Stranger Than Fiction Page #3

They're letters. To me.

- Are you writing back?

- I don't respond to letters.

And I suppose you smoked

all these cigarettes?

No, they came pre-smoked.

Yeah, they said you were funny.

What do you think about

leaping off a building?

I don't think about

leaping off buildings.

- Yes, you do.

- No. I try to think of nice things.

Everyone thinks about

leaping off buildings.

Well, I certainly don't think about

leaping off of a building.

They say--

I read this in this

fantastically depressing book.

- That when you jump

from a building...

...it's rarely the impact

that actually kills you.

Well, I'm sure it doesn't help.

There's a photograph

in the book called The Leaper.

It's old, but it's beautiful.

From above the corpse of a woman

who'd just leapt to her death.

There's blood around her head,

like a halo...

...and her leg's buckled underneath,

her arm's snapped like a twig...

...but her face is so serene...

...so at peace.

And I think it's because

when she died...

...she could feel the wind

against her face.

I don't know how to kill Harold Crick.

That's why they sent you.

Yes, to help you.

How are you gonna help me?

You, who never thinks

of leaping off buildings?

What great inspiration

will you bestow on me?

I'll tell you, the quaint ideas

you've gathered...

...in your adorable career

as an "assistant"...

...are to no avail

when faced with killing a man.

I understand.

Do you? I can't just--

As much as I would like to...

...I cannot simply throw

Harold Crick off a building.

Miss Eiffel. Kay. I've been

an author's assistant for 11 years.

I've helped more than 20 authors

complete more than 35 books...

...and I've never missed the deadline.

And I have never gone back to the

publisher to ask for more time.

Now, I will be available to you

every minute of every day...

...until the final punctuation

is embedded on the very last page.

I do not like loud music.

I do not abide narcotics.

And I will gladly and quietly

help you kill Harold Crick.

I had a very interesting little convo

with someone in your section.

Yeah?

They said you were feeling

a little wibbly-wobbly.

Catch a little cubicle fever?

Oh, I don't know. I think I'm okay.

Harold, a tree doesn't think

it's a tree...

...it is a tree.

Why was Harold talking to this man?

This man was an idiot.

This man used words like

"wibbly-wobbly" and "convo."

And explained that trees were trees.

Of course trees were trees.

Harold knew trees were trees.

I am going to believe you, Harold.

What Harold didn't know

was why he couldn't shake...

... the smell of brownies

from his senses.

Why Ms. Pascal had made

his fingertips quiver and lips go numb.

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