Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.

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               FADE IN:

               EXT. NIGHT

               A EUROPEAN SPORTS CAR, racing at high speeds, headlights
               scouring the winding road ahead, engine roaring.

               Some distance behind, a POLICE CRUISER, sirens on, lights
               flashing, tires scraping the asphalt...

               INT. SPORTS CAR

               Behind the wheel, an intelligent-looking man with delicate
               features and a fierce intensity in his eyes... Gregory Peck
               in his forties. Beside him, a woman ten years his junior.
               Attractive, smart, her expression is full of concern.

               The woman's eyes want to glance behind her, but hesitate.

               EXT. HIGHWAY

               The police cruiser struggles to stay on the tail of its prey,
               trying to match corner for corner, turn for turn. Its V-8 is
               no match for the high-performance Porsche Turbo.

               In the distance, lights up ahead. It materializes like an
               oasis in the dead of night. It's a building that never
               sleeps: a HOSPITAL, the large ER letters burning bright red.

               The Porsche races to the front of the emergency room
               entrance, narrowly missing a parked ambulance. The two
               occupants of the car hop out, the driver toting a small black
               bag. The woman quickly follows him.

               As they race through the automatic doors, the police cruiser
               races up, screeches to a halt, its loud siren blaring in the
               night air. The UNIFORMED OFFICER jumps out, pursues the
               couple, his hand upon his holster...

               INT. HOSPITAL

               An older man in a white lab coat, heavy-set and grave with
               concern, greets the hurried couple. His name is DR. WEISMAN.

                         Robert, at last. Please. Follow me.

               He hears the commotion behind him, the shouting of the police

                         It's alright, officer. This man is
                         a doctor.

               He motions quickly to a FEMALE ATTENDANT behind the
               Admittance Desk.

                         See to him please.

               Weisman turns his attention back to DOCTOR ROBERT DAMON and
               his assistant, RACHEL CROSS. He motions them toward a wide
               set of double-doors.

               The doors open automatically with a swipe of an ID badge
               hanging from the doctor's belt.

               They walk hurriedly down the halls, their shoes clicking on
               the linoleum floor.

               An E.R. doctor, SANDERS - young, black, in green scrubs,
               covered in sweat - waits for them at the entrance to the
               operating room.

                             (greeting them)
                         Dr. Damon.

               Damon speaks with the polished air of a Brit...

                         This is my nurse and assistant,
                         Miss Cross.


               In the operating room behind them, a frail figure on the
               table, wearing bloody jeans and a tee-shirt, surrounded by
               nurses and attendants, face covered in blood-soaked bandages.


                             (referring to the chart in
                              his hand)
                         Seventeen-year-old female,
                         automobile accident. Broken
                         clavicle, fractured L5 vertebra, no
                         internal bleeding.

               He looks up from his notes.

                         We've got her stabilized. Heart
                         rate, b.p., normal.

               And now he continues reading the chart...

                         Broken cheekbones, left and right,
                         fractured nose. Her left eye-socket
                         has been practically demolished.


               He holds the folder out for Damon. He takes it, opens it,
               holds one up to the light.

                             (while looking at the x
                         The oral surgeon?

                         Lawrence Hathaway. He's a good man.
                             (glances at his watch)
                         Should be here within the hour.

               The three are interrupted by the sudden appearance of a
               NURSE. She hands Sanders a printed set of color photographs.

               The doctor looks at them, passes them over to Damon.

                         I took the liberty of having the
                         nurse grab some images from the
                         girl's online profile...

                             (regarding the photos)

                             (nodding in agreement)
                         She was.

               Damon looks up at the exhausted doctor.

                         You've done an excellent job here,
                         Doctor. Please, go grab yourself a
                         cup of coffee and relax. We'll take
                         it from here.

               The doctor nods. He turns to go and then stops...

                         Good luck, Doctor.

               Damon gives one last glance to Cross before heading into the
               scrubbing area.

               INT. ICU - NIGHT

               Damon, Cross, another DOCTOR, and an ANESTHESIOLOGIST, all in
               masks and scrubs, surround the operating table, at work on
               the patient.

               Damon glances up, into the uncertain eyes of his assistant,
               Rachel. He conveys to her a look of assurance.

               She smiles.

               INT. SCRUBBING AREA - LATER

               Damon, exhausted, sits on the bench rubbing the bridge of his
               nose. Behind him, Rachel appears. She unties his scrubs,
               pushes them past his bare shoulders. She takes a towel and
               tenderly dries the sweat from his torso.

               Her hands drop the towel and now her fingers caress his bare
               skin. She begins to move around him, to face him. He takes
               her hands in his, squeezes them, and turns away.

               Rachel looks at him full of longing.

               EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

               The two ride in silence, Damon behind the wheel of his
               Porsche. Rachel yearns to speak. Finally...

                         That girl was in pretty bad shape,

               Damon nods, agreeing.

                         I hope you realize, you gave her
                         back her life tonight.

                         I wish I could take credit for
                         that, but the doctors had done a
                         fair job of stabilizing her before
                         we arrived. I think that doctor at
                         the hospital, Dr. Sanders, did an
                         excellent --

                         I wasn't talking about that,
                         darling. I meant her life back as a

               She looks at Damon, their eyes meet for a long beat.

                             (unable to hold it in)
                         How much longer do we have to go on
                         pretending, Robert?

                         Please, Rachel...

               She bites her lip. Finally...

                         Campbell came by to see me again
                         earlier today. He had an envelope
                         for you...

               She reaches into her bag and pulls out an 8x12 brown
               envelope. On it, handwritten in bold, block letters: PHOTOS
               DO NOT BEND.

               Damon's eyes flicker to it, but he says nothing. From the
               hurt in his eyes, it is upsetting to him. Rachel broaches the
               subject with care...

                         He said there was --

                         For Heaven's sake, Rachel. Must we
                         get into this now?

               She turns away, hurt. Nods.


               Damon pulls his car to the front of her apartment entrance.

               INT. PORSCHE

               Rachel reaches behind her seat for her things. She makes a
               decision and stuffs the brown envelope into Damon's satchel,
               without him seeing.

               As she opens the door to leave, Damon's hand catches her.


               She turns to look at him and he combs the hair from her eyes
               with his fingers. A smile appears on his lips.

                         You were good in there tonight.

               She smiles.

                         I know I haven't the right to ask,
                         Will you be patient with me?

               She takes his hand and presses it against her cheek.

                         Of course I will.

               She exits, and Damon watches her go. After she disappears
               inside, Damon throws his car into gear and steps on the gas.

               EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

               Damon's Porsche turns off the highway and onto a winding road
               that leads to the shore.

               EXT. DAMON'S MANSION - NIGHT

               A behemoth castle, positioned on a low cliff, overlooking the

               Damon roars his car to a stop on the circular driveway. He
               climbs out, grabbing his things from behind the seat. Shoved
               in his satchel, but unnoticed by him, is the brown envelope.

               EXT. ENTRANCE

               Damon pauses by the door, looks up at the large windowed
               balcony overlooking the courtyard. It's vacant. Eerie.

               INT. DAMON'S MANSION

               Damon walks inside. The house is silent. He creeps up the
               wide, winding staircase, the steps creaking under his weight.

               INT. BEDROOM

               He carefully opens the door to the bedroom. There is a large
               window overlooking the balcony on the front of the house.

               Lying asleep in the bed: EVELYN, his wife. She's asleep on
               her side, a silk mask over her eyes. Damon pauses to look at
               her. Even in the darkness, she radiates light.

               Damon quietly shuts the door.

               INT. DAMON'S STUDY - LATER

               Damon, distressed. He's standing over his desk, looks at
               something in his hands: COLORED 8x10 GLOSSIES from the brown
               envelope. Each photo pains him more than the last. He

               A creak in the floorboards behind him jolts him.

               Evelyn stands looking at him in the doorway, the mask pushed
               up to her forehead, a bourbon glass in her hands.

                         I assume you performed another one
                         of your miracles tonight?

               Damon drops his hand holding a glossy. He turns to her.

                         Why do you dislike me so?

               She leans against the jamb, stares into her drink.

                         I don't dislike you dear.


                             (looking at him)
                         I despise you.

               She sips her drink and now it's her turn to shudder.

                         My skin crawls at the very sight of

                         For God's sake, why? Am I that

               She looks down into her drink again.

                         Answer me!

                         It's your complete and utter apathy
                         that outrages me.

                         My apathy?

                         I want you to feel my pain. I want
                         you to suffer, my darling husband,
                         the way I suffer.

                         What? Because of the baby?

               Her face flushes red with anger at the subject of her
               anguish. She turns away from him.

                         You didn't even carry it to term,
                         Evelyn. It wasn't even fully for--

               She pivots on him, eyes fiery with hatred.

                         It was a girl, Robert! Don't refer
                         to her as an object. A thing. Some
                         expensive possession, like that
                         cherished sports car of yours you
                         love so dearly. She was a child, a
                         human being. She was a part of me.
                         Losing her...
                destroyed me.

               His face softens...

                         Evelyn, if having a child is the
                         problem --

                         Don't --

                         We can fix that.

                         No, we can't.

                         We can adopt. Women have
                         miscarriages. Women have
                         hysterectomies. They get on with
                         their lives...

               Evelyn moves past him to the bar, pours herself another stiff
               one. After she lets the alcohol permeate her, she glances
               down at the desk. She sees the glossy photos of her in the
               arms of another man.

               She scoffs, shakes her head.

                         I am surprised at this, Robert.
                         Very surprised.

               She spreads the photos across the desk with her fingers.

                         I didn't think you had it in you to
                         hire a private investigator. You're
                         too afraid of the truth. Who put
                         you up to this?

               Damon says nothing.

                         Ah, the bitch. I might have known.

                         Leave Rachel out of this.

                         If I didn't know any better, I'd
                         suspect the two of you were having
                         an affair.

                         What? You don't think I'm capable?

                         Oh, it's not you, dear. Let's just
                         say, I know Rachel. You're not her

                         And why is that? Because I'm a man
                         who desires -- deserves -- the love
                         and respect of a woman?

                             (under her breath)
                         You're half right.

               He looks at her trying to comprehend. After a beat, Evelyn
               dismisses the glossies with a flick of her fingers.

                         In light of all this, I don't think
                         it's wise for me to go away next
                         month to Aspen.

               Damon releases a huge breath; he looks relieved.

                         I think I'll go away tomorrow,
                         after I pack my things.

               She turns to leave and stops herself. She swipes one of the
               photos off Damon's desk.

                         I think this one really captures my
                         essence, don't you?

               She turns to leave. As she walks out of his office...

                         Be sure to send Rachel my love.

               INT. DAMON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

               Damon tosses and turns in his sleep.


               The swirling mist gives way to reveal Damon's dream. He sees
               Rachel; seductive, wearing provocative lingerie, wielding a
               riding crop. Bright red lipstick. Heavily painted eyes.
               Garter belt. Seamed hose.

                         I want you.

               She's motioning to him, writhing on a heart-shaped bed.

                         Come to me, darling...

               Damon hesitates.

               In front of a full-length mirror, applying lipstick, looking
               more business-like that sexual, stands Evelyn. She looks over
               her shoulder at Rachel and scoffs.

               Damon stands in between them, caught in the middle...

                             (to Damon)
                         Make up your mind, Robert.

               Rachel's hands go up to his shoulders, pushing away his
               unbuttoned shirt, revealing his bare chest.

                         Kill her, darling. Bash her pretty
                         little brains in.

               She deliberately strikes him on the side with her crop, as if
               issuing an order. He winces in pain, but doesn't move.

               Evelyn turns to face him, arms folded across her chest.

                         Who, Robert? Ha! He doesn't have
                         the guts.

               Rachel turns Damon to her, engulfs him in her arms, smothers
               him with a kiss. Something catches her eye. She motions for
               Damon to turn around, smiling.

               Damon sees. Evelyn's LOVER is now beside her. Blond, bronze
               and brawny. His arms wrap tightly around Evelyn, pulling her
               close. The two regard Damon with contempt.

                         And he's supposedly a brilliant
                         doctor. Have you ever seen anything
                         so pathetic?

               Lover doesn't answer. He nibbles at her neck. His hands
               invade Evelyn's body. She closes her eyes in enjoyment.

               Damon stands watching. Rachel slithers up from behind...

                             (in Damon's ear)
                         Choke the life out of her, my
                         dearest darling. Squeeze her neck
                         until her pretty little head pops

               Damon's hands rise, trembling. He places them around Evelyn's
               windpipe. Evelyn hasn't reacted yet; still in the rapture of
               her lover's arms. Rachel's eyes are filled with bloodlust.

               Damon's grip tightens...

               Evelyn's eyes pop open. Suddenly it's just Damon and Evelyn.
               Evelyn struggles but Damon doesn't relent. He squeezes and
               squeezes. His eyes filled with rage...

               During all this, Rachel's shrill laughter fills his ears...

               INT. BEDROOM - DAY

               Damon sits upright, panting, torso covered in sweat. Light
               pours through the open window. He rubs his eyes, rubbing away
               the visions in his head.

               A CAR DOOR slams shut from outside. Damon rises, goes to the
               window. Looks down.

               DAMON'S P.O.V.

               He sees Evelyn standing beside a YELLOW CAB, two suitcases at
               her side. She turns, glances over her shoulder, as if feeling
               someone's eyes on her. Damon continues to gaze down. A second
               passes, and she disappears inside the cab.

               Damon watches as the cab with Evelyn drives away.

               EXT. CAB - DAY

               The YELLOW CAB, winding its way along a tree-lined road.

               INT. CAB

               Evelyn seems preoccupied. She stares out the window at the
               passing landscape. She opens her purse, pulls out the
               photograph she swiped from Damon's desk, looks at it.

               She catches the eyes of the heavyset, East European CABBIE in
               the reflection of the rearview mirror. She glances at the
               license on the visor, notices the fat, stubby bat lying
               lengthwise across the dash.

                         What's that for?


               She indicates the well-worn club.

                         Oh. Protection.

                         You don't believe in guns?

                         Guns need bullets. Bullets cost
                         money. Besides, bat never jams.

               She nods, looks again at the photograph in her hands. A
               thought comes to her.

                         Oh driver, I'd like to make a quick
                         detour before we arrive at the

               The cabbie shrugs impassively.


               A MODERN OFFICE with frosted glass windows. Etched on each
               glass: the contour of a nude woman in an erotic pose.


               The doors open and a nondescript, well-dressed WOMAN enters
               into the waiting room and goes to the front desk.

               Moving about in various capacities is the OFFICE STAFF. They
               are all young and attractive, each sporting stylish tunics
               with Mandarin collars and deep V-necks.

               The place oozes sophistication and class.

               INT. TREATMENT ROOM

               A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN sits reclined in a chair. Standing beside
               her is Rachel, who is notating her face with a skin marker.

                         You okay, Mrs. Macklin?
                             (off her nod)
                         Great. Now I'm just going to mark
                         your cheeks for your mid-face
                         fillers. This will give you a
                         little more cheek and in turn bring
                         up the entire lower face by lifting
                         it like so...

               Rachel forms an arch with the gloved fingers of both hands.

                         Just like a suspension bridge.

                         You make it sound like construction

                         You're not too far off.

               The woman glances down and sees the tattoo on the inside of
               Rachel's wrist: a long, curvy stem of a green flower with
               broad leafs.

                         That's an interesting tattoo you
                         have. Is that a vine?


                         Any special meaning?

               Rachel opens her mouth to answer, but she's interrupted by
               the sudden appearance of GENEVIEVE, a member of the staff.

                         Quick, Rachel, come see what's on
                         Good Morning Portland right now.

                         Can it wait?

                         I'm telling you, you're not gonna
                         want to miss this...

                             (to the woman)
                         Excuse me one second.

               INT. WAITING ROOM

               Rachel joins other members of the staff as they stand facing
               a large flat-screen television.

               On screen is an ANCHORMAN from WCSH Channel 6 Portland.

                                   ANCHORMAN (ONSCREEN)
                         And now from the health desk,
                         Sheila Stalls...

                                   SHEILA (ONSCREEN)
                         If wrinkles are making you avoid
                         mirrors, a 'vampire face-lift'
                         could just be the answer...

               On the television appears Rachel, alongside a patient, in a
               similar setting she was just in.

                                   RACHEL (ONSCREEN)
                             (pointing, using her own
                              face as a guide)
                         ...The nasal labia fold, crows
                         feet, wrinkles on the forehead...

               The rest of the staff gather around Rachel, their eyes glued
               to the television.

                         We caught up with Rachel Cross,
                         physician's assistant and chief
                         Aesthetic technician at Damon
                         Plastic Surgery, in Portland

               The increasing chatter of the staff causes Rachel's eyes to
               narrow and she barks an order over her shoulder.


               The women react and fall obediently silent.

               As the newscast continues, an INCESSANT NOISE emanating from
               nearby slowly grabs the spectators attention.

               Genevieve cocks her head...

                         What the hell is that?

               She then follows the noise down the hall, disappearing out
               the rear door leading to the underground parking deck.

                                   STAFF MEMBER
                         Sounds like a car alarm.

               The women shrug it off and return their attention to the
               television where the reporter continues...

                                   SHEILA (ONSCREEN)
                         And the reason for its ghoulish
                         nickname? Blood is "sucked" from
                         the arm and eventually reinjected
                         back into the patient's face.

                                   RACHEL (ONSCREEN)
                         The blood platelets are separated
                         from the fibrin which stimulates
                         the patient's own tissue to produce

               Rachel is engrossed in watching herself on television.
               Suddenly, Genevieve reappears, her face solemn.

                         Rachel, you better come back

               Rachel, off of Genevieve's distressed look, takes the remote
               and turns off the television. She leads Genevieve down the
               hall and out to the garage. Others follow them.


               Employee parking. A car alarm WAILS at them. Rachel sees the
               lights of her Range Rover flashing, all the windows smashed.

                                   STAFF MEMBER
                         Oh my God, Rachel. Someone's broken
                         into your car...

               Rachel approaches the car tentatively as Genevieve fishes a
               phone out of her back pocket.

                         I'd better call the police...

               Rachel sticks her head in, sees the crushed glass covering
               the seats, the console, the dash. Lying in the driver's seat:

               Rachel leans in and retrieves it. It's a crease-covered photo
               of Evelyn in the arms of her lover. She pulls her head out,
               sees Genevieve making the call.

                         It's okay, don't worry about it.

                         I'm on the line now.

                         Hang up, Gen. I said I'll deal with

               Genevieve's face is filled with confusion but she does as
               Rachel asks. Rachel motions everyone to go back inside.

                         Okay, it's fine. That's enough
                         excitement for the morning.
                         Everyone, back to work.

               Before Rachel follows them inside, she turns back to the car
               one more time, and this time she sees the STUBBY CLUB lying
               near the backseat. She reaches in and retrieves it.

               She regards the bat with interest.
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.