Rabid. David Cronenberg
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EXT. HILLY COUNTRY ROAD -- DAY
A large, black, powerful-looking motorcycle waits propped up
on its center stand on the gravel shoulder of a deserted
country road. The gold lettering on its tank and side covers
identifies it as a Norton Commando 850.
Two white Bell full-coverage helmets sit on its saddle, like
medieval jousting helmets.
Beyond the motorcycle, stretched out on a grassy rise, lie
Hart Read, twenty-six, and his long-time girlfriend Rose,
who is the kind of eighteen that often seems more like
fifteen, and once in a while like twelve.
At the moment Rose is definitely eighteen and in control of
things, producing tuna sandwiches with lettuce and mayonnaise
out of a string bag and pouring coffee, pre-mixed with sugar
and milk, from a small thermos flask. Read watches her play
housewife with vast amusement. Rose holds out a sandwich.
READ
What’ve we got, Rose? Steak on a
bun?
ROSE
Tuna with lettuce and mayo. You gonna
make trouble?
READ
Yeah. Big trouble.
He grabs Rose’s wrist and pulls her close. He looks her deep
in the eyes.
READ
I want steak.
Read kisses her full on the mouth. Rose drops the sandwich
into the grass.
READ
Steak.
They kiss passionately.
EXT. HILLY COUNTRY ROAD -- DAY -- ONE HOUR LATER
Read kicks the big Norton into life. Rose puts on her helmet,
does up the chin strap, and gets on the machine behind Read.
Read waits for her to get settled, blips the throttle, then
accelerates off the shoulder of the road, fishtailing slightly
in the gravel.
EXT. HILLY COUNTRY ROAD -- DAY
The Norton booms along the twisty two-lane road. The road is
clear and Read feels good. He opens the throttle even more,
almost becoming airborne over the crest of a steep rise, and
leaning the bike over in the corners until he scrapes rubber
off the footpegs.
Rose rides loose, completely at ease behind Read. She clasps
her arms around him loosely, always going with the motion of
the machine, closing her eyes in pleasure.
EXT. HILLY COUNTRY ROAD -- DAY
Further up the road, a neat white VW pop-top camper trundles
along in the opposite direction carrying a middle-aged man,
his wife, and their twelve-year-old daughter. They are city
slickers out for an autumn camping jaunt, and things are not
going well for them.
WIFE
(scrutinizing crumpled
map)
We passed it.
MAN
We didn’t pass it. I remember that
farm.
WIFE
We passed it. That farm comes after
concession road 12 and we were
supposed to turn at concession road
11.
KID
I don’t remember that farm, Dad.
MAN
We didn’t pass it. I very distinctly
remember that farm.
WIFE
If you would just stop this vehicle
long enough to take a look at the
map I will prove to you beyond any
shadow of a doubt that we...
MAN
(losing his temper)
All right!
The man swings the camper across both lanes in one furious
motion and slams on the brakes just before they go over the
edge of the road into a ditch bordering an open field.
MAN
You’re both right and I’m all wrong.
He slams the camper into reverse and backs up as far as he
can, then slams it into first and lurches forward, trying
vainly to make a clean three-point turn on the narrow road.
MAN
We’ll turn around and go all the way
back.
When the camper is stretched completely across both lanes of
the highway, it stalls. The man twists the key viciously but
it won’t restart.
MAN
Goddamn thing! Shoulda never sold
the goddamn station wagon.
KID
The station wagon used to use too
much gas, remember, Dad?
WIFE
You keep quiet when your dad’s in a
sweat, Valerie.
MAN
(still trying to start
the camper)
Goddamn thing. Shoulda never sold
the wagon.
Without warning, Read’s bike suddenly appears over the crest
of the hill just beyond the camper. The bike is nearing 100
miles an hour. The wife sees it first.
WIFE
Oh, Christ, Bob!
MAN
(looking up)
Huh? Oh, Christ!
There is no place for Read to go except off the road. The
bike shoots over the drainage ditch beside the road two feet
from the nose of the camper. The man and his wife sit with
their mouths open, watching through their front windshield
the bike fly through the air into an overgrown field, as
though it were happening on TV.
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
When the bike finally lands in the field, it hits down front
wheel first. The impact slams Read over the handlebars into
the trunk of a small but solid tree. Rose stays with the
machine for one complete cartwheel. The motorcycle ends up
on top of her, the tank across her belly. Before she can
move, the tank explodes into flames. The flames begin to
melt the plastic visor of her helmet.
EXT. EDGE OF THE FIELD -- DAY
The camper driver turns around in his seat and starts to
rummage around, looking for something to put out the fire.
His wife gets hysterical. She can see Rose trying vainly to
get out from under the bike.
WIFE
Oh, my God! She’s gonna burn! She’s
gonna die!
MAN
Where’s the kid’s blanket? Where’s
the kid’s goddamn blanket!?
EXT. TERRACE OF KELOID CLINIC -- DAY
Jackie, a cool blonde English woman in her early forties,
has been bird-watching from the clinic’s terrace. Something
startling attracts her attention.
JACKIE
I don’t believe it.
Lloyd Walsh, an actor in his late thirties in the Keloid
Clinic of Cosmetic Surgery for his second facial touch-up,
pauses in the middle of a sit-up which he is performing on
an exercise mat a few yards away. Walsh is wearing a blue
jogging outfit whose top bears the words ’JOGGING KILLS.’
His head is bandaged.
WALSH
What is it? You spot a rare tufted
tit-mouse or somethin’?
Jackie turns away from her binoculars. She has thin surgical
wires attached to the upper and lower eyelids of both eyes.
JACKIE
There’s a motorcycle burning in the
middle of a field. I think there’s
somebody under it.
Walsh jumps to his feet with exaggerated athletic vigor.
WALSH
Yeah? Lemme have a look.
Jackie hands Walsh her binoculars and points him in the right
general direction.
JACKIE
See that column of smoke? Just follow
it down to its source.
We look through the binoculars with him as he does so. Sure
enough, there is a bike burning in a field with someone
trapped beneath it.
WALSH
Wow. Lookit that!
He turns and begins to sprint for the stairway at the end of
the terrace.
JACKIE
Where are you going?
WALSH
Gonna tell the boys downstairs. It’s
right up their alley.
JACKIE
Oh.
(calling after the
disappearing Walsh)
Careful with my binoculars! They’re
very expensive!
INT. CLINIC BOARDROOM -- DAY
The three partners who own and operate the Keloid Clinic are
holding an informal meeting in the posh boardroom of the
clinic, with cigars (Cypher), cigarettes, coffee, and full
ashtrays much in evidence.
Involved are Dr. Daniel Keloid, a youthful forty-five, lowkey
but forceful, founder of the Keloid Clinic and extremely
successful society plastic surgeon; Keloid’s wife, Roxanne,
who is herself an MD and who was once a student of Keloid’s;
and Murray Cypher, the clinic’s accountant. Cypher is fortyeight,
dapper, generally enthusiastic, and believes
passionately in creative accounting.
It has apparently been a long and tiring session. Cypher in
particular shows signs of strain. His end of the table is
littered with pages of scratch pad covered with hastily
scrawled notes and figures.
CYPHER
As far as I’m concerned these guys
are completely legit. The bank is
just as convinced as I am. They told
me they’re willing to go all the way
with us. I’m telling you, Danny -- a
franchise operation for plastic
surgery resorts is one of those
magnificent, inevitable ideas.
KELOID
Banks are always quick to say that
when everything’s rolling easy. But
you can take it from me -- first
sign of heat from the medical
association, first cries of
professional outrage, and the bank’ll
call back its note and leave us
hanging by our thumbs.
ROXANNE
It’s not the financing that’s
bothering you, Dan. Your voice has
that edge to it.
KELOID
I’ve never denied it. I sure as hell
don’t want to become the Colonel
Sanders of plastic surgery.
CYPHER
Why not? Sounds great to me.
KELOID
I’ll tell you why not. Because it’s
unprofessional, unmedical, and
unsavory.
CYPHER
You thought of it.
KELOID
I was only kidding.
CYPHER
You were not. Besides, you want me
to go back and tell three of the
largest investment groups in North
America, ’Forget it. He was only
kidding?’
KELOID
(in only partially
mock despair)
Oh, God. It’s all gotten out of hand.
I can see it now: fifty enfranchised
Keloid’s Cosmetic Surgery Clinics
flung across the face of North America
like Holiday Inns. Next thing you
know, Do-It-Yourself Facelift Kits.
CYPHER
I like it. We could call it... we
could call it Suture Self.
(starts to scribble
madly)
No, I’m serious. I like that. There’s
got to be a way.
ROXANNE
All right, boys. I think we’re getting
a bit silly...
The office intercom on the table chimes and the voice of
Steve, an orderly, fills the room.
STEVE (V.O.)
Is Dr. Keloid there? It’s urgent.
KELOID
Yeah, what is it, Steve?
STEVE (V.O.)
There’s been a motorcycle accident a
few minutes down the highway here.
Looks like a couple of people have
been hurt. Should I take the van and
go get ’em?
KELOID
Yeah, sure.
(short pause)
Hey, wait a minute. Steve? You still
there?
STEVE (V.O.)
Yeah.
KELOID
Hang on till I get there, OK? I’m
coming with you. Meet you at the
garage.
STEVE (V.O.)
Roger.
The intercom chimes off as Keloid stands up to leave. Cypher
throws his pen on the table.
ROXANNE
(exasperated)
Oh, now, Dan. We’ve got a lot of
decisions to make...
KELOID
(leaving)
You and Murray work it out, hon.
Just make the pill easy for me to
swallow, OK?
He closes the door behind him, leaving Cypher and Roxanne to
their own devices.
CYPHER
Well, what do you think about facelift
kits, Roxy? I mean, they’ve got
abortion kits.
ROXANNE
(frustrated)
Let’s just forget that anybody ever
mentioned the idea, OK, Murray?
Cypher shrugs. It still sounds great to him.
EXT. CLINIC DRIVEWAY -- DAY
In the middle of a landscaped triangle of lawn stands a large
light-box-style sign which reads KELOID CLINIC OF COSMETIC
SURGERY. Along one side of the triangle runs a crushed-gravel
driveway at the end of which is a long, low garage just behind
the main building, which looks as though it might once have
been a small stable.
One of the three doors of the garage slides up and a van
peels rubber out of the garage, sliding a bit once it hits
the gravel. The van is set up inside and out exactly like a
standard big-city ambulance, but without any ambulance
markings. Instead, sedate white lettering on the doors reads
KELOID CLINIC, LTD.
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
Read lies crumpled at the base of the tree. The end of his
right collarbone is sticking out at a bizarre angle and his
right shoulder is hanging too low. Read has regained enough
consciousness to feebly undo his helmet with his left hand.
Beyond him, clouds of oily black smoke curl skywards from
the fallen Norton. Read can hardly focus his eyes on the
figures running toward them from the camper at the edge of
the field. He slips dreamily into unconsciousness.
INT. VAN -- DAY
The clinic van turns off a secondary road on to the two-lane
highway and accelerates furiously, tossing its occupants
around as it momentarily slews sideways.
In the back of the van are Steve, who is busily preparing
stretchers and oxygen, and Dr. Keloid.
Keloid prepares several hypodermic syringes while expertly
bracing himself against the motion of the van.
Steve finishes attaching a hose to a small cylinder of oxygen
and turns the release valve to test the oxygen flow through
the nose-piece.
STEVE
Well, we’ve got oxygen now, Dr.
Keloid.
Keloid watches the thin column of black smoke looming larger
through the windshield of the van. He reaches for a small
fire extinguisher affixed to the frame of the van and begins
to undo the clamps holding it there.
KELOID
I think we’re going to have to use
this before we get close enough for
the oxygen, Steve.
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
Rose has stopped moving under the flaming machine. The man
from the camper, running and stumbling over the uneven ground,
finally arrives, followed by his older son (who is about
thirteen). The man tries vainly to smother the flames with
his younger son’s blanket, but the heat is too intense for
him to get really close.
The man is almost in tears with horror and frustration. His
son just stares wide-eyed.
EXT. EDGE OF FIELD -- DAY
The clinic van bounces to a halt by the edge of the field
and the driver, the most junior of the clinic’s four
orderlies, jumps out and runs around to the back of the van.
The back doors swing open and Keloid jumps out with the fire
extinguisher in one hand and a small leather bag in the other.
He heads for the flames as the wife and her kid watch from
the front seats of the camper. The wife sticks her head out
of the window and points at the flames.
WIFE
(to Keloid)
They’re over there, Doctor! They
were speeding!
Keloid is soon followed by the two orderlies carrying a large
wheeled stretcher, which they have hauled from the back of
the van.
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
The man who was driving the camper is still making sporadic
attempts to beat out the flames with the blanket when Keloid
arrives and opens up the valve of the fire extinguisher. The
white powdery foam covers everything in a few seconds, killing
the flames easily.
MAN
(to Keloid)
I tried to put it out. I couldn’t
get near it.
Keloid kneels beside Rose. He takes a pair of scissors from
his bag and cuts the helmet strap under her chin. He slips
the helmet off her head with great care. Her long blonde
hair falls into a pool around her face, which seems remarkably
at peace and untouched: only a rectangle of black soot where
her helmet’s visor melted away and admitted smoke gives any
indication of what she’s gone through.
When the orderlies arrive, the man points out Read for them.
MAN
There’s another one over there. I
saw him movin’ around a minute ago.
KELOID
(to orderlies)
Might as well go get him. We won’t
be ready to move her for a few
minutes.
The orderlies trot off toward Read with their stretcher. The
man watches them leave, then turns back to look at Rose. He
shakes his head as Keloid gives her an injection.
MAN
Christ. I didn’t know it was a girl.
Is she dead?
KELOID
This isn’t embalming fluid I’m
shooting into her. See if you can
lift the machine off her. Use the
blanket around your hands. It’s hot.
The man wraps the blanket around his hands and begins to
half-pull, half-slide the Norton off Rose by the handlebars.
The orderlies go by on their way to the van with Read
unconscious on the stretcher.
As the bike slides away to reveal Rose’s abdomen, the man
recoils in horror.
MAN
My God.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD -- DAY
The clinic van speeds along the road toward the clinic.
INT. VAN -- DAY
Rose is on the stretcher with intravenous tubes in her arms,
bottles hanging over her head, an oxygen mask over her mouth
and nose, and several layers of blood-soaked bandages and
surgical gauze over her abdomen. The senior orderly monitors
the oxygen flow, the IV levels, and Rose’s pulse, while Keloid
speaks to someone at the clinic over the van’s CB radio,
which has a telephone-style speaker/ receiver.
Read sits jammed into a small seat behind the driver, his
head back against the van wall, completely dazed. He is
conscious enough to wince in pain with every bump the van
hits, but he obviously doesn’t know where he is or why he’s
there.
KELOID
Roxanne? Yeah, listen. We’re going
to have to throw in everything we’ve
got. I know, but let me tell you
what we’re looking at. The gas tank
exploded over the girl’s abdomen and
I don’t know what she’s got left in
there. The man’s got a broken hand,
separated shoulder, concussion, the
usual. We can send him to the General.
But it’s definitely major surgery
for her, and right now. I know we’re
not, but we’ve got no choice. I’d
say she’s got a half hour to live
and it’s three hours to the nearest
serious hospital. It’s us or nobody.
Yeah. I hope I can remember too.
Well, they say it’s like riding a
bicycle.
EXT. CLINIC DRIVEWAY -- DAY
The van stops in front of the clinic and the orderlies jump
out. Keloid holds the bottles and the oxygen as the orderlies
unload the stretcher and roll it up the front walk of the
clinic, which is a spectacularly renovated old farmhouse --
all sandblasted auburn brick, pine, and cedar planking, white
paint and Vista Vision windows.
A group composed of patients and staff cluster around the
main doors of the clinic to watch as the stretcher approaches.
Nobody seems to notice Read, who has been left sitting in
the van.
INT. CLINIC ENTRANCE -- DAY
Lloyd Walsh holds open one of the main glass doors while a
nurse opens the other one. The secretary -- receptionist
abandons her phones and her sleek plastic desk/filing cabinet
module to work her way through the group at the doors in
order to take a look.
Walsh makes room for the secretary -- Sheila -- beside him.
Rose is wheeled through the doors. Her condition is so
obviously serious and so different from the usual ’touch-up’
jobs done at the Keloid Clinic, which has a carefully
calculated country resort atmosphere about it, that everyone
becomes completely silent as she enters.
KELOID
(to nurse at door)
Get the guy in the van into
observation and check him out. But
take it easy -- concussion, separated
shoulder, broken hand. OK, Louise?
Maybe some Demerol when he becomes
lucid.
LOUISE
OK, Dr. Keloid.
Louise leaves the door once the stretcher has gone by and
heads out to the van. Walsh lets go of his door and jogs
after her.
Jackie, still wearing sunglasses, shakes her head as she
watches the stretcher go off down the hall and turns to the
middle-aged lady standing next to her.
JACKIE
What a waste. She doesn’t even need
a nose job.
INT. CLINIC HALLWAY -- DAY
The orderlies wheel the stretcher down a hallway which was
patently never meant to be used as a hospital corridor: Rose
is getting a very rough ride. As they move along they pass
various patients who react with shock and horror when they
see Rose. The Keloid Clinic is usually more discreet about
blood than a normal hospital.
MAN
(as Rose passes)
Jesus wept! What’s that all about?
WOMAN
Somebody said something about an
accident.
MAN
(repulsed)
Couldn’t they throw a sheet over it
or something? I’m starting to feel
like I’m in a hospital.
The fastidious man and his companion go through some doors
which, according to an elegantly lettered sign on a wall,
lead to a squash court.
The orderlies stop in front of another set of doors. Keloid
hands one of them the bottles he has been holding as a second
nurse, Rita, comes out to meet them. Rita is a very solid,
square-bodied, fortyish lady.
KELOID
OK, boys. Take her into pre-op and
tell Dr. Karl to set her up for the
works.
INT. SURGICAL WASH-UP -- DAY
Keloid and Roxanne wash with disinfectant in preparation for
Rose’s operation, aided by a third orderly whom we have not
seen before.
Roxanne is short, dark, intense, and ambitious beyond her
present practice. She does not wear her thirty-seven years
particularly well, so the age difference between her and her
husband seems more theoretical than anything else. She is
very particular about being called by her maiden name and is
known as Dr. Rushton to all the clinic’s patients. At the
moment, Keloid and Roxanne are having a very controlled, lowkey
argument which Roxanne tries to keep the orderly from
hearing.
ROXANNE
I don’t buy it, Dan.
KELOID
You haven’t seen her.
ROXANNE
I don’t have to see her. Neutral
field grafts have never been used
internally. We could end up with a
terminal cancer patient on our hands.
KELOID
Aw, c’mon. We can monitor, Roxy.
She’s got nothing to lose. Literally.
She doesn’t have enough small
intestine left to absorb nutrient.
If we just close her up she’ll have
to be fed intravenously for the rest
of her life, which will be a short
and a dismal one. But if we graft
neutral field tissue cones into the
abdominal cavity, there’s a chance
that they’ll read her condition by
post-embryonic induction and develop
into a new set of intestines.
ROXANNE
Or run wild and make some very
creative malignant tumors. Dan, the
clinic doesn’t need this. Let’s play
it safe.
Keloid doesn’t respond. He finishes snapping on his surgical
gloves and turns to the scrub-nurse, who helps him on with
his sterilized operating tunic.
INT. OBSERVATION ROOM -- DAY
Read has regained full consciousness in the clinic’s
observation room and is watching Louise cut away his wellworn
leather motorcycle jacket with a pair of snub-nosed
surgical scissors. She cuts her way up the right sleeve to
the shoulder, then across the shoulder to the collar. She is
then able to slip the jacket easily away from Read’s right
shoulder, which is still very obviously not where it should
be. She now starts in on his Norton T-shirt, which is all he
was wearing underneath his jacket.
READ
Oh, no. Not the T-shirt. Rose gave
me the T-shirt.
LOUISE
I think you’d find it pretty painful
trying to take if off the standard
way.
Read makes an attempt to slip his arm out of his T-shirt but
immediately gives up, grimacing in pain.
READ
No, look. I think I can... Ow! Oh!
You’re right. Cut the thing off.
I’ll put it up on the wall of my
garage.
Louise continues snipping off the T-shirt.
READ
So when do I get to see Rose?
LOUISE
Not for a while.
READ
Why not?
Louise doesn’t answer.
Read pulls away from Louise and tries to stand up. He can’t
keep his balance and falls back against the wall, banging
his wrecked shoulder.
READ
I want to see her right now! Ow! Oh,
God. I didn’t kill her, did I?
Louise reaches for a syringe of Demerol.
LOUISE
She’s not dead.
READ
What is that stuff? I don’t want you
to put me out.
LOUISE
It’s just Demerol. It’ll ease the
pain. All right?
Read lets Louise take his good arm. She swabs him down and
sinks the needle in.
READ
(sarcastically)
Sure. Wonderful. Anything to ease
the pain.
INT. OPERATING ROOM -- DAY
Keloid and Roxanne are well into their operation on Rose,
assisted by a team of five which includes Dr. William Karl,
the clinic’s anesthetist. Keloid and Roxanne are in the
process of cutting large squares of skin from Rose’s thighs.
KELOID
Now, I know everyone here is familiar
with the standard techniques of skin
grafting, but what we’re going to do
is a little out of the ordinary.
I’ll explain it as we go. We’re
removing full-thickness skin grafting
material from the patient’s thighs
as per normal graft acquisition
procedure. However, before these
grafts are applied to the damaged
areas of the patient’s breasts,
abdomen, and so on, they will be
treated so that they become
morphogenetically neutral. They are
then called neutral field grafts.
KARL
Can we treat the graft material here,
Dr. Keloid?
KELOID
No, Dr. Karl. The graft tissue will
be frozen and sent to the Sperling
Institute. We’ll have to keep the
patient in an operation-ready state
until it comes back to us. That’s
going to be a bit trying for all of
us, but it can’t be helped.
As Keloid speaks, the sections of thigh skin are placed in
spun aluminum cylinders of the same general type as those
used in eye banks. The cylinders are then sealed and placed
in a medical freezer.
RITA
I don’t understand the functional
difference between neutral field and
normal graft tissue, Doctor.
KELOID
Well, when the thigh skin tissue is
treated, Nurse Benedetto, it’ll lose
its specificity as both thigh tissue
and skin tissue. For example, if it
were grafted to a burned cheek, it
wouldn’t just be thigh skin with the
color and texture of thigh skin --
it would actually develop as facial
tissue. In other words, neutral field
tissue has the same ability to form
any part of the human body that the
tissue of a human embryo has.
KARL
Doctor, this patient has lost most
of her absorptive intestinal mucosa.
Could neutral field tissue reconstruct
an organ as complex as the small
intestine.
KELOID
Yes, Dr. Karl. I think that under
the right circumstances it could.
I’ve done it myself using lab animals
at the Sperling Institute.
Keloid and Roxanne exchange glances, then Keloid looks away.
KELOID
Let me add that there is always a
possibility that carcinomas will
form when neutral field grafts are
used internally. In this case, we’re
using a radical plastic-surgery
technique to compensate for our lack
of heavy medical hardware. We’re
doing it to save a life. It’s the
only trick we’ve got.
EXT. KELOID CLINIC -- DAY
Wide shot of exterior front of the Keloid Clinic in late
autumn.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. KELOID CLINIC -- ONE MONTH LATER -- DAY
Same shot as previous scene, one month later. Snow is on the
ground and the trees are bare.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
INT. ROSE’S ROOM AT THE KELOID CLINIC -- DAY
Read stands over Rose’s bed, which is a very well-disguised
hospital bed (everything possible is done to keep the clinic
from feeling like a hospital). Read’s left hand is encased
in a wire cage which supports all his fingers. He is watching
Rose intently, who is still in a coma and is attached to a
battery of intravenous bottles connected to her by clear
vinyl tubes and IV needles. Read is particularly fascinated
by Rose’s eyes, which he can see moving around wildly behind
her eyelids.
He bends close, then kisses her gently on her pale, dry lips.
INT. CLINIC HALLWAY -- DAY
Nurse Louise walks briskly down a hall toward Rose’s room.
On her way she passes Judy Glasberg clutching a pocket edition
of The Life and Work of Sigmund Freud and strolling
thoughtfully in the opposite direction.
LOUISE
Hi, Judy Glasberg. You back again?
JUDY
Daddy didn’t think the new nose was
different enough, so I’m in for more
alterations. I keep telling him it
looks just like his, and he keeps
saying, ’That’s why I want you to
change it.’ I’m terrified to find
out what it all means.
They both laugh.
The two women part and go their separate ways. We follow
Louise as she opens the door to Rose’s room, which bears a
printed sign saying: INTENSIVE CARE, QUALIFIED PERSONNEL
ONLY.
INT. ROSE’S ROOM -- DAY
Louise enters the room in time to surprise Read in the act
of pulling back the sheet covering Rose.
LOUISE
Didn’t you see the sign on the door,
Mr Read? You’re supposed to register
with me before you come in here.
READ
I saw it. I guess I consider myself
qualified.
Louise edges Read away from the bed and covers Rose up again.
Her entire body is heavily bandaged, and almost every inch
of exposed skin has an IV needle taped to it. Louise begins
to moisten Rose’s eyelids and lips with various gels.
LOUISE
What are you trying to do, give her
pneumonia?
READ
I’m trying to ease my guilt feelings
by telling myself that Rose is getting
better.
LOUISE
(softening)
I see. Is it working?
READ
Is she getting better?
LOUISE
You’ve been here often enough in the
past two months to know as much as I
do.
READ
When do I get to see Dr. Keloid?
LOUISE
You never tell me in advance when
you’re coming. How can I make an
appointment for you?
READ
I never know in advance when the
next wave of guilt will hit me. I
want to see him right now.
LOUISE
He’s in a meeting.
READ
Tell him I forced you.
LOUISE
(leaving the room)
All right. But please... no touching
until she’s conscious.
READ
OK, Mom.
Louise makes a face and leaves.
INT. KELOID’S OFFICE -- DAY
Read sits across from Keloid’s desk in Keloid’s office, which
seems more like a successful PR executive’s office than a
doctor’s. While they talk, Keloid toys with Rose’s file, not
really ever looking at it: he is obviously very familiar
with its contents, and also in a very distracted frame of
mind.
KELOID
Well, as you’ve seen, Rose is still
in some kind of coma, sort of half
real coma, half normal deep sleep.
Could be weeks before she’s lucid.
READ
You don’t know for sure?
KELOID
No. Her body is still in a state of
total shock. She can’t possibly be
moved to a city hospital yet. Her
grafts seem to be healing well. We’ve
been monitoring the internal grafts
electronically and there is definitely
new tissue growth happening in the
abdominal cavity. Whether this growth
will mature into functioning
intestinal mucosa we won’t know for
quite a while.
READ
You mean if your grafts or whatever
they are don’t work, she’ll never
eat like a normal human being again.
She’ll have to be fed intravenously.
KELOID
That’s right. At the moment, she has
only enough small intestine to digest
the most basic nutrient material.
See -- the longer the small intestine,
the more complex the food that can
be broken down and absorbed by the
body as food. Cows have lots and
lots of intestines so they can eat
grass and other vegetable matter. We
have medium-length intestines, so we
can eat meat and a limited variety
of vegetable matter. Vampire bats --
the real ones, I mean -- have short
intestines, so they eat whole blood,
which is very easy to break down and
assimilate. Your girlfriend’s in the
same boat.
READ
What about her brain?
KELOID
Her helmet probably saved her from
brain damage, but until she’s fully
conscious...
READ
You won’t know that either.
KELOID
(throwing up his hands)
Hart, what can I tell you? There’s
no magic. Look, I’ve done my best.
You’re welcome to come here and keep
your vigil by Rose’s bedside any
time the mood takes you, but please
believe me, I will personally
telephone you the instant Rose shows
even the slightest signs of regaining
consciousness.
Read sighs, then shrugs with his good shoulder.
EXT. CLINIC DRIVEWAY -- DAY
Lloyd Walsh and Read stand in the driveway watching as two
orderlies load the burned and smashed hulk of Read’s Norton
into the back of Murray Cypher’s Ford station wagon.
WALSH
Jeez, when I saw that thing burning,
I never figured I’d be standing here
talking to you a month later. How’s
your hand?
READ
They’re taking the cage off this
afternoon. That’s when I’ll find
out. The pin stays in my shoulder
for another month, though. Doesn’t
seem to bother me except when it
gets damp.
Cypher comes hurriedly out of the front door, putting on a
suit jacket and stuffing papers into his attaché case at the
same time. He walks over to Read and Walsh and opens the
door of his car.
CYPHER
(to Walsh)
Hi, Lloyd. How ya doin’?
WALSH
Great.
Cypher gets into his car, slams the door, and pops the
passenger door open for Read.
CYPHER
C’mon, Hart. I got a pack of hungry
investors waiting for me.
Read gets into the station wagon as the orderlies slam the
rear door shut on the Norton. Walsh waves goodbye to Read,
who smiles weakly.
CYPHER
I hope you’ve got some friends who’ll
help you unload that pile of junk.
I’ve got a bad back. What’re you
going to do with it? Use it for an
ashtray?
He turns the ignition key and starts the station wagon.
READ
Giving it to a friend for parts. I
can hardly stand to look at it. Think
I’ll get back into go-karts.
Cypher laughs, waves to Walsh, and pulls away from the
driveway. Walsh smiles at them and turns back to the clinic,
patting himself absently under the chin as he goes.
EXT. CLINIC -- DAY
Wide-angle shot of the front of the clinic as Walsh goes
back inside.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. CLINIC -- NIGHT
Same shot as previous scene, but late at night. There are
only one or two lights on inside.
INT. CLINIC HALL/NIGHT NURSE’S STATION -- NIGHT
The night nurse checks her watch at her station, which is
little more than a desk, chair, and lamp placed at the end
of a hall. It’s time for her to make her rounds. She puts
down her magazine -- People -- and walks down the hall. At
the end of it, she disappears down a stairwell.
INT. ANOTHER HALL -- NIGHT
The night nurse walks past Rose’s room, pausing only for a
moment to glance in at Rose’s sleeping form. She then
continues on down the hall.
INT. ANOTHER HALL -- NIGHT
The night nurse walks past Lloyd Walsh’s door. There is a
PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from his doorknob. The
nurse notices that Walsh’s light is on and diffusing out
through the crack under the door, but she continues on down
the hall.
INT. WALSH’S ROOM -- NIGHT
Walsh is lying in bed reading The Life and Work of Sigmund
Freud, which he has borrowed from Judy Glasberg. His room,
like all the private rooms at the clinic, is furnished in
the style of the plushest, most modern jet-set ski lodges.
It’s easy to understand why patients extend their stays beyond
what is medically necessary, and just as obvious that the
Keloid Clinic management makes no attempt to discourage this
’home away from home’ attitude toward the place.
Walsh can’t get comfortable with the book, which he has just
started to read. He checks his watch. It’s 1.13 a.m. He’s a
little nervous about his operation tomorrow morning. He puts
down his book, gets out of bed, puts on his bathrobe, slips
into his slippers, and leaves his room to go for a stroll
through the deserted clinic.
INT. CLINIC HALLWAY -- NIGHT
Hands in pockets, Walsh strolls through the clinic, past the
lounge, the ping-pong table, the breakfast nook.
INT. ANOTHER HALLWAY -- NIGHT
Walsh rounds a corner that leads him past Rose’s door, which
still bears its INTENSIVE CARE sign. As he passes by her
door, he hears a muffled scream followed by a series of moans
and indistinct, angry shouts. Walsh opens her door without
hesitation.
INT. ROSE’S ROOM -- NIGHT
By the light of the full moon and the hallway, Walsh can see
Rose thrashing around violently in her bed, getting twisted
up in her sheets and ripping out her IV needles. As he
watches, one of her IV bottles, pulled off its stand by its
feed tube, falls to the floor and smashes to pieces, spilling
blood plasma everywhere.
Walsh now sees that the floor is littered with shredded bits
and pieces of surgical gauze and bandages, which Rose has
torn from her various wounds and grafts. The plasma begins
to soak into the debris surrounding the bed. Her torso is
still covered only by bandages, making her look like a mummy
jerking to life in the half-light of her tomb.
Walsh rushes over to the bed and quickly lowers the safety
railing. He then tries to hold Rose down by the shoulders to
keep her from pulling out the last of her IV tubes. When he
grabs her by the wrists, he notices that she is oozing blood
from where the IV needles have been pulled out.
WALSH
Rosie, Rosie, sweetie, take it easy!
You need that juice, sweetie. It’s
keeping you alive. Hey, easy, there.
Easy. That’s it. That’s a girl.
Under the pressure of Walsh’s body, Rose begins to calm down.
Her eyes, which have been open but staring and unseeing, now
begin to fill with consciousness.
ROSE
Hart? What are you... what are you
doing, Hart? Are we all right? Are
we...
WALSH
I’m not Hart, Rosie. Hart’s back in
Montreal waiting for you. I’m Lloyd.
I’m a friend of yours.
ROSE
Hart?
WALSH
Back in Montreal. Waiting for you.
He’s fine. He’s OK. I was just talking
to him this afternoon.
ROSE
Oh. I... I guess I was dreaming.
Walsh lets go of Rose’s wrists.
WALSH
I don’t think you were just dreaming.
You and Hart were in a really
spectacular motorcycle crash.
ROSE
A crash? Was there fire? Was there...
blood?
WALSH
Yeah. Plenty of both. You’re bleeding
right now.
(getting up)
I’d better get Dr. Keloid.
Rose grabs Walsh by the arm and pulls him back down on the
bed.
ROSE
No! Not yet. I’m all right. But I’m
freezing cold, and you’re so warm.
Hold me.
WALSH
Look, I think I’d better...
ROSE
Please hold me. I’m dying of the
cold.
Rose puts her arms around Walsh, who hesitates for a moment,
then puts his arms around her and hugs her for a moment.
ROSE
Oh, God, that feels so good.
Behind Walsh’s back, Rose pulls the last remaining IV needle
out of her left wrist.
WALSH
(a bit nervous)
Ah, look... you don’t even know where
you are, do you?
Rose pulls Walsh’s face down to hers, then slips her arms
under his and locks her hands behind his back.
ROSE
Sure I do. I’m here with you.
WALSH
Look, this is really weird. Are you
sure you know what you’re... Ow!
Feeling a sudden sharp pain, Walsh tries to pull away. Rose
won’t let him get up.
WALSH
Hey, I think I... I think I cut myself
or something. You got something sharp
in there with you? Ow! Oh, that hurts!
He makes a huge effort to lift himself off the bed, but Rose
hangs on to him and comes up with him. Blood is soaking
through Walsh’s bathrobe around the right armpit, like dark
red sweat.
He is moaning and sobbing as he strains to get away.
Finally, Walsh collapses on top of Rose, quivering and
whimpering. Rose sighs deeply and begins to stroke his head
affectionately.
INT. MISS OWEN’S ROOM AT THE CLINIC -- EARLY MORNING
Miss Beatrice Owen, a tough-looking maiden lady in her
fifties, sits on the edge of her bed pulling on a pair of
white gloves. She is wearing an immaculate morning outfit
which looks vaguely ’40s and probably is. One of her hands
has been twisted by arthritis and puts up quite a struggle
before allowing itself to be encased in its glove. She then
begins to use her teeth to pull on the other glove.
The second glove is only half-way on when Miss Owen hears a
desperate scratching and bumping at her door. She stops what
she’s doing.
MISS OWEN
Yes?
(pause)
Who is it?
After a pause comes more scratching, followed by the sound
of a hand feebly slapping on the door. With her second glove
still only half on, Miss Owen gets up, goes to the door, and
opens it.
The instant the door is opened, a ghastly pale Lloyd Walsh
slumps heavily across Miss Owen’s shoulders. The force drives
her back several steps and she screams with fear.
MISS OWEN
Oh, God save us!
WALSH
I’m sick. I’m sick. Help me.
When she realizes she’s not being attacked, Miss Owen steps
back from Walsh, but, unsupported, he starts to fall to the
floor. Miss Owen slips her hands up under his arms and guides
him unsteadily to the bed.
MISS OWEN
Mr Walsh! What on earth has happened
to you?
Miss Owen sits Walsh on the bed, where he crumples into an
awkward lying position. When she withdraws her hands from
under his arms, Miss Owen finds that her right glove is
soaking through with very watery blood.
WALSH
I don’t know. I can’t remember a
thing.
INT. EXAMINATION ROOM -- MORNING
Keloid and Louise examine Walsh, who lies half-naked on his
left side, his right arm stretched out over his head to expose
a deep, round, and still-bleeding puncture in his right
armpit.
Like everything else at the clinic, the examination room has
been designed and furnished with luxury and style in mind as
much as pure function. Even the cantilevered examination
light which Keloid is playing on Walsh’s wound is colorcoordinated
with the drapes, the chairs, the coat-rack, and
the enamel finish of the examination table itself.
KELOID
Were you sleepwalking? Could you
have fallen against something outside
and then come back in without waking
up?
WALSH
(voice still shaky)
I doubt it. Never done anything like
that before.
KELOID
(to Louise)
Get me some stuffing, maybe a sponge
or two as well. This wound isn’t
clotting at all. I think we’re going
to have to shoot in some coagulants
to get a scab to form.
LOUISE
Right away.
She leaves, closing the door behind her. Keloid takes a closer
look at the wound through a large, illuminated magnifying
glass.
KELOID
From what I can see, it’s a very,
very clean and precise wound. You
haven’t leaned on any picket fences,
have you? Kind with those little
spearheads?
WALSH
(unable to respond to
Keloid’s attempt at
humor)
No.
Keloid grunts, takes out a tongue depressor, and begins to
probe Walsh’s wound with it.
KELOID
Does this hurt?
WALSH
Can’t feel a thing.
KELOID
(surprised)
You can’t?
WALSH
My whole right side has no feeling
in it. Just this aching kind of
tingling.
KELOID
Hm.
Louise comes in carrying wads of surgical gauze, sponges,
etc. She puts them down and takes Keloid aside.
LOUISE
Dr Keloid? Kenny Kwong would like to
see you.
KELOID
Right now?
LOUISE
He says it’s very important. He’s
waiting in the hall.
KELOID
(confidentially)
OK. Listen... our friend here may
have had a stroke. I think the
General’s the best place for him.
But before you plug him up I want 10
cc of blood drawn directly from that
wound for tests. Then get Steve to
drive him into the city in the
ambulance. Tell him to take lots of
plasma with him. We’re going to have
to forget about the coagulants until
the General has a chance to do an
ECG on him.
LOUISE
Will do, Doctor.
Keloid leaves.
INT. HALLWAY -- DAY
Keloid steps out into the hall and joins Kenny Kwong, the
clinic’s senior orderly, a concerned-looking, graying Chinese
man of about fifty-five.
KWONG
Can you come with me, please, Dr.
Keloid?
KELOID
Sure, Kenny. What’s up?
They begin to walk briskly down the hall, Kenny leading.
KWONG
You told me to check around the
grounds to see if I could find out
how Mr. Walsh got hurt?
Keloid nods.
KWONG
I couldn’t find nothing outside. No
blood, nothing. Then Nurse Rita call
me. She find something. She tell me
go get Dr. Keloid. You see it, then
you tell us what happened.
They round the corner taking them into the hallway that goes
past Rose’s room. Kenny walks up to Rose’s door and knocks
sharply.
KWONG
Nurse Rita waiting for you in here.
After a short pause, Rita opens the door and ushers them
inside, closing the door behind them.
INT. ROSE’S ROOM -- DAY
Once inside the door, Keloid is shocked at the state of Rose’s
room. It is basically as we last saw it, except that Rita
has reattached Rose, who seems to be in a coma once again,
to her IV bottles.
The area of the wall next to the doorhandle side of the door
is smeared with bloody handprints -- Walsh apparently used
the doorknob to pull himself to his feet, then supported
himself by holding on to the wall and door moulding.
Rita leads Keloid over to the bed, while Kwong hangs back to
watch that nobody enters inadvertently.
RITA
Watch your feet, Doctor. The police
will probably want every little piece
of glass and strip of gauze exactly
the way we found it.
Keloid finds a place to stand next to the bed, checks Rose’s
eyes, then her pulse.
KELOID
Why do you think the police would be
interested in this, Rita?
RITA
Why, it’s perfectly obvious that
that Walsh fellow attempted to molest
the poor girl while she was still in
a coma. I’ve seen things like that
happen before. Maybe he was drunk.
KELOID
(drawing back the
sheet)
Hm. Her grafts have taken amazing
well. Probably won’t even have to
rebandage. Hm. I can’t even see any
scar tissue.
He lifts Rose’s left arm and presses around her armpit.
KELOID
Wow. I’ll have to have a closer look
at that.
RITA
Rejection problems?
Keloid lowers her arm and covers her with the sheet again.
KELOID
(standing up)
Don’t think so. Seems to be an extreme
swelling of the lymph nodes under
the arm. Could just be a local
infection that’s under attack, but
it’s quite a bump. And there’s some
kind of lesion there. Doesn’t seen
to be gangrenous, but...
He walks thoughtfully toward the door. Kwong stands waiting.
KWONG
Want me to clean up the mess now,
Doctor?
KELOID
(snapping out of his
train of thought)
What? Oh, yes. But save all the pieces
and scrape some of the dried blood
on to a slide. Maybe we’ll find
something out.
RITA
But Dr. Keloid... Mr. Walsh, he may
well be...
KELOID
(turning to Rita)
Rita, Lloyd Walsh wouldn’t do
something like that. He just wouldn’t.
And none of this explains how he got
his wound. I think a quiet, thorough,
and very private investigation is in
order. Don’t you?
Rita lowers her eyes.
EXT. CLINIC DRIVEWAY -- NIGHT
Wide-angle shot of the clinic in the dead of night. The moon
is full.
INT. ROSE’S ROOM -- NIGHT
In the darkness of her room, Rose’s eyes are open and staring.
She begins to pull the IV needles out of her wrists and
ankles.
INT. WHIRLPOOL ROOM -- NIGHT
In the whirlpool room, which contains three full-size
whirlpool baths, a bar, and a lounge, Judy Glasberg is taking
a midnight whirlpool bath to calm herself down. The room is
deserted except for Judy, but she seems to have no trouble
adjusting the controls of the bath to get it just right.
As Judy plays with the temperature controls, the door behind
her opens and someone enters, closing the door behind her.
Judy looks up, startled. Rose stands at the door in her fresh
clinic gown. For some reason, Judy suddenly feels vulnerable
in her skimpy bikini.
JUDY
Rose? Is that you? I thought everyone
was asleep. They told me you were
still in a coma.
ROSE
(approaching the edge
of the bath)
Oh, no. I’m doing much better now,
thank you.
She seems to be completely normal, and as childlike as ever
save for the hollows under her eyes. Judy positions her body
so that her nakedness is hidden by the swirling bubbles of
the whirlpool.
JUDY
It... it’s really weird to meet you
this way. I mean, I’ve never really
talked to you before. But I sort of
feel I know you, you’ve been around
here for so long. And I saw them
bring you in right after the accident.
ROSE
Do you mind if I get in with you?
I’ve been lying in bed for such a
long time, my body aches all over.
JUDY
Ah, well, I... does anybody know
you’re here? I mean, does Dr. Keloid
know you... you’ve regained
consciousness?
Rose climbs into the bath with Judy, gown and all.
ROSE
I don’t think so. Everybody seemed
to be asleep. It was a bit spooky
waking up and finding myself all
alone. I’m so glad I ran into you.
(with surprise)
Hey, know what? I think I can feel
the warmth of your body radiating
out to me through the water. I’ve
never felt anything like that before.
Judy starts to grope for her towel by the side of the pool.
JUDY
I think I’d better get out now. I’m
getting all wrinkly.
Rose floats over to Judy and takes her by the arm, interfering
with Judy’s attempt to get her towel.
ROSE
Oh, no. Not yet. You haven’t even
told me your name.
JUDY
Judy Glasberg. Nice to meet you.
Rose slips her arms up under Judy’s arms and hugs her tightly.
ROSE
Mm. It’s nice to meet you too.
Judy tries to gently disengage herself from Rose’s embrace.
JUDY
Oh, now, c’mon. You’re embarrassing
me. Let me put some clothes on and
we’ll have a few drinks or something,
OK?
When she realizes that Rose isn’t going to let her go, Judy
starts to struggle more seriously.
JUDY
Let me go, please! I want to get
dressed. Listen, to tell you the
truth, I think there’s still something
wrong with you. I think you ought to
let... Ow! Oh! Something’s cutting
me! Oh! It hurts!
She starts to thrash about madly in the water, still locked
in Rose’s embrace. They dip under the water, then come up
again, Judy gasping for air. Rose lets her move wherever she
wants, but keeps her arms locked about Judy, her hands now
digging into Judy’s shoulders from behind.
In tight close-up we see something joining the two bodies
under the arms, from Rose’s left to Judy’s right. Even closer,
we see something fleshy slipping in and out of some kind of
sheath, barbs cutting through flesh, blood beginning to draw
along a fleshy translucent tube. From small glands at the
base of the tube, dark green fluid, almost black, begins to
flow into the blood drawn up the tube. The mixture of blood
and green fluid pumps back and forth in the tube.
Judy is now moaning in spasms, her head arched back as far
away from Rose as possible, her hair floating in the water
behind her and forming spirals in the whirlpool.
Rose holds on to Judy for dear life, her eyes closed in
ecstasy, her cheeks unnaturally flushed. She doesn’t notice
that Judy’s head is beginning to slip beneath the surface of
the water. Judy’s body is wracked by one final spasm, then
she relaxes completely, her head going under completely. The
last bubbles of air from her lungs mix with the bubbles spewed
out by the whirlpool oxygenator. After a few moments, Rose
releases Judy. We see a close-up of the translucent fleshy
tube, now empty of blood, sliding back into its sheath.
It is only after she has backed away and taken several souldeep
breaths that Rose notices Judy’s face is two inches
below the surface of the water, the tip of her nose almost
breaking through to the air but not quite. Rose frantically
grabs Judy by the hair and pulls her out of the water. Judy
isn’t breathing.
Rose manages to drag Judy to the edge of the pool, clambers
out on to the side, then pulls Judy out on to the pool siding
with her, Judy trailing a thin trickle of blood in the water
behind her.
Rose holds Judy’s mouth open and tries to revive her using
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it’s no good. Judy is dead.
Rose shakes her head and starts to cry.
ROSE
Oh, no! No!
Rose shakes Judy’s corpse hysterically, then collapses across
it, sobbing. After a moment, she gets up, visibly fighting
for control. She sets her jaw and begins to drag Judy’s body
out of the whirlpool room.
INT. READ’S GARAGE IN MONTREAL -- NIGHT
In the ramshackle garage behind the small house he has rented
in Montreal, Hart Read has finally gotten around to trying
to put his demolished Norton back together again. The engine
has been removed from its frame and sits before him on a
metal-topped work table, and Read is in the process of
completely dismantling it. Small cardboard cartons of various
sizes sit on the table, waiting to receive individual pieces
of the engine.
The radio hung above the table is tuned to an FM rock station
which is on full blast, even though it is about 1 a.m.
INT. READ’S KITCHEN -- NIGHT
In Read’s kitchen, the telephone is ringing, but Read has no
chance of hearing it. Next to the phone, pinned to a cork
message board with colored plastic drafting pins, are several
photos of Read and Rose enjoying happier times.
INT. CLINIC LOUNGE -- NIGHT
Rose listens to the phone ring at Read’s from the telephone
in the deserted main lounge. Her hair is wet and matted and
she is shivering uncontrollably. She lets it ring, huddling
in her chair.
INT. OBSERVATION WARD AT GENERAL -- NIGHT
Lloyd Walsh is in the process of pulling on his pants in the
observation ward of the General, which he shares with a
thirtyish traffic-accident victim. Walsh’s Lufthansa flight
bag is already packed and ready to go, sitting on his bed in
the shadow of an IV blood plasma bottle.
VICTIM
Hey, you can’t leave yet, Lloyd.
They haven’t figured out how come
you’re bleeding all over the place.
WALSH
Aw, it’s slowed down to a trickle.
No problem.
VICTIM
How’s your arm?
WALSH
It’s fine.
He picks up his bag and opens the door without hesitation.
VICTIM
If the night nurse comes around,
I’ll tell her you’re in the can,
how’s that?
WALSH
Terrific. Take care of yourself.
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
INT. CORRIDOR AT GENERAL -- NIGHT
Walsh walks briskly down a corridor which leads to the main
entrance of the Montreal General Hospital, flight bag in
hand. Nobody stops him.
EXT. GENERAL ENTRANCE -- NIGHT
Walsh leaves the General and walks around the circular
driveway to the street, where he is just in time to pick up
a cab being paid off by a night orderly arriving for work.
Walsh gets in the cab and it pulls away from the curb.
INT. CAB -- NIGHT
Walsh leans his head back against the back seat as the cab
pulls away. He rolls his head from side to side, as though
trying to shake off a headache.
EXT. MONTREAL STREETS -- NIGHT
The cab moves through the streets of Montreal and enters a
ramp leading eventually to the Decarie Expressway. The cab
accelerates to the speed limit.
INT. CAB -- NIGHT
The nasal, wailing voice of a popular singer blares from all
four speakers in the cab. Walsh is now sitting quite still
in the back seat, head resting against the seat back.
CAB DRIVER
Hey, Mister, you wanna sleep? I can
turn the radio off. It’s a long way
to Camelford.
Walsh doesn’t answer. The driver looks in his rear-view
mirror. Walsh is slumped in the shadows of the back-seat
area.
CAB DRIVER
Hey, Mister. You want me to turn the
radio off? Or maybe if you want I
can turn off the back speakers and
just leave on the front ones...
He turns around in his seat to look at Walsh. His words die
on his lips. Walsh is staring at him with eyes that have
completely clouded over so that the whites of his eyes are
indistinguishable from the irises and pupils. Dark green
foam is drooling from the corners of Walsh’s mouth.
The cab driver doesn’t have a chance to react any further
before Walsh attacks him viciously, grabbing him by the
shoulders and biting the cab driver on the cheek.
EXT. EXPRESSWAY -- NIGHT
The cab carrying Walsh veers crazily across three lanes of
the nearly deserted expressway.
INT. CAB -- NIGHT
The cab driver tries madly to pull himself around in his
seat so that he can see where he’s going, screaming in pain
all the while. With one tremendous jerk he frees his face
from Walsh’s locked jaws.
EXT. EXPRESSWAY -- NIGHT
The cab finally slews completely out of control, smashes
into the low concrete railing lining the expressway,
cartwheels over the railing, and falls on to the expressway
ramp some twenty feet below, where it is rammed by an immense
diesel truck delivering furniture to a sub-urban warehouse.
The cab is pushed fifty yards along the rampway, shedding
pieces of bodywork and glass all the way, before the truck
manages to stop.
INT. THE KELOIDS’ BEDROOM AT THE CLINIC -- NIGHT
The telephone on the night table beside the Keloids’ double
bed starts to ring. Dan Keloid rolls over, fumbles for the
receiver, and finally gets it off the hook and up to his
ear. Roxanne stirs beside him in bed.
KELOID
Yeah. Yeah. No. No, you’re kidding.
Dead? Yeah. No, I would have
absolutely no objections to an
autopsy. It’s definitely indicated.
No, I’ve got nothing to add to my
telephoned report. We never came up
with anything else. Yeah. Right. OK.
’Bye.
He hangs up the phone in a state of drowsy excitement. Roxanne
rolls over and puts her arm around him. Keloid picks up his
wrist-watch to check the time. It’s 3.07 a. m.
ROXANNE
What is it, Dan?
KELOID
Lloyd Walsh is dead.
Roxanne starts to snap out of her sleep.
ROXANNE
He’s what?
KELOID
He left the General about an hour
ago. Told another patient he felt
all right. He took a cab and the cab
crashed on a highway. Both occupants
dead.
ROXANNE
Oh, God. Poor Lloyd. But you said
something about an autopsy? Was the
cab driver drinking?
KELOID
No, it’s Walsh. They’re not happy
with his corpse.
(baffled)
Something about the eyes... I’m going
to have to go over Walsh’s file again.
It just doesn’t add up.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD -- NIGHT (APPROX. 4 A.M.)
By the light of a full moon, Rose walks purposefully down a
dirt country road, a borrowed windbreaker pulled tightly
around her over her clinic gown and hospital slippers starting
to come apart on her feet. She is determined to get as far
away from the clinic as she can by morning light.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD -- NIGHT (APPROX. 4 A.M.)
Rose finds herself walking beside a moonlit field with a
ramshackle barn at one end. She pauses beside the barn for a
moment, then slips under the fence surrounding the field and
makes her way gingerly across the muddy barnyard toward the
door of the barn. The house nearest the barn is dark. Rose
gently edges open the door of the barn.
INT. BARN -- NIGHT
Once inside the barn, Rose feels around for a light switch.
She finds it without much trouble and flicks it on. The barn
is low and full of cobwebs, and houses only two solemn cows
and a scraggly chicken.
Rose heads for the nest of straw that the two cows have made,
and gradually snuggles her way in between them.
She starts to stroke the side of one of the cows, getting
the animal accustomed to her touch, at the same time carefully
slipping out of her windbreaker. She then raises her left
arm and presses her left armpit flat against the cow’s side.
After a pause, she gives a short, sharp push with her left
side, as though she’s pushing something into the cow with
her body. The cow responds by lifting up its head and turning
to look at her. Satisfied that nothing too threatening is
happening, it turns back and lowers its head again.
Rose stretches out over the cow in ecstasy. Her eyes are
closed. Blood begins to flow in a rapid, one-way stream from
the cow into Rose.
She is breathing rapidly and heavily. Suddenly, she pulls
away from the cow, giving us a chance to see a flash of some
kind of elongated, tube-like organ retracting under her left
arm, dripping blood from its tip. As Rose lurches to her
feet, we can see a small, deep wound leaking blood and green,
bile-like fluid in the cow’s side where Rose’s armpit had
been pressed. The cows stir in reaction to Rose’s violent
movement.
She staggers away from the cows, dizzy and nauseous. She
manages to reach the stalls, which she leans on for support,
before she begins to vomit.
Suddenly, the door bangs open and a drunken old farmer
stumbles into the barn, a whisky bottle in his hand.
FARMER
All right, you! Hold it right there!
(spotting Rose)
Oh. Whatta we got here? Hello, sweet
honey pie. What’re ya drinkin’? You
come in to get outta the cold?
He waves the bottle at Rose as he approaches her, then puts
his arm around her so that the bottle rests on her chest.
FARMER
I got something ya can take a drink
off of, an’it ain’t no whisky,
neither.
He laughs coarsely and kisses Rose on the neck. When she
fails to resist him, he drops his nearly empty whisky bottle
and starts to nuzzle her collarbone. Rose wearily slips her
hand up behind the farmer’s head and pulls it down toward
her left armpit.
FARMER
(surprised)
Hey, that’s real nice, honey pie.
You like me, don’t ya? I kin tell ya
do.
The farmer is slobbering happily around Rose’s shoulder when
she suddenly grabs his head by the hair with both her hands
and pulls him viciously down on the cutting points of her
bloodsucking organ.
The farmer screams in agony. Rose holds the farmer’s head
down until he stops screaming and starts breathing heavily,
spasmodically. Then she lets him go.
The farmer straightens up. He is holding his hand over his
right eye. Rose is terrified at what she’s done. With a
horrified sob, she backs away, then turns and runs, stumbling,
out the door, leaving the farmer to stand swaying in a semianesthetized
stupor in the middle of the barn.
INT. READ’S KITCHEN -- NIGHT (5.14 A.M.)
Read has fallen asleep at his kitchen table while working on
the engine of his Norton. The partially dismantled engine
sits on a section of newspaper on the kitchen table next to
a half-empty cup of coffee and an open, grease-smeared Norton
Owner’s Manual.
He is awakened out of his deep sleep by the sound of the
kitchen phone ringing. Read jumps up, still half asleep,
almost knocking over his chair in the process. It takes him
a second or two to realize that he is in fact at home.
Read grabs for the phone, somehow terrified that the person
on the other end will hang up before he answers.
READ
Hello?
(suddenly very excited)
Rose? Is it really you? How come
you’re... I mean, the last time I
saw you... Oh, God. Rose, are you
all right?
INT. CLINIC LOUNGE -- NIGHT
In the main lounge of the clinic, Rose kneels beside the
table on which the lounge phone rests, cradling the receiver
in her hands. She is covered with blood, her gown has been
ripped, and she is close to hysteria. Her feet are covered
with dirt and she’s tracked mud inside, marking her trail
from the clinic’s back door clearly.
ROSE
Hart? Oh, Hart.
(sobbing)
No, no, I’m not all right. I’m in
terrible trouble. I want you to help
me.
READ (V.O.)
What are you talking about? Rosie,
calm down, I can hardly understand
what you’re saying.
ROSE
Hart, can you hear me?
READ (V.O.)
I can hear you, Rosie.
ROSE
Hart, you’ve got to come and get me.
You’ve got to come and get me as
fast as you can.
She suddenly becomes aware of someone else’s presence in the
lounge. She turns with a start. Rita, who is acting as night
nurse, is standing right behind her, a shocked and unbelieving
look on her face.
INT. READ’S KITCHEN -- NIGHT
READ
Rose, don’t panic. Whatever’s wrong
I’ll be able to help you, understand?
Now, I can be at the clinic first
thing in the morning, OK? I’ll get a
lift from somebody, I’ll take a cab
if I have to. Rose? You still there?
ROSE (V.O.)
(strangely subdued)
I’m still here.
READ
Rose, tell me what’s wrong. Please.
I’m going crazy here.
ROSE (V.O.)
I can’t talk now. See you soon.
Read is suddenly left holding a receiver humming a dial tone.
He waits only a second or two before he starts to look
frantically for the phone number of the Keloid Clinic in the
small book hanging from a nail by the phone.
READ
(thumbing through the
book)
Christ! What was the number of that
place?
INT. KELOID’S OFFICE -- NIGHT (5.30 A.M.)
Keloid is sitting at his desk in his bath-robe and slippers,
looking into a microscope holding a dry slide of Walsh’s
blood. There is a knock at his door. Keloid looks up as Rita
enters, closing the door behind her.
KELOID
Hi, Rita. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve
been trying to figure out what there
could possibly be in Walsh’s blood
that would cause...
RITA
(interrupting with
quiet urgency)
Doctor, I think you’d better come
with me.
INT. CYPHER’S LIVING ROOM IN DORVAL -- NIGHT
A groggy Murray Cypher sits on a sofa in front of the TV set
in his living room, trying to get his four-month-old son to
drink his 6 a.m. bottle. The images of the early morning
show -- the sound has been turned off -- seem to attract the
baby more than the bottle does.
To Cypher’s complete surprise, the telephone starts to ring.
CYPHER
Oh, no. I just don’t believe it. OK,
Jeffrey -- you’re on your own for a
second.
Cypher tries to prop the kid up between two cushions, but he
starts to cry the instant Cypher lets go of him. Cypher picks
him up and takes him over to the phone, which is on a shelf
at the other end of the room.
CYPHER
No? You want in on the action? OK,
let’s go.
Cypher picks up the phone.
CYPHER
(annoyed)
What could you possibly want at this
hour of the morning?
INT. READ’S KITCHEN -- NIGHT
READ
Murray, it’s Hart Read. I hate like
hell having to bother you like this,
but I’m going out of my skull. It
has to do with the clinic.
CYPHER (V.O.)
Yeah, OK. I was up anyway with the
baby. So what gives?
READ
I got this phone call from the clinic.
From Rose.
CYPHER (V.O.)
From who?
READ
From Rose. She’s supposed to be in a
coma. Keloid promised me he’d tell
me the second she showed signs of
consciousness and here I am getting
a call from her at five in the
morning.
INT. CYPHER’S LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
Cypher is having trouble juggling the phone, the bottle, and
his baby, who is gumming the receiver and drooling into the
little holes at the speaking end.
CYPHER
That is pretty weird. But maybe she
came to in the middle of the night
and didn’t know where she was. Those
things can happen. Jeffrey, don’t
eat the phone. You’ll get indigestion.
INT. READ’S KITCHEN -- NIGHT
READ
But she said she was in trouble,
Murray. She wants me to come and get
her right now.
CYPHER (V.O.)
Look, Hart -- she’s confused and
she’s scared. Did you phone the clinic
back and try to talk to Danny?
READ
I did. I got to talk to a tape
recorder. I left a message.
INT. CYPHER’S LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
CYPHER
OK. I’ll phone Danny right now at
his private number, and I’ll make
sure that he knows that your Rosie
is making phone calls in the middle
of the night. Then I’ll pick you up
at your place in an hour and we’ll
go up to the clinic together. How’s
that grab ya?
READ (V.O.)
Great. Phone me right back if there’s
a problem.
CYPHER
Absolutely.
INT. READ’S KITCHEN -- NIGHT
READ
OK, Murray. Thanks a hell of a lot.
Read hangs up the phone. He takes a close look at one of the
pictures of himself and Rose on the Norton.
INT. ROSE’S ROOM AT THE CLINIC -- NIGHT
Rose sits quietly on the edge of her bed, her feet dangling
over the side not quite touching the floor. She keeps her
head down and does not look at Keloid, who is conferring
with Rita at the door. Rita has given Rose a new gown and
cleaned her up a bit for Keloid.
Rita leaves and Keloid closes the door behind her. He turns
to Rose and approaches the bed, tapping his stethoscope
against the palm of one hand. He doesn’t say anything until
he sits down on the bed beside her.
KELOID
Rose... I’m Dr. Keloid. Dan Keloid.
I’m here to help you, sweetheart.
Rose lifts her head to look at Keloid for the first time.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks. She throws her arms
around Keloid and begins to sob on his shoulder. Keloid hugs
her gently and pets her on the head as though she were a
child.
After one or two moments, Keloid detaches himself from Rose
and lies her back down on her bed.
KELOID
Rose, we won’t talk about anything
right now except how you’re feeling,
OK?
Rose nods, still snuffling slightly.
KELOID
Good. First thing I want to do is to
check out some of the skin grafts we
did for you. Now, could you please
just slip your arm out of your left
shoulder strap and raise your arm
over your head?
Instead of doing as Keloid asks, Rose puts her hands over
her face and shakes her head. Keloid is baffled.
KELOID
What’s the matter, Rose? Are you in
pain? Talk to me, Rose. It’s the
only way I can understand what’s
bothering you.
ROSE
(from behind her hands)
I’m hideous, Doctor. I’m crazy and
I’m a monster.
KELOID
C’mon, Rose. There’s just about
nothing we can’t fix if we know what’s
wrong. Now, I don’t want any more
games. Do what I tell you.
Rose reluctantly takes her hands away from her face and slips
her left arm out of its shoulder strap. A pause, and then
she raises her left arm above her head on the pillow.
Keloid can barely suppress his surprise at what he sees.
Nestled in Rose’s left armpit is a fleshy, tubular lump with
an opening at the upper end of it. Keloid reaches over and
presses it gently with his fingertips.
KELOID
Does that hurt?
ROSE
No. It doesn’t hurt.
Keloid takes a closer look at the fleshy pouch. The opening
at the upper end seems to be surrounded by sphincter muscles.
Keloid gently spreads the opening with his thumb. Deep within
the pouch, something an angry pink color, something
glistening, seems to be pulsating. When he removes his thumb,
the muscles pull the opening closed again the way a drawstring
closes a bag.
Keloid sits up on the side of the bed again, trying to regain
his composure.
KELOID
(after a pause)
As far as I can tell now, it’ll take
just a very minor operation to remove
that growth from under your arm. It
may be some kind of external
intestinal tissue. The neutral field
tissue graft we did has been trying
to find a way to get food that you
can digest into your body. I was
hoping it would do that by providing
you with a regular set of small
intestines but it seems to have had
something different in mind.
Rose shakes her head. A baffled expression comes over Keloid’s
face.
KELOID
How long have you been conscious,
Rose? Do you know?
ROSE
Couple of days.
KELOID
Do you feel weak?
ROSE
I feel strong. I feel very strong.
KELOID
Rita tells me you refused to let her
attach you to your intravenous
nutrient bottles. Why?
ROSE
I don’t need them. They make me feel
sick.
KELOID
I don’t understand. They’ve got to
be your only source of food.
ROSE
They’re not. They haven’t been for a
couple of days. Not since that man...
KELOID
Man? What are you talking about?
ROSE
I’ll show you.
Rose puts her right hand behind Keloid’s head and draws it
slowly down toward her left armpit. When Keloid’s head is
about a foot and a half away from the organ, Rose grabs Keloid
by the hair with both hands and strains upwards with her
body.
Keloid emits a low, gurgling scream which soon cuts off with
the suddenness of a thrown switch. Exhausted of energy, Keloid
collapses across Rose, who begins to rock him gently from
side to side as she pumps the blood from his body.
EXT. KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN DEPOT -- MORNING (6.45 A.M.)
A battered old Ford pick-up truck pulls into the parking lot
of a Colonel Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken depot beside the
two-lane highway leading to the Keloid Clinic. The door of
the truck opens and a vaguely familiar mangy dog jumps out:
it belongs to the farmer who was Rose’s third victim.
INT. FRIED CHICKEN DEPOT -- MORNING
The farmer enters the take-out depot, which is deserted except
for staff and one lone trucker. The farmer is wearing a pair
of crooked and cracked sunglasses. He is not very steady on
his feet. His dog watches with concern through the glass
door.
FARMER
(to counter girl)
One bucket of your best for me and
my dog there.
COUNTER GIRL
Yes, sir.
The counter girl conveys the order through the window into
the kitchen, then turns back to write up the farmer’s bill.
COUNTER GIRL
Yes, and will that be... Oh!
The girl’s words trail off as she notices a tear of blood
running down the farmer’s cheek from under the right lens of
his sunglasses.
COUNTER GIRL
Hey, Mister. Did you know you’re
bleeding?
The farmer dabs at his cheek with a tobacco-stained finger,
smearing the blood.
FARMER
It’s nothin’.
TRUCKER
Musta had a rough night, Buddy.
FARMER
Think I got in a fight or somethin’.
Can’t remember too good.
The man in the kitchen slaps a bucket of chicken down on the
kitchen-window counter.
KITCHEN MAN
One bucket ready to go.
The counter girl picks up the bucket and carries it over to
the trucker. She has just barely put it down when the farmer
grabs it and starts tearing the lid from it.
TRUCKER
Hey, Buddy. I think that one’s mine.
The farmer grabs a piece of fried chicken from the bucket
and starts wolfing it down. The trucker puts his hand on the
farmer’s shoulder and turns him around so that they face
each other, a piece of chicken skin hanging from the farmer’s
lips.
TRUCKER
I said... I think that one’s mine,
Buddy.
The farmer starts shaking uncontrollably.
FARMER
I gotta eat. I gotta eat. I gotta
eat...
TRUCKER
Take those glasses off so I can see
who I’m talkin’ to.
The trucker reaches out and takes off the farmer’s sunglasses.
To his disgust, he is confronted with one closed, swollen,
and bleeding eye, and one eye which has almost completely
clouded over from white of eye to pupil.
TRUCKER
What the hell...
Bits of chicken drool from the farmer’s mouth, followed by a
froth of dark green foam. Without warning, the farmer lunges
at the trucker and tries to bite his face. The trucker dodges
out of the way, catches the farmer by his jacket and swings
him over the counter, where he crashes into the counter girl.
As the kitchen man comes out of the kitchen with a pot of
boiling oil in his hand, the farmer grabs the girl and manages
to bite her on the arm before she can pull away. Green foam
dribbles into the girl’s wound.
Once the girl has pulled loose and backs away, screaming
hysterically, the kitchen man throws the potful of oil on
the farmer as he struggles to his feet. The farmer screams.
As the dog barks madly at the door, the trucker and the
kitchen man jump on the farmer and pound him senseless behind
the counter.
INT. SURGICAL WASH-UP AT THE KELOID CLINIC -- MORNING
Keloid and Roxanne are preparing to perform an early morning
facelift. They wash their hands and forearms and put on
surgical gloves as the scrub-nurse prepares their masks and
gowns. Keloid has a thick band-aid on his neck.
ROXANNE
You’re sure you want to do this one,
Dan? Louise and I could handle it
with no trouble.
KELOID
I’ll be fine.
ROXANNE
You were pretty groggy this morning.
(noticing band-aid)
Cut yourself shaving?
KELOID
I’ll be fine.
Keloid turns away from Roxanne to avoid further discussion.
The orderly begins to help him on with his surgical gown.
Keloid allows a pained, confused expression to take over his
face for a moment, then suppresses it.
EXT. SIX-LANE HIGHWAY -- MORNING
On a six-lane highway leading out of Montreal, Cypher’s
station wagon starts out on its journey to the Keloid Clinic.
INT. STATION WAGON -- MORNING
Inside, Cypher and Read sit bleary-eyed, both drinking coffee
from styrofoam cups with slits in their covers and listening
to the car radio in silence. The 8 a.m. news is in progress.
NEWSCASTER (V.O.)
...but there can be little doubt
that the issue of police brutality
will still be with us for some time
to come. And speaking of brutality --
an incident of violence that took
place over a Highway 11 fried chicken
take-out counter ended in the death
of one man and the wounding of an
eighteen-year-old girl. We’ll give
you further details on that story as
they become available.
Read and Cypher drive on to the sounds of a Radio Shack
commercial.
INT. CLINIC OPERATING ROOM -- MORNING
Keloid, Roxanne, Karl, Louise, and the scrub-nurse are in
the process of performing a routine facelift on a middleaged
woman.
Roxanne watches Keloid closely for signs of fatigue as he
makes the first cut under the woman’s chin with a scalpel.
Keloid’s hand is rock steady. He makes two more cuts and
rolls back a flap of skin. Everything seems to be under
control.
INT. STATION WAGON -- MORNING
Cypher and Read drive on, listening to the rest of the news
story.
NEWSCASTER (V.O.)
The man, later identified as fortythree-
year-old Fred Atkins of
Camelford, went berserk this morning
during an argument over who was to
be served his bucket of chicken first
and bit the counter girl on the arm.
The man was subdued by an unidentified
truck driver and the chicken place’s
cook, but died of unknown causes
before police arrived. Local health
authorities suspect that rabies might
be involved and have vaccinated
everyone concerned. The dead man’s
dog was destroyed on the spot. And
now, a brief pause for station
identification, after which we’ll
talk to a scientist who says that
earthquakes may one day become a
thing of the past...
While they listen to a variation of the Radio Shack
commercial, Cypher notices that they’re passing by the
Kentucky Fried Chicken depot. There are still two police
cars parked in the parking lot.
CYPHER
Hey, we’re right there.
READ
(drowsy)
Huh?
CYPHER
The place they were talking about on
the radio.
(joking)
Wanna stop off for some fried chicken?
READ
(not reacting to the
joke)
Not hungry, thanks.
Cypher is about to say something further, but realizes that
Read is too preoccupied with Rose to banter with. He decides
to let it drop. They drive off to the sounds of easy-listening
radio.
INT. CLINIC OPERATING ROOM -- MORNING
Keloid is now stitching up the flap of skin under his
patient’s chin. Roxanne notices that his hand is no longer
as steady as it was earlier on in the operation. He is having
trouble placing his stitches properly. His mask is soaking
through at the mouth.
ROXANNE
Do you want me to complete the
stitching, Dr. Keloid?
KELOID
I need... I need something to cut
with, Dr. Rushton.
ROXANNE
You want the scissors now, Doctor?
KELOID
Yes. The scissors now.
Roxanne’s brow is furrowed as she reaches for the scissors
on her instrument tray and hands them to Keloid.
ROXANNE
Scissors.
Instead of simply allowing the scissors to be placed in his
hand, Keloid grabs Roxanne by the wrist with one hand and
takes the scissors with the other. He turns to look at her.
She is shocked to see that his eyes have completely clouded
over. Looking into them is like looking down two dark holes.
ROXANNE
Dan...!
Without hesitation, Keloid takes the scissors and cuts the
tip of Roxanne’s index finger off. Roxanne stares down at
her bleeding finger, an unvoiced scream rising in her throat.
Keloid lets the scissors drop to the floor and pulls down
his mask. Dark green fluid foams from his mouth. He falls to
his knees and puts Roxanne’s index finger in his mouth,
sucking on it like a straw. Roxanne screams.
Louise, who turned to look at Keloid at the sound of the
falling scissors, screams in unison, backing away in terror
and disbelief. The operating room explodes in confusion and
panic as Keloid and Roxanne start to