INT. CAR - ALLEY - NIGHT
A white man in his late twenties sits behind the wheel of an expensive automobile. His name is TOM WHITE. Bells are chiming in the distance. Although he’s sweating, his breath plumes in front of him, and he shivers.
He looks up, into the rearview mirror, and sees into the back seat, where a wide streak of blood has swiped across the upholstery. He reaches down, turns the key in the ignition.
The car sputters, the interior light flickers, but it won’t turn over. A thin wisp of smoke starts to rise from somewhere next to him. He slams one fist against the steering wheel.
Shit!
Flecks of blood from his hand spray across the inside of the windshield. He sits back, starting to panic, but manages to get a grip on himself.
He turns the key again, and again the car will not start. He repeatedly beats his fists against the steering wheel, flinging more blood.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
All at once, he stops. A muffled groan comes from somewhere. Tom’s head whips around to the back seat, looks at something there, then stretches his neck and looks down across the hood of the car, which has a huge blood-splash across it.
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT
Tom steps out of the car slowly, as if trying not to make too much noise. He inches around to the front of the car.
Lying in front of it is a man in a trenchcoat. He lies absolutely still, facing away from Tom. His chest and stomach, though unseen, are sending steam up into the night air.
After looking at him for a second, Tom turns back to the car, walks to the rear door on the driver’s side. Lying across the back seat is a Native American woman, almost the same age as Tom. She would be very attractive if she weren’t completely covered in blood.
Her long black hair is soaked with it, and it leaves more streaks on the upholstery as Tom gently pulls her out. He gathers her in his arms, his eyes wide with horror. Then he turns and starts walking out of the alley, gaining speed until he is almost running.
INT. OFFICE - EVENING
Subtitle: THREE WEEKS EARLIER
The camera glides down one of many long rows of cubicles. Most of the lights have been switched off, but we can still hear some keyboard tapping somewhere nearby.
Eventually we find Tom in his cubicle, wearily hunched over his computer. He hits a few final keys with a flourish, then shuts down. He rolls his head, and we can hear his neck crack. He stretches, stands, and gathers up his coat.
He looks around, and for the first time notices that he’s alone in the office. He heads for the exit, leaving behind his briefcase on the desk.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING - LOBBY - EVENING
The elevator doors open and Tom steps out. The only person around is the evening SECURITY GUARD, seated behind a desk.
Good night, Mr. White.
TOM
Thanks. You too. But I’m not going
home just yet.
SECURITY GUARD
Can’t say I blame you. Take it easy.
Instead of going through the main front doors, Tom heads for a plain door just off the lobby. He goes through it and down the flight of stairs beyond.
INT. PURGATORY CLUB
Above a small dance floor that is currently filled with people, most of them in business suits, a neon sign flashes PURGATORY in time with thudding dance beats.
Tom is sitting at the end of the bar, looking across at the Native American woman, who is quite striking when she’s conscious. She doesn’t see him, but sips a drink and stares off into space. He doesn’t know it yet, but her name is RAVEN AIRHEART.
Tom eventually stands and walks over to her.
Excuse me.
She doesn’t respond.
I couldn’t figure out from over
there what it was that you’re
drinking.
She sets down the glass, and he sees that in the green liquid two plastic eyeballs are floating.
It’s called Here’s Looking at You.
TOM
May I?
He motions to the stool next to her. She shrugs, and he sits.
I’ve noticed you here the last
few nights. Are you between work
and the subway like the rest of us?
RAVEN
Not really. You’re one of the ledger-
heads then?
TOM
Not proud of it, but yes. Twenty-
three floors straight up. Do you
work in the building too?
RAVEN
Today I do.
TOM
Then there’s no reason we shouldn’t
get acquainted.
(extends his hand)
Tom White. I know, the name, the job.
I swear I’m not as boring as I sound.
Raven shakes it.
Nothing wrong with that. Raven Airheart.
TOM
Wow… great name.
RAVEN
Thanks. I used to be an accountant
too. It changed my life.
TOM
Really? Hard to imagine…
(trying to elicit an explanation)
So you used to be an accountant but…
RAVEN
Yes. But.
She’s clearly not going to give up information easily. Tom tries another tactic.
So you know what it’s like then.
RAVEN
There are worse jobs to have.
TOM
This should be good. Like what?
RAVEN
One that would make an otherwise
rational woman get herself half-
drunk before going to.
TOM
Are you saying that you’re on your
way to work now?
RAVEN
Mm-hm. I’m your average damsel in
disgust.
TOM
You’re breaking my heart. So what
is it?
RAVEN
Never mind.
TOM
No no, my curiosity it piqued now.
What is this job from hell that you’re
on your way to?
RAVEN
Exactly.
TOM
You’re not scaring me, you know.
Raven takes a long drink, then a long hard look at him.
I should do it. I should yank you
right out of that comfortable world
you’re in. You don’t even know how
good you have it anyway.
TOM
(leaning in close)
Maybe you should.
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