Relic. Amy Holden Jones
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EXT. BELEM STREETS - NIGHT
A taxi careens down narrow roadways at breakneck speeds.
INT. TAXI - NIGHT
In the back seat is WHITTLESLEY. Early 40’s, the wreck of a once
handsome man. Unshaven. Sweat stained. Rail thin. Scratches on his
arms, a fresh scar on one cheek. As the taxi roars downhill towards
the harbor, Whittlesley leans over the front seat. (Italics indicate
Portuguese to be subtitled)
WHITTLESLEY
Faster! We won’t make it.
DRIVER
You want to die?
Whittlesley pulls out A KNIFE, puts it to the driver’s jugular vein.
WHITTLESLEY
Do you?
Sweat pouring down his brow, the driver re-doubles his speed.
EXT. BELEM STREETS - NIGHT
The taxi swerves around a corner, nearly crashing into a fruit cart,
flies out of sight.
EXT. HARBOR - BELEM - NIGHT
Light rain obscures the bulky outlines of tethered freighters. We hear
faint laughter leavened with Portuguese phrases, distant Calypso music
from waterfront bars. One of the smaller boats, the SANTA LUCIA, is
loading as the TAXI fishtails to a halt.
Whittlesley gets out, sees the boat still at dock. His face floods
with relief.
WHITTLESLEY
Thank God.
He tosses a handful of bills into the driver’s lap, sprints up the
pier as the driver shouts curses after him in Portuguese. Whittlesley
shoves past the dock hands as the last load goes onto the Santa Lucia.
The boat’s engines churn to life.
WHITTLESLEY
I need to speak to the captain!
Where is he?
The sailors hold Whittlesley back.
WHITTLESLEY
Get your hands off me! I’m trying
to save your lives, you fools!
Several crew members murmur the word "loco". Hearing the commotion, a
squat man wearing a billed hat and smoking a cigar approaches. CAPTAIN
FRANCO.
FRANCO
American?
WHITTLESLEY
Yes. Thank Christ somebody speaks
English. I’m Dr. John Whittlesley.
You have some crates of mine on
board. They were shipped by mistake
to the Natural History Museum. We
have to get them off the boat.
FRANCO
You have I.D.?
Whittlesley runs a trembling hand through his hair, trying to keep
control and appear reasonable.
WHITTLESLEY
No. Let me explain. I was on an
expedition for the museum on the
Upper Xingu. Something horrible
happened. I’m the only one who got
out alive. I lost everything, my
I.D., everything. I have to make
sure no one else dies. The crates,
the crates were sent out before we
knew. There’s something unspeakable
inside. If your boat leaves harbor
with those crates on board, I can’t
be responsible. My God, if they
reach New York...
Whittlesley’s fists clench spasmodically. Franco looks to his men.
FRANCO
Loco.
WHITTLESLEY
No! I’m not crazy! As God is my
witness, I’m telling the truth.
Franco barks an order and several sailors grab Whittlesley by the
arms. They start to lead him back to shore.
WHITTLESLEY
Don’t do this! You have to believe
me. Your lives are in danger.
The sailors laugh. But with an almost super-human strength born of
desperation, Whittlesley throws them off. He pulls out his wallet.
WHITTLESLEY
Cash. Cash, you see? American money.
Whittlesley throws the money down on the deck. The breeze scatters the
bills across the bow and all the men, including Captain Franco,
scramble for the money, chattering in Portuguese. While they are
occupied, Whittlesley slips by unnoticed and disappears below deck.
INT. HOLD - SANTA LUCIA - NIGHT
Whittlesley ducks between cages of goats, boxes of farm equipment, his
movements jerky with panic. As he continues searching, the camera
moves past him, into the darkness of the hold. We hear Whittlesley
mumbling between low, ragged breaths. At the back of the boat the
camera finds...
A STACK OF CRATES... clearly labeled NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM. Move in on
these as... The CRATES VIBRATE. The boat has started to move!
Whittlesley stands bolt upright, realizing what’s going on.
WHITTLESLEY
No!
Too late. He turns to run back on deck but then stops, sniffs the air.
A look of desperation fills his eyes. With one hand he pulls out THE
KNIFE, and unexpectedly puts it to HIS OWN NECK. Better to kill
himself than face what comes next. The knife touches...
A NECKLACE of TWO ARROWS, one gold, another silver.
Whittlesley stares wide-eyed into the blackness of the hold. The goats
start BLEATING in blind panic. A shaft of moonlight comes through a
porthole as the boat turns. The moonlight falls on
THE CRATES. Whittlesley’s eyes lock onto them and he inches towards
them, drawn inexorably closer... closer...
WHITTLESLEY
No... no...
He begins mumbling a prayer.
MOVE IN ON HIS EYES... filled with dread as he falls to his knees,
staring, always staring at THE CRATES...
EXT. DOCKS - NIGHT
The crew tends to business and the Santa Lucia points out of the
harbor, disappears into the night.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. LOUISIANNA COAST - DAY... TITLE CARD... JUNE
Squad cars roar down the back roads, sirens flashing. In the center of
the column is an unmarked car.
INT. UNMARKED CAR - DAY
At the wheel is a strikingly dignified and imposing black man wearing
a simple, old-fashioned dark suit, narrow black tie, and white shirt.
This is SPECIAL AGENT PENDERGAST, FBI.
A BACH SONATA for violin and harpsichord plays on the tape deck.
Pendergast hums along as he drives. A SMALL TOWN COP rides shotgun.
The cop is intimidated both by Pendergast and the morning’s events. He
sweats heavily as he brings Pendergast up to date.
SMALL TOWN COP
One of the locals found it at dawn.
Didn’t believe him ’till I saw it
myself. Even then I didn’t believe
it. Scared my men shitless. Me too.
I mean... hell... You could smell it a
half mile away, Mr. Pendergast.
PENDERGAST
(unperturbed)
Any of your men go on board?
SMALL TOWN COP
No sir. No way. None of us wanted
to, I’m the first to admit it. I
said, "Don’t get within a mile of
this thing. It’s way to big for us.
I’m calling the FBI."
Pendergast nods his approval, resumes humming along with a
particularly intricate harpsichord riff. As always, the man is
unflappable and totally calm as he drives.
EXT. LOUISIANA BEACH - DAY
The ocean is still, the air stifling and close. A hot sun beats down
on the deck of the SANTA LUCIA. The boat lists at a crazy angle where
it has been washed up on the shore. At first glance, it appears to be
deserted. A barrel rolls back and forth as the boat is rocked by each
successive wave. We hear sirens approaching and the phalanx of squad
cars pulls up. Joining them now are TWO AMBULANCES.
PENDERGAST gets out along with the others. All of the cops immediately
cover their faces, gagging violently at the smell. Pendergast sniffs
once and frowns. Apart from this, he doesn’t react.
SMALL TOWN COP
(choking)
Goin’ up-wind if you don’t mind.
Pendergast nods. The cops all fall back in revulsion. They watch from
a safe distance as Pendergast approaches the ghost ship. His shiny
laced wing-tips sink in the sand. He leans down, pulls them off one at
a time. He balls both socks, puts them carefully into his shoes and
proceeds barefoot towards the boat.
Using a piece of driftwood as a plank, Pendergast leans it against the
Santa Lucia. With surprising agility, he leaps up the plank to the
deck. At the top he touches a rail. It’s covered in a DARK STICKY
LIQUID.
BLOOD. Flies buzz loudly. A LARGE MACHETE lies abandoned in the stern.
Chairs are overturned. A DEAD GOAT, eviscerated, lies in the bow. A
lifeboat hangs half off the stern. Pendergast moves aft. The COPS
watch from the sand below, unwilling to get any closer. Pendergast
hears A DOOR slamming open and closed. He follows the noise and
sees...
THE DOOR TO THE HOLD. He approaches, pushes it open and looks down the
stairwell. Below deck are
BODIES... stacks of them. They’ve been TORN TO SHREDS.
THE CAMERA MOVES down to one particular man who is nearest the top of
the stairs. It’s CAPTAIN FRANCO. His face is frozen in a howl of
terror. Flies congregate in the eye sockets. With his foot, Pendergast
nudges the body over. The skull has been torn open.
THERE IS NO BACK TO FRANCO’S HEAD.
FADE TO BLACK:
Silence then we begin hearing sounds of the city... horns, traffic,
construction work.
SUPER TITLE... NEW YORK CITY, FOUR MONTHS LATER as we...
FADE IN:
ON A NECKLACE of TWO ARROWS, one of gold, the other silver. The twin
to the one seen on Whittlesley. Widen to...
EXT. ROOFTOP GARDEN - MARGO’S NEW YORK APARTMENT - MORNING
And the woman wearing the necklace... MARGO GREEN. She sips her morning
coffee as she makes notes on several large FOSSILIZED TEETH. Her hair
is neatly combed. No make-up. She doesn’t need it. She has a natural,
unselfconscious beauty and a mind like a steel trap.
At Margo’s elbow is a small T.V. A CNN world news report plays.
Margo’s New York Times is open to the crossword puzzle, which she’s
been doing rapidly, in ink. Clearly this is a woman who likes order,
with a mind that can handle more than one thing at a time.
An alarm on her watch beeps and she fills in the last two lines of the
crossword puzzle, makes one final note on the fossil specimens, and
shuts off the T.V. She reaches for her back pack and looks out at
CENTRAL PARK with remarkably clear eyes.
EXT. CENTRAL PARK - MORNING
HELICOPTER SHOT... Swooping over the fall foliage of the Park, a riot
of color and botanical life... The camera picks out MARGO’S BICYCLE
making its way along the winding roads, dodging taxi cabs. Margo wears
jeans, a work shirt, a fine blue gabardine jacket with a rhinestone
DOUBLE HELIX PIN. On her back is a LEATHER BACK PACK which holds her
lap top computer. She emerges from the park, catches the green light
and rolls up to...
EXT. MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - DAY
As Margo arrives, the camera moves up and over the building, comes to
rest on the imposing turrets, intersecting roof lines, and Gothic
arches of the MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY. This is not an ordinary
building; it’s a 19th century monument to science and mankind. The
structure fills an entire city block.
Happy visitors pour into the museum as Margo takes the imposing wide
stone steps two at a time. We hear SCREAMS of pleasure and release,
the normal raucous noises of a large group of THIRD GRADE CHILDREN.
Margo is amused to find herself surrounded by kids. Their teacher,
MRS. BEASLEY, a stern woman in glasses with a thick New York accent,
calls after them as they all head inside.
MRS. BEASLEY
Don’t run, children! Stay with your
partner and do not run! If anyone
runs they will be sent back to the
bus!
Ignoring Mrs. Beasley, TWO BOYS charge past Margo. HENRY and LARRY.
Henry has a buzz cut; Larry has rasta dread knots. Both are 8 years
old, wear high top sneakers and shorts so big they graze their ankles.
MRS. BEASLEY
Henry! Larry! What did I just say!
You walk right this minute! Did you
hear me?!
Reluctantly, Henry and Larry slow to a rapid race-walk as they reach
the huge doorway flanked by two Northwest Coast Indian totem poles.
Above the doorway WORKMEN are hanging a LARGE BANNER. It reads:
"SUPERSTITION EXHIBIT... OPENING OCT. 29"
INT. MUSEUM ROTUNDA/STAIRWELL - DAY
The school children burst into a three story space dominated by a
life-sized statue of a HERD OF ELEPHANTS. The kids chatter with
excitement, look up in awe. Margo nods to a GUARD who smiles as she
pins on a plastic I.D.
GUARD
Morning, Dr. Green.
MARGO
Morning Joe. Beautiful day.
Henry watches Margo pass through the turnstiles without paying. He
swaggers over.
HENRY
You work here?
MARGO
Yes, I do.
HENRY
What do you do?
MARGO
(leans down, amused)
I’m an Evolutionary Biologist. What
do you do?
HENRY
Nothing. I’m in third grade. What’s
a revolutionary what ch’a ma’
callit?
MARGO
Evolutionary Biologist. I study how
life on earth evolved over millions
of years.
HENRY
(brightens)
Way cool. Then you know where the
dinosaurs are.
MARGO
Fourth floor, West wing, but stay
with your class.
Mrs. Beasley heads into the museum and Larry and Henry merge with the
rest of the kids. Margo turns towards the stairwell, passing...
IAN CUTHBERT... Museum Director... a pudgy man in wire rim glasses who
dresses and thinks like a banker. Hired for his amazing ability to
raise money, Cuthbert is one of a new generation of Museum Directors
whose focus must always be on the bottom line.
MARGO
Hello, Ian. Everything ready for the
opening of the Superstition Exhibit?
CUTHBERT
I’m on my way to get the last piece
out of storage right now.
MARGO
I’d wish you luck but I’m not
superstitious.
CUTHBERT
You will be after tomorrow night.
Cuthbert waves merrily. A workman uses a LADDER in the stairwell.
Cuthbert is about to walk under the ladder, stops and carefully walks
around it instead. Margo smiles, goes on upstairs.
INT. MUSEUM BASEMENT - DAY
Cuthbert enters from the lower stairwell. He is now in one of the
hundreds of areas of the museum that are closed to the the general
public. He follows a labyrinthine route down a dim passageway lined
with rumbling steam pipes. There are storage areas on both sides
labeled ORNITHOLOGY, HERPITOLOGY, CENTRAL ASIA EXPEDITIONS, AKELEY
EXPEDITIONS, WHALE BONE FOSSILS and so on. Finally Cuthbert comes to a
door marked
"WHITTLESLEY EXPEDITIONS 1978-95". Cuthbert pauses and gets out a key,
but to his surprise the door pushes open. The lock and doorknob
mechanism are both broken off! Cuthbert frowns.
CUTHBERT
What the... ?
He goes inside.
INT. WHITTLESLEY COLLECTION BASEMENT - DAY
Cuthbert flips on a light to see a tall, narrow space. Stacks of metal
shelves reach up into the gloom. Everywhere we see spears, shields,
masks, various artifacts. Ancient tribal costumes lie shrouded in
plastic like corpses against the walls. And in the middle of the
gloom, sitting ominously in the light of a sole hanging bulb are...
THE WHITTLESLEY CRATES. The same ones last seen in the hold of the
ill-fated Santa Lucia. They are scattered about in disarray. One in
particular has been broken open, its contents spread on the floor.
Cuthbert mutters in surprise and dismay, kneels by the crate.
CUTHBERT
No, it can’t be.
Cuthbert feels gently through the packing material, lets out a sigh of
relief as he pulls out a figurine. It is a small, beautifully carved
statue of A MONSTER crouched on all fours.
The room falls totally silent as Cuthbert studies THE RELIC. It’s a
truly frightening piece... massive, razor sharp claws, large round
nostrils, enormous teeth and red rimmed eyes. Suddenly Cuthbert sees a
DROP OF BLOOD on his hand! He’s been CUT!
CUTHBERT
Damn.
Cuthbert rises, shakes his finger in pain. Blood drips on the floor.
He pulls out his pocket handkerchief and wraps the wound. The
handkerchief rapidly soaks through. Suddenly a HAND CLAMPS on
Cuthbert’s shoulder! He’s not alone! He lets out a YELP, almost
dropping the Relic and spins to see...
A MUSEUM GUARD standing behind him. His nameplate reads... BEAUREGARD.
He’s a gentle young fellow with white blond hair and a rolling
southern accent.
CUTHBERT
Beauregard! You scared me half to
death.
BEAUREGARD
I’m sorry, sir. You okay?
CUTHBERT
Someone broke into this room.
BEAUREGARD
Anything missin’?
CUTHBERT
Doesn’t look like it. We’re damned
lucky. This statue is priceless.
Cuthbert holds up the RELIC of THE MONSTER. Beauregard stares.
CUTHBERT
Mbwun. A South American warrior
deity. He carries a powerful curse.
Every member of the expedition that
found this statue, died.
Beauregard sees Cuthbert’s cut finger.
BEAUREGARD
Looks like the curse is still at
work.
CUTHBERT
The claws are sharp... I must have
cut myself.
(uneasy laugh)
Better move these crates to the
secure storage area where they’ll be
safe.
Beauregard studies the door as Cuthbert heads out with the figurine.
BEAUREGARD
Don’t know if it’ll do any good, Mr.
Cuthbert.
CUTHBERT
Why not?
BEAUREGARD
No one broke into this room, sir.
Someone broke out. That lock was
torn off from the inside.
Cuthbert glances at the evil face of Mbwun, pales. As he exits, HOLD
ON BEAUREGARD, left alone with the crates.
INT. PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY LAB - DAY
Huge centrifuges, hissing autoclaves, electrophoresis apparati,
glowing monitors, elaborate blown-glass distillation columns and
titration set-ups. One of the most advanced technical facilities of
its kind. And mixed in with all the modern machinery are
SKELETONS OF ALL KINDS. Complete homo sapien specimens are scattered
around the room. Standing midst all this is GREGORY KAWAKITA, early
twenties. Kawakita makes sharp, jerky overhead movements with his left
hand, waving something about. He’s practicing casting. We hear the
zing of a line and the whirring of the fly reel as MARGO ENTERS. A fly
whips out, passing right under her nose.
KAWAKITA
Third from the end! Right shoulder.
Aleut, provenance unknown.
The fly zooms across the room and lights on the shoulder of the third
skeleton from the end, labeled "Aleut, provenance unknown." Margo
rolls her eyes and Kawakita smiles with pride.
KAWAKITA
If I spent half the time on my
Fractal Evolution thesis that I
spend on this fly rod, I’d have my
PhD.
MARGO
(small smile)
But at what a price.
Kawakita reels in his line as Margo drops her backpack on her large
desk. An enormous MICROSCOPE stands by the equally imposing computer
topped by a tiger skull. A screen saver of an animated pterodactyl
plays. Margo unpacks boxes of fossil teeth, hits some keys revealing
columns of seemingly indecipherable chemical equations on the computer
screen.
MARGO
I have the species identification on
these teeth. We can extract DNA and
start running tests on the
extrapolator program. Call Dr.
Frock. He wanted a demonstration.
KAWAKITA
Margo, you haven’t heard?
MARGO
What?
KAWAKITA
Frock’s been fired.
Margo straightens, stunned.
MARGO
That’s impossible.
KAWAKITA
(awkward)
I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad
tidings, but you know me. Telegraph.
Telephone. Tell Kawakita. I got the
definitive word from Cuthbert’s
secretary. This is Dr. Frock’s last
week.
Margo is already out the door.
INT. CORRIDORS/STAIRWELL - MUSEUM - DAY
Margo charges through double doors leading into the southwest tower.
She half runs down an elegant, Edwardian fifth-floor corridor, her
footsteps lost in the thick carpet. At the very end is a heavy oak
door bearing a plate entwined with bronze leaves that reads simply
"Dr. Frock".
INT. FROCK’S OFFICE - DAY
Margo bursts into the unique office, which is in startling contrast to
the modernity of her own. Two large bow windows look out over the
park. Upholstered Victorian chairs in a leaf motif sit on needlepoint
carpets featuring large red roses. Plant specimens and drawings of
flora and fauna line the walls. Cardboard boxes cover the floor.
Seated in a wheelchair is a white-haired man in a tweed jacket and a
loud floral tie. Glasses slip down his nose.
This is DR. FROCK, and he’s in the middle of packing. He looks up,
smiles apologetically.
DR. FROCK
Hello, Margo. Sorry about the mess.
MARGO
Is it true? Greg said you’d been
fired.
FROCK
Yes. Bit of a shock. But as Cuthbert
so tactfully put it, the museum
needs new blood. And since I’ve been
here since the Mesozoic Era --
MARGO
I don’t believe it.
FROCK
Now Margo, don’t overreact. Cuthbert
has to cut costs somehow. My leaving
makes perfect sense. This isn’t
exactly early retirement. I’ve
overstayed the party a bit.
MARGO
We can’t do without you. You’re one
of the foremost authorities on
primitive pharmacology. You’re
practically an institution around
here.
FROCK
That, apparently, is the problem.
I’m yesterday’s news. Who needs a
Curator of Plant Biology in a museum
with one exhibit on plants? Monsters
and dinosaurs, cannibals and shamans
are the new currency of the realm.
Frock goes back to his work packing to hide his emotion and Margo
moves to his side. She pulls Frock’s books back out of the box,
returns them to his desk.
MARGO
"Phyletic Transformation and the
Tertiary Fern Spike" is not going
anywhere. I’ll talk to Cuthbert and
put a stop to this right now.
She starts for the door and Frock wheels into her path. Now for the
first time she sees what he’s been carefully hiding... the deep pain in
his eyes.
FROCK
Please. Don’t humiliate me further.
MARGO
Let me help. I can take care of
everything.
FROCK
No, Margo. This is one problem you
can’t solve. You have to stay out of
it. The fact is, I want to retire.
MARGO
How can you say that? You know it’s
not true.
FROCK
Yes it is. I’m tired and I’m no
longer needed --
MARGO
My work on fossil intermediates
would be crippled without you.
FROCK
With all due respect, dear, that’s
bull. You dance rings around me with
your new technology. You’ve left me
in the dust.
MARGO
(stubbornly loyal)
Your work is highly relevant. What
about your display on Primitive
Pharmacology? Cuthbert told me
himself he was going to feature it
prominently in the Superstition
Exhibit.
FROCK
Healing plant use among the Ki tribe
of Bechuanaland has been cancelled
to make room for Tibetan Erotic Art.
Frock reaches out and squeezes her hand gently with a look that says
the discussion is over.
FROCK
Come on. I’ll walk you back to the
elevator.
MARGO
I’m not giving up.
FROCK
You must.
INT. MUSEUM HALLWAYS - DAY
Frock rolls back down the hall the way Margo just came. Margo is
beside him, downcast. She’s not used to defeat.
FROCK
This isn’t a death sentence. Greg
has promised to teach me fly
fishing. I’ll garden. I’ll write.
MARGO
You are this museum. It won’t be the
same without you.
FROCK
Everyone needs a change of scenery.
I’ve been rolling down these halls
for forty-odd years. That’s quite
enough.
Margo gets in the elevator reluctantly. He smiles and meets her eye.
FROCK
I’ll see you at lunch.
He waves her off merrily. But once the doors close and Margo’s out of
sight, Frock’s smile fades and his shoulders sag. He ducks his
wheelchair quickly into the Hall of African Mammals.
INT. HALL OF AFRICAN MAMMALS - AFTERNOON
Two stories high, dark and dramatic. A very special display. Dioramas
of lions, hippos, wart hogs etc. In the middle is a large statue of a
GORILLA beating its chest. Frock takes refuge in the darkness of the
exhibit. His wheelchair sits in a quiet corner and we see him quickly
wipe the back of his hands across his eyes.
INT. MOLLUSKS EXHIBIT - DAY
Shells and sea life line the walls. A sign announces the exhibit
"Mollusks and Our World." The THIRD GRADE CLASS sweeps in. Larry and
Henry start to sing "Mollusks and Our World" to the tune of "Welcome
to Our World", the F.A.O. Schwartz theme song. Mrs. Beasley shoots
them the evil eye and Henry whines...
HENRY
Mrs. Beasley, it’s almost time to go
and we still haven’t seen the
dinosaurs!
BEASLEY
If you ask me about the dinosaurs
once more, I’II strangle you both!
She starts to lecture about horseshoe crabs in a droning monotone.
Henry and Larry hang back.
LARRY
(whispers)
This room sucks.
HENRY
She’s never going to take us to see
the dinosaurs. That lady said they
were on the fourth floor.
LARRY
Let’s ditch and find them ourselves.
They dart off down a side corridor and up a wide stairs.
INT. REPTILES AND AMPHIBIANS ROOM - DAY
Larry and Henry emerge and walk wide-eyed among the cases of lizards,
chameleons, tortoises. High windows light the room. Outside the sun is
going down. A woman pushing a child in a stroller exits and the boys
have the hall to themselves.
LARRY
Look at this. A Komodo dragon.
As Larry checks out, the huge, dragon-like reptile, which has just
sunk its Jaws into a stuffed boar. Henry points to a stuffed Gecko
climbing vertically up the side of its case.
HENRY
Check out this one. It can walk up
walls.
Larry already has his eyes on the far end of the hall where temporary
barricades have been put up to prevent access to the next room.
Painting is in progress. Scaffolding just begs to be climbed. Henry
runs over and starts up the scaffolding. Larry hesitates.
LARRY
We’re not supposed to go back there.
HENRY
Chicken. This is a great short cut.
Henry drops on the other side of the scaffolding and Larry follows. In
a moment both disappear from sight.
INT. MUSEUM HALL OF BIRDS - DAY
Windowless and dark. A closed display under maintenance. Thousands of
little stuffed birds line the walls from floor to ceiling, white
cotton poking out of sightless eyes. Henry and Larry enter and slow
down. Larry’s getting scared.
LARRY
I don’t want to go this way.
HENRY
Don’t be a wuss. Come on.
The boys continue onward more slowly, their footfalls echoing in the
silence.
INT. BACK HALLWAYS - DAY
The children are now far from the other tourists and their class.
Larry is frightened. The hall takes a sharp dog-leg, ending in a
darkened cul-de-sac full of display cases filled with hideous carved
masks. Against the side of the chamber is a barricade of wood which
looks much like a wall. Henry tugs at it and the barricade moves. He
looks behind.
HENRY
Hey, there’s a secret staircase back
here. Cool.
Henry disappears behind the barricade leaving Larry completely alone
in the dark room with the Shaman masks.
LARRY
Henry, come back!
Henry doesn’t respond. The lights in the cases throw strange shadows.
Larry starts to sniffle, falls to hiccuping, sits down. He pulls on a
little flap of rubber that’s coming off the toe of his sneaker, all
bravado gone.
LARRY
Henry! Henry!
No answer. Larry rises and peeks behind the barricade. He sees the
circular stair. It descends into total darkness. From below comes a
strange smell that makes Larry’s nose wrinkle.
LARRY
Henry?
No answer. Larry puts his first foot on the stair.
LARRY
Henry! Come up! Please!
With no other option but staying alone in the dark, Larry follows
Henry down.
INT. SPIRAL STAIRCASE - DAY
Larry clutches the banister, whispers...
LARRY
Henry? Where are you? Henry?
Larry takes another step. Another. And another. He stops. Below him he
hears SNUFFLING, rather like a large dog. Larry freezes, starts to
cry.
LARRY
Henry! Henry! It smells awful.
Answer me! Are you all right?
Larry can barely see a dim hallway stretching out in two directions.
He pauses near the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide, holding his
breath. There appears to be a darker area of SHADOW at the end of the
hall. It’s gliding TOWARDS THEM!
Suddenly something CLOSES on Larry’s leg and he YELPS. It’s HENRY.
Henry pulls Larry the rest of the way down the stairs. They stand
alone together in the darkness. Henry hisses.
HENRY
Quiet!
LARRY
What is it?
HENRY
I don’t know. But I think it’s bad.
They keep their eyes locked on the shape at the end of the hall as
they back up, step by step. Move in as their faces suddenly TWIST WITH
FEAR. THE BOYS... SCREAM BLOODY MURDER... The sound echoes in the
darkness as we...
CUT TO:
INT. MARGO’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Margo sits up in the darkness, gasping. Moonlight cuts across the bed.
It takes a moment for her to realize that she’s had a nightmare. She
reaches for her light. As she switches it on, we see a photo on her
bedside table. It shows a group on a mountain in TIBET. There are
several people with their arms slung around each other. At the end is
a younger MARGO holding hands with JOHN WHITTLESLEY. They appear to be
more than friends.
ON MARGO... she looks at the photo a moment, then turns off the light
and lies back, alone in her bed.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST - DAY
Yellow crime tape encircles the museum. Dead leaves swirl in clusters
and the sky is overcast. Overnight, fall turned to winter. The front
of the museum is ringed with police cars. Margo rides up on her bike
and pauses, startled at the sight. We watch as she crosses, has a few
words with one of the officers who motions her to a side entrance. She
wheels her bike under a stone tunnel as we pick up...
A TAXI CAB arriving at the front entrance. Out steps SPECIAL AGENT
PENDERGAST.
INT. LOWER ROTUNDA - DAY
Margo enters. The huge hall is taken up by an enormous boat carved
from the trunk of a single tree. Inside it are mannequins of Northwest
Coast Indians. Milling around are at least twenty COPS. One
approaches.
COP
ID.
Worried, Margo hands it over.
MARGO
What’s going on?
COP
All employees are to go to the IMAX
room for a briefing, Dr. Green.
INT. SIDE HALL - MUSEUM - DAY
Several cops go by with tracking dogs. Margo looks back at the dogs,
increasingly uneasy, almost bumps into...
HENRY AND LARRY. Surprisingly, they are alive and well and seated with
MRS. BEASLEY outside an office. Margo exchanges a look with both boys,
remembering them from yesterday. A tentative smile starts but Henry
and Larry don’t return it. Serious and chastened, they drop their
eyes. Margo continues on.
TWO COPS stand outside the door to the rest room, their backs turned
to Margo as she approaches.
COP ONE
What was that? Six?
COP TWO
Lost count.
Margo glances past them to see an OLDER MAN wearing the badge of a
NIGHT WATCHMAN, leaning over a sink. He wipes his mouth. Margo’s eyes
move down to see... THE MAN’S SNEAKERS are soaked in blood.
INT. HALL OF ADVANCED FOSSIL MAMMALS - DAY
More cops gather, surrounded by skeletons of primates... humans,
monkeys, gorillas. It’s an odd sight. They all look up with interest
as in walks the imposing figure of...
SPECIAL AGENT PENDERGAST. He turns to a young eager beaver, OFFICER
BAILEY, flashes his badge. Bailey straightens to attention.
PENDERGAST
Could you please take me to the
officer in charge?
INT. CIRCULAR STAIRWELL - DAY
Pendergast follows Bailey as they descend the rickety old metal
staircase that goes into the bowels of the museum. The hall below them
is narrowand lit by an occasional bare bulb. The stairway opens onto a
maze-like set of rooms in the basement. Everything around them is
STREAKED and SPATTERED in BLOOD. There are trails of it on the floor,
the walls, the overhead light.
Several COPS stand guard as DETECTIVE VINCE D’AGOSTA goes over the
area. He is a round, balding, man with an unmistakable air of
authority. A modern knight in shining armor in disguise... deep
disguise. He has on a cheap polyester short sleeved shirt. His t-shirt
is plainly visible underneath. On his worn plastic belt is a badge.
D’AGOSTA
Don’t touch anything until the
S.O.C. has finished with those
stairs. Keep everyone clear of the
perimeter. I don’t want any
contamination. There’s an incredible
amount of blood evidence down here.
We need more light. Where’s the
photographer? Tell him to quit
eating donuts, I need him.
As Pendergast enters, D’Agosta looks up at this serious African-
American in simple black suit, white shirt and dark tie.
D’AGOSTA
Who are you? The undertaker?
PENDERGAST
Special Agent Pendergast. FBI.
D’AGOSTA
Vince D’Agosta. Am I out?
PENDERGAST
Not at all. I think we may be
working on the same case. If so, I
could use your help.
The two men shake hands. They couldn’t be more different. Pendergast
is an elegant intellectual... D’Agosta a working class spark plug who
operates from the gut. Pendergast gestures to the form on the ground.
PENDERGAST
The body?
D’AGOSTA
What’s left of it.
PENDERGAST
Mind if I have a look?
D’Agosta calls to A POLICE PHOTOGRAPHER who comes down the staircase
carrying lights, a donut stuffed in his mouth.
D’AGOSTA
We need light in here, stat.
PENDERGAST
Where’s the head?
D’Agosta points to a lump the size of a bowling ball that’s in the
corner.
D’AGOSTA
Careful. That mess on the ground is
brains.
PENDERGAST
Whose footprints?
D’AGOSTA
Night watchman who found the body.
Sweet old man. Been tossing his
cookies for over an hour. Not a
likely suspect.
The photographer is finally ready and he floods the dark room with
light. And now everyone (but not us) gets a very clear look at the
body.
THE PHOTOGRAPHER... spits out his donut. His eyes roll up and he drops
in a dead faint. Just like that. D’Agosta swallows hard.
D’AGOSTA
Woof.
Pendergast looks down, utterly impassive.
PENDERGAST
Yes, I’d say we’re definitely
working on the same case.
INT. IMAX ROOM - DAY
An old 19th century theater. Balconies. Heavy curtains. It looks like
the theater where Lincoln was shot, with the exception of the most
recent addition, an IMAX SCREEN five stories high. The room is filling
with museum employees, all murmuring anxiously. Margo sits down next
to Frock’s wheelchair. Her face is ashen.
MARGO
Dr. Frock, I just saw a man back
there who’d been wading in blood.
As Greg Kawakita sits in the chair next to Margo...
MARGO (CON’T)
For once I’m glad you’re rumor
central. What in the world is going
on?
KAWAKITA
Someone’s been murdered. Not shot,
strangled or stabbed, either. Torn
limb from limb. There’s talk of a
psychotic killer or even an animal.
FROCK
For heaven’s sake, Greg, someone’s
been killed. Look, it’s Cuthbert.
Let’s hear what really happened.
At this everyone falls silent and IAN CUTHBERT steps forward to
address the crowd. He appears drawn and grey.
CUTHBERT
This has been a tragic and upsetting
morning. I have terrible news for us
all. A member of our security force
has been found murdered. The police
have just informed me it was Daniel
Beauregard.
(murmuring fills the room)
Quiet. Please. With the help of our
head of security, Mr. Ippolito... the
museum has been secured.
IPPOLITO... rises in the back and nods to the crowd... He’s an imperious
looking, pompous man with shifty eyes. Right now he’s defensive.
Overnight, his job is on the line...
CUTHBERT
The police are satisfied we’re in no
danger, that we’re all perfectly
safe. We’ve been asked to remain in
the Gem Room and be available for
questioning for the rest of the day.
Obviously, we will all do everything
we can to cooperate. Are there any
questions?
Ippolito raises a hand.
IPPOLITO
The party for the opening of the
Superstition Exhibit... I imagine in
the light of what’s happened it will
be pushed back.
CUTHBERT
No action has been taken yet. The
opening of the exhibit is crucial to
the financial health of this museum.
So for now, we expect that the
Superstition Exhibit will open on
schedule, tomorrow night.
Ippolito registers surprise. The audience buzzes again.
INT. GEM ROOM - DAY
Margo, Dr. Frock and Greg Kawakita enter. The room is full of
spectacular displays of gemstones of every type. Greg drapes himself
over a grey sofa. Margo leans on a giant geode.
MARGO
That Cuthbert. What a piece of work.
Someone’s dead and all he cares
about is his Superstition Exhibit.
FROCK
Cuthbert’s counting on the
exhibition’s success. The museum is
in debt. Contributions and public
funding have dried up. Admissions no
longer cover overhead. The last big
infusion of cash we had was the King
Tut exhibit. Cuthbert was hired to
get us out of the red. If the
Superstition Exhibit isn’t
lucrative, he’ll have to start
auctioning off some of these gems.
KAWAKITA
With all this bad publicity, it’s no
wonder he looks like that.
They glance over and see Cuthbert in the corner. He appears ill, is
compulsively fingering his watch chain from which hangs a RABBIT’S
FOOT. Frock goes over to speak to him, followed by Margo and Greg.
FROCK
Ian. Are you okay?
CUTHBERT
(shakes his head)
Beauregard. I can’t believe it. I
may have been the last one to see
him alive. He was with me just
yesterday, when I got out the statue
of Mbwun.
MARGO
(taken aback)
Mbwun.
KAWAKITA
(sensing more gossip)
What’s that?
Margo frowns, suddenly uneasy. She and Dr. Frock exchange a look.
MARGO
Warrior deity of the Kothoga, an
extinct South American tribe. Dr.
John Whittlesley led an expedition