Dark City

BARBER: Mnunn. Cold lately. That night, couple weeks ago. That was real cold. Remember that?

WHITE: Not really...

BARBER: Yeah, Im like that. Senility says the wife. But she sure cant complain. Heh. The erector set still works good. And this aint no fucking rug! Ghead. Feel it! All mine!

WHITE: Sell maps?

BARBER: What of?

WHITE: The city. I need to get to the ocean.

BARBER: Nope. No maps. Ocean, huh? On vacation?

WHITE: I need something to keep me awake.

BARBER: Looks like you need a haircut to me.

WHITE: Thanks. Just some pills.

BARBER: Only two bucks. Shave as well...

COP: They don't speak English...

BUMSTEAD: How will we interrogate them?

COP: Well, sir... I don't know exactly.

COP: All the same entry wounds. It's definitely him. She lives... lived here. A prostitute.

BUMSTEAD: The other one?

COP: His wife.

BUMSTEAD: Jesus. Small world. Where's the photographer?

COP: No one available.

BUMSTEAD: What's he doing here?

COP: Says he is the man's doctor... You know...

BUMSTEAD: I know it's his doctor... I need the file on.. Daniel Paul Schreber M.D.

BUMSTEAD: How long have you been here?

COP: Maybe ten minutes... Thats strange.

BUMSTEAD: Spinning backwards?

BUMSTEAD: Was that for real down there?

SCHREBER: I'm afraid so.

BUMSTEAD: What is this place?

SCHREBER: You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Inspector. Have patience - you'll see for yourself.

SCHREBER: In there.

BUMSTEAD: Just like that?

SCHREBER: Please, they'll kill me...

BUMSTEAD: I think it's time you introduced us to your little friends.

BUMSTEAD: I met a friend of yours the other night, doctor. Tall fellow. No hair. Rather pale skin...

SCHREBER: I don't know what you're talking about.

BUMSTEAD: That's surprising. He was leaving your office at the time...

SCHREBER: You are mistaken.

BUMSTEAD: To tell you the truth, I'm glad we've run into each other like this. Maybe you can help me tidy some loose ends.

SCHREBER: Loose ends?

BUMSTEAD: You seem a little edgy. Everything okay?

SCHREBER: Yes, of course. Everything's fine...

BUMSTEAD: Doctor! What brings you here?

SCHREBER: Just visiting my patient.

BUMSTEAD: Really? And how is his state of mind?

SCHREBER: He's seriously disturbed...

BUMSTEAD: Police. Nobody move.

SCHREBER: He tried to kill me!

BUMSTEAD: Shut up! Everybody stay calm...

STROMBOLI: Bumstead, you're starting to annoy me. This case is very important to me. Just a little warning: I've got my eye on you inspector, remember that.

BUMSTEAD: Yes, sir.

BUMSTEAD: Yes, sir. I'm sorry... But I don't understand how it was possible. The only window was twenty feet up a vertical wall, he was cuffed...

STROMBOLI: How could you have been so stupid?

STROMBOLI: Yes. That's right. He's ill - he needs expert help.

BUMSTEAD: I see...

BUMSTEAD: Lost something?

STROMBOLI: What makes you think that! If you would learn to concentrate on facts, not get so side-tracked - you might get things done faster, Bumstead...

BUMSTEAD: Its extremely important to my investigation...

STROMBOLI: Ill be the judge of that. Anything else?

BUMSTEAD: Actually, I was wondering, sir, if you could let me have a few uniforms, to follow up for me...

STROMBOLI: Why do you want to speak to him?

BUMSTEAD: A hunch. He might be able to...

BUMSTEAD: What about Thompson, sir? Wasnt this his case?

STROMBOLI: Thompson suffered a kind of severe delusion or some damn thing. Anyway he isnt with us any longer. The case is yours. Go through his files. Take what you need. By the way, hows your mother?

BUMSTEAD: Shes getting better, thanks. She...

STROMBOLI: Why are you wearing that thing on your face?

BUMSTEAD: Germs, sir. These places are full of them.

STROMBOLI: I see. One things for sure, hes ambitious. Youll be a busy man from now on.

BUMSTEAD: Good evening, sir.

STROMBOLI: Yes. This way.

BUMSTEAD: I need everything on the Jonathan White case.

MISS CRENSHAW: Yes, sir. Everything?

BUMSTEAD: All the important stuff. Wrap it up for me.

BUMSTEAD: Who is it?

MISS CRENSHAW: Won't say. Says he must talk to you.

BUMSTEAD: Put it through...

BUMSTEAD: How can I submit this?

MISS CRENSHAW: Im sorry...

BUMSTEAD: Do you wash your hands before you type things?

MISS CRENSHAW: Why, yes.

BUMSTEAD: Well be more careful, please.

MISS CRENSHAW: It seems fine.

BUMSTEAD: Fine? Look here!

BUMSTEAD: You typed this report?

MISS CRENSHAW: Yes, sir. Anything wrong?

BUMSTEAD: Wrong? Look at this!

MISS CRENSHAW: Ive taken the liberty and had Inspector Thompsons office searched, as I believe you instructed. All clear now, sir. They found several more traps and things were filed under pretty strange categories... Poor man.

BUMSTEAD: Good.

MISS CRENSHAW: You wont regret this, sir.

BUMSTEAD: Fine.

MISS CRENSHAW: Im your new assistant.

BUMSTEAD: I didnt requisition a secretary.

MISS CRENSHAW: The Chief-Inspector thought you might need a hand.

BUMSTEAD: Dammit!

MISS CRENSHAW: Sorry, sir.

BUMSTEAD: Dont ever sneak up on me like that! Who are you?

MISS CRENSHAW: Patricia Crenshaw.

WHITE: What now?

BUMSTEAD: This ocean business... I know where I can find a map. I need to go back to the station. Where will you be?

WHITE: Where do you think this goes?

BUMSTEAD: It sure isn't the fun-fair.

BUMSTEAD: Go on.

WHITE: Well. The only thing I've been certain of, all this time, is that I need to get to the ocean. The point is no one seems to know how to get there.

BUMSTEAD: Why, that's ridiculous. You just...

BUMSTEAD: They didn't have faces.

WHITE: What?

BUMSTEAD: That's right. Just seamless flesh across the front of their heads. No mistake. I just hadn't remembered it that way. Up until then they had been normal little girls in my memory. That's not all. Once I started examining them, all sorts of things about my life, had... inconsistencies. It was like a game. I would think about a person or a place, or an event. Then I would turn the lights off. Sit down in a comfortable chair... And study each detail of this subject.

WHITE: People... after me.

BUMSTEAD: Who?

WHITE: I don't know who they are.

BUMSTEAD: Why are they after you?

WHITE: Don't know that either.

BUMSTEAD: Don't know much, do you?

BUMSTEAD: Why give yourself up?

WHITE: I - ah - couldn't think of anything else to do. I thought maybe you know something... I'm scared.

BUMSTEAD: That was a pretty good escape act at the station. How did you do that?

WHITE: I woke up in a subway. I don't know how I got there.

WHITE: Where are we going?

BUMSTEAD: Shut-up.

BUMSTEAD: But... How long has this been happening?

THOMPSON: A few days... a few weeks - dunno, I can't remember. Worse thing is, I never know if it will change back again... Now, please leave me alone.

BUMSTEAD: Jesus! We have to get you to a doctor...

THOMPSON: No... No doctor...

THOMPSON: They've taken my mind, my memories...

BUMSTEAD: What? Who has?

THOMPSON: Is that your idea of a joke? I don't remember... Take my advice, Bumstead. Get off this case. Now.

BUMSTEAD: What is going on?

THOMPSON: Can't let you in... sorry.

BUMSTEAD: I'm on the serial killer case, need to talk.

THOMPSON: Not that. Anything else.

WHITE: You see it?

KARL: Yes.

WHITE: Where does it lead?

KARL: It must be a closet or something.

KARL: Such a joker! Like your father.

WHITE: No. Have a look.

KARL: Look! This is a good one!

WHITE: What is that door?

KARL: Which one?

WHITE: There. Behind the cabinet. Where does it go?

WHITE: I didn't realise...

MISTER BLACK: Shut up, freak! Monster! You are insignificant.

MISTER BLACK: A book of delusions. Anything else?

WHITE: But I...

MISTER BLACK: I see. The verdict, yes...

WHITE: Wait, this isn't fair...

MISTER BLACK: A fanciful idea, Mister White.

WHITE: Everyone has a job - a function. Each one teaches you more about your invention. I'm what is called a murderer.

PRIEST: Dont kill me!

WHITE: Shut up!

PRIEST: Please...

PRIEST: I see. Then who is after you? What sins have you committed?

WHITE: Just let me sit here for a moment? Ill go soon, and stop bothering you.

WHITE: Someones after me.

PRIEST: Then we must call the police.

WHITE: No. I mean... that isnt necessary.

WHITE: No. I, ah...

PRIEST: You seem restless.

WHITE: What is it?

SCHREBER: We are... living in their dreams...

WHITE: What happened to you?

SCHREBER: I'm... being... punished.

WHITE: What are you hiding?

SCHREBER: Nothing. I don't know anything!

WHITE: It's a trick.

SCHREBER: No it isn't. You are doing it! Now raise it over the glass and...

WHITE: You've been working too hard.

SCHREBER: Please! Don't be foolish! Time is short. Let me show you something. Look at this syringe.

WHITE: Why?

SCHREBER: Don't ask stupid questions. Look at it.

SCHREBER: If you would only take this, inject it in your brain, everything would be much clearer.

WHITE: Not that again...

SCHREBER: Everyone get's one - very much like this... But this one's special. It will help you understand, everything...

WHITE: You're a liar!

SCHREBER: No, it's the truth.

WHITE: So you're telling me the truth this time? Is that it!

SCHREBER: What are you doing?

WHITE: I have to go...

SCHREBER: You can't go yet. We've got so much to talk about...

WHITE: I'm sorry. About before.

SCHREBER: I don't blame you for getting angry. You are in a frustrating situation. You must be patient though. Trust me completely. I'm here to help.

WHITE: Can I get my life back?

SCHREBER: Maybe.

SCHREBER: We are little more than a sum of memories. From them we reference who we are, where we're going. Without a past we are nothing. This is why you are so interesting.

WHITE: I'm nothing then.

SCHREBER: Anything but, my friend.

WHITE: Horrible...

SCHREBER: You remember nothing, eh? Let me show you something.

WHITE: Did she drown? The woman you told me about?

SCHREBER: Not exactly. She was found in a canal, disembowelled. Throat cut. Blood drained. The body wrapped in a bed-sheet.

SCHREBER: I cannot say... You don't know the answer to that?

WHITE: I told you, I can't remember a thing!

WHITE: Known me for long?

SCHREBER: Well...

SCHREBER: If you like.

WHITE: You're supposed to be my doctor, right?

SCHREBER: That's right. I am your doctor.

SCHREBER: Bad dreams?

WHITE: Yes.

SCHREBER: Tell me about them...

SCHREBER: What does she say? The woman.

WHITE: Asks my name. Over and over. Just like a broken record. Only thing is, I can't answer. I've no idea what my name is.

SCHREBER: Your name is John White.

WHITE: That's what people keep telling me.

SCHREBER: You remember nothing? Who you are? What you've done?

WHITE: You know something about me?

SCHREBER: Ah, that would be cheating, wouldn't it? Is there nothing you remember? Not even a detail? You must try.

WHITE: You think I haven't been trying! It's like there was never anything there. Just water.

SCHREBER: Water?

WHITE: Waves... A beach. A woman whispering. That's all. I need to stay awake. Do you have any pills?

WHITE: How do I get there? Tell me.

WIFE: That's easy. You...

WHITE: I thought it would make more sense. I'm getting the pieces, but when I put it together it feels like... Like you're telling me about somebody else's life...

WIFE: It's the truth... I need you. I know you're innocent.

WHITE: How do you know I'm innocent?

WIFE: Of course you are. You couldn't do those terrible things. Come home with me - maybe things will make sense then...

WHITE: I can't do that. It's dangerous. What about my parents? Do you know where I can find them?

WIFE: They're dead, John.