Candyman Page #4

graduate students getting along?

Trevor tells me you've been dabbling

in my favourite subject.

I can't wait to review your data.

I can fit you in tomorrow.

We're not ready yet.

That's the moment at which

I can be of greatest assistance.

Before you disappear down a path

to academic oblivia.

I think I've been there.

Actually, Purcell,

we're about to bury you.

- Helen...

- What?

We'll have something for you soon.

- We only went to Cabrini today, and...

- Ah! Cabrini-Green.

Candyman country.

If you're after the hook man, read the

paper I wrote about him ten years ago.

You do know the story, don't you?

No...

Then how are you going to bury me?

The legend first appeared in 1890.

Candyman was the son of a slave.

His father had amassed a considerable

fortune from designing a device

for the mass-producing of shoes

after the Civil War.

Candyman had been

sent to the best schools

and had grown up in polite society.

He had a prodigious talent

as an artist

and was much sought after when it came

to the documenting of one's wealth

and position in society in a portrait.

It was in this latter capacity

that he was commissioned

by a wealthy landowner

to capture

his daughter's virginal beauty.

Well, of course,

they fell deeply in love,

and she became pregnant.

Hmph.

Poor Candyman.

The father executed

a terrible revenge.

He paid a pack of brutal hooligans

to do the deed.

They chased Candyman

through the town to Cabrini-Green,

where they proceeded to saw off

his right hand with a rusty blade.

No one came to his aid.

But this was just the beginning

of his ordeal.

Nearby there was an apiary. Dozens

of hives, filled with hungry bees.

They smashed the hives

and stole the honeycomb...

...and smeared it

over his prone, naked body.

Candyman was stung to death

by the bees.

They burned his body

on a giant pyre

and then scattered his ashes

over Cabrini-Green.

Hello.

Anne-Marie ain't in.

- Are you sure?

- Yeah. She said you'd be back.

What's your name?

Jake.

Well, listen, Jake,

maybe you can help me out.

I wanted to find out

about that woman who got killed.

Do you know anything about that?

Her name was Ruthie Jean.

I don't know nothin'.

Did anybody else talk about it?

It's OK to talk to me, Jake.

Cos I'm not a cop.

- So nobody's gonna get in trouble.

- I can't say nothin',

or Candyman'll get me.

Candyman, huh?

You scared of him?

I ain't scared of nobody.

But you're crazy

walkin' here on your own.

- It ain't safe around here.

- Yeah, I know.

But I don't scare

too easy either, Jake.

You know, you don't have to tell me.

You could just show me.

And if you show me where Candyman is,

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