her closely. HENESSEY Your father was murdered. She nods, gazes out over the icy waters. Speaks, her voice faraway and gone: CHARLY When Da died, I went to his funeral. 12 years old, today I wouldn't. And I overheard a woman, she was praying... She was thanking God -- sounded so happy -- thanking Him it hadn't been *her* father who was killed. See... she didn't really care that God had let someone die... just so long as it missed *her*. (beat) ...and she bought her cross at the same store as mine, see, that's what we do, we all pray to the same cross on a hundred different walls, and sit back and wait to see who gets hit and who gets missed. Anger flares in her eye. Like a stirring of mud at the bottom of a deep, deep, pond. CHARLY Fuck the waiting. Fuck being afraid. I determine who gets hit, and how hard. And I thank no one. It's pathetic to thank someone who spares you -- when they're just taking someone else. (beat) Walk me upstairs? INT. HOTEL SUITE - BEDROOM - NIGHTTIME They enter the suite. She drops her purse, sways toward him. Presses him against the wall, framed there in the doorway. CHARLY This is my first date in eight years, Mitch. Is this a fun date...? Quite suddenly, Charly leans over and kisses him on the lips. He reacts, startled. Stares at her. HENESSEY Okay, what's going on? CHARLY True love, shut the fuck up. HENESSEY You kidding me? I'm an ex-con, lady. I wear a shiny suit, my tie's crooked, and the last time I got blown candy bars cost a nickel. Plus I'm ugly, so what's up? CHARLY Chemistry. Be quiet. She nibbles his ear. Pulls back, smiling -- and Henessey's holding the picture of HAL and CAITLIN. The one he found torn in two. He looks her full in the face: HENESSEY Chemistry my ass. Know what I think? I think this is why you'd fuck me. (beat) To kill a schoolteacher. Bury any trace of her. He pushes her away. HENESSEY Sorry, I liked the schoolteacher. When she comes back, give me a call. Charly jerks backward. Angry. Henessey heads for the bathroom. HENESSEY Oh, and call your fuckin' kid, will ya'? It's two days to Christmas, and she's under the mistaken impression that Mommy gives a shit. Charly snatches up her purse, eyes burning: CHARLY I didn't ask for the kid, Mitch. Samantha had the kid, not me, NOBODY ASKED ME. She storms out. CUT TO: EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHTTIME Charly stalks the city streets. A quartet sings, "God Rest Ye Merry," ostensibly about joy, oddly the most depressing tune ever written. On a crowded street, she is alone. Total misfit. Searches her own haggard features in a shop window. Swallows hard, whispers: CHARLY Easy, baby. She ain't coming back, no way. Bitch is dead. She bustles down a sidestreet, hands jammed in her pockets. That's when a tall BEARDED MAN crosses the street and falls in alongside. BEARDED MAN Good evening. CHARLY Fuck off. BEARDED MAN I see me a good-looking lady, all upset, I wonder if she doesn't need some male company. CHARLY Forget it. I'm saving myself 'til I get raped. His hand edges out of his windbreaker with a snubnosed .38. BEARDED MAN Step into the alley, honey. I ain't asking, I'm telling. Charly stops walking. Regards him the way you or I might look at a telephone cord. Groans: CHARLY Oh, don't tell me. You're early, Goddammit, you're supposed to be at the pay phone. Go away and come back at midnight. I'm not ready yet. Got a light? The guy stares, mouth working. BEARDED MAN Lady, I have a gun! Which is precisely when a much larger Smith and Wesson COCKS next to his ear: VOICE (V.O.) This ain't no ham on rye, pal. HENESSEY holds the gun rock steady in his big fist. Charly spins on him, eyes flashing: CHARLY What the hell are you doing here? HENESSEY Saving your life. Woulda got here sooner but I was thinking up the sandwich line. CHARLY You think I couldn't take him? *Idiot*, you probably scared the other guy away -- HENESSEY What other guy -- ? CHARLY Headhunters, nimrod, they go in pairs, were you always this stupid or did you take lessons? HENESSEY I TOOK LESSONS. The hitman watches, bewildered. Considers waving to get their attention. Finally he can't stand it. Blurts out: BEARDED MAN Hey! Charly snaps her head toward him: CHARLY *What*? BEARDED MAN I still got this fucking gun! She smiles sweetly. CHARLY No, you don't. Takes it off him. Just like that. He stares dumbly at his empty hand. Half of his trigger finger is missing. BEARDED MAN SHIIIIT!! Charly flips the gun into the air. Launches a SPIN KICK. Shatters his jaw. Catapults him backwards. Completes her spin, catlike -- Catches the .38 on its way down. DOESN'T STOP THERE. Arm out, gun cocked -- FIRES. Straight at Henessey, what...? He dives aside -- BEHIND HIM, a second HITMAN. Blown to tatters. The KNIFE meant for Henessey arcs through the air... Imbeds itself in the ground an inch from the prone detective. He stares at it with shocked eyes. The killer hits, dead. Twitches. CHARLY. Lowers her arm slowly. Gun barrel smoking. CHARLY Fuck you. Just fuck all of you. EXT. ATLANTIC CITY STREET - NIGHTTIME A BRONCO ROARS UP out of a parking garage. Swerves and plunges into the maze of streets that inspired the world's most popular board game. INT. BRONCO - SAME Charly drives, possessed. Henessey drinks. Hands shaking. CHARLY Dammit. I knew I couldn't trust that prick. She throws a shrieking skid. Henessey clutches for the dashboard, swearing. CHARLY Easy, Spike. I got myself out of Beirut once, I think I can get us out of New Jersey. HENESSEY Don't be so sure, others have tried. The entire population, in fact. (beat) Look, about me...? I mean, what's up, you're this hot survival chick, I'm getting the feeling you don't need me anymore. Charly reaches over. Yanks the doorhandle. CHARLY Good point. She kicks him out of the moving car. EXT. HIGHWAY - SAME TIME He bounces off the highway. Rolls. Over and over, shudders to a stop. Pause... The wind blows. He groans. Looks up, spits gravel. Stands. Dusts himself off. Watches the Bronco go far away. TIME CUT - EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT As Henessey trudges wearily down the highway we HEAR: HENESSEY (V.O.) Dear Mom: I was tortured, now I'm in Atlantic City. The girl of my dreams just threw me out of a speeding car. Now more people will come an shoot me in the head. On the plus side, I won two bucks at video poker. A SCREECH of tires, he turns, startled -- here comes the Bronco. Skids onto the highway and races back toward him. Pulls up alongside. CHARLY throws open the door, says: CHARLY Get in. He does. Without a word. Closes the door, they drive off. He lights a cigarette like nothing happened. Shakes out the match, speaks without looking at her: HENESSEY Found a use for me. CHARLY Yep. (beat) I gotta vanish, Mitch. I need money, a whole bunch. HENESSEY Why didn't you say so? Gimme a second while I pull it out of my ass. She turns to him, a gleam in her eye. Speaks softly: CHARLY The key, Mitch. The one I keep around my neck. HENESSEY What about it? CHARLY What if I told you it's the key to Box 406 at Pittsburgh International Airport? HENESSEY How would you know? Someone filed off the numbers. CHARLY Not someone. Me. I filed them off. (beat) There's a briefcase in Box 406, Mitch. HENESSEY What's in it? CHARLY $200,000. Henessey does a spit-take, sprays whiskey. CHARLY Payment for my last assignment. I need you to retrieve it for me. HENESSEY Why me? CHARLY Don't be stupid, they might have the place covered. I don't want to get shot to pieces. HENESSEY Shoulda known. (sighs) Gimme the key. CHARLY I'd love to. I left it with Caitlin back in Ohio. EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT The BRONCO races on into the night... INT. BRONCO - SAME TIME Late, very late now. Henessey, driving. Beside him, Charly reclines, lost in reverie. Features bathed in passing roadlights. Henessey grinds out a butt: HENESSEY Humor me: you're a paid assassin, then you fall off a cliff. Sink under the ocean, and when you come out you're a fucking schoolmarm, wanna tell me what happened? CHARLY I fell into a school of fish, they elected me principal. Shut the fuck up. HENESSEY Mmmm. Personally...? I'm thinking maybe Samantha Caine wasn't an act. Maybe you forgot to hate yourself for eight years, ever think of that...? CHARLY Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Hmmm... Nope, seems clear enough to me. Hate myself, Christ almighty. What are you, my shrink? HENESSEY No, just some loser thought he could maybe understand, fuck it. I been there, you know. I'd kill for fucking amnesia. I'm with my boy and all I can think is I got reamed in the ass by three guys. Merry Christmas, son, here's a ball glove, did you know Daddy screamed when they carved the name in his back...? Mary, by the way. I pushed for Cindy, but hell. God, I'm tired. (beat) I never did one thing right, you know it, not one fucking thing. Not even accidental, that takes skill. He looks over. She's asleep, hasn't heard a word. Face slack, lips slightly parted. The toughness banished from her features. In its place, a lingering sadness. CUT TO: EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAWN BREAKING The Bronco glides along. Charly in the passenger seat, eyes roving like a hawk's. THE CAINE HOUSE is peaceful and quiet. Christmas lights, still burning dimly. CHARLY Drive past, don't slow down. (points) Park under those trees, honk if there's trouble. HENESSEY (bad Rochester) Yas, massah, I be slowin' de caw down fo' you. She stuffs a .45 automatic in her waistband. Cradles an MP-5 beneath her coat. Rolls out of the still-moving truck. Makes her way through back yards. Silent as a cat. She went to cookouts here. Bridge parties. Now she prowls, a grim assassin. Leaps a fence, drops behind a woodpile -- Comes face to face with RAYMOND, a fifth grade student we saw earlier. Secreted behind the woodpile, SMOKING. His eyes pop as he spies good ol' Ms. Caine, sporting blonde hair and an assault weapon. Charly doesn't miss a beat: CHARLY Good morning, Raymond. RAYMOND Um... morning, Ms. Caine. CHARLY What did we learn about the dangers of smoking...? Give it here. A wet stain appears at his crotch. He hands her the cigarette with nerveless fingers. Charly accepts it. Takes a lon