Infinite Page #3

---

Do you think it would help?

No. Don’t fight. Don’t shoot. It’s cool.

We’re cool, man. We’re cool. All right?

Hey, d*ckhead. Grab my pills. Now.

There you go.

[Ronny] You’re crazy, man.

If I was crazy, I’d have chopped you up in little pieces a long time ago.

Give me my pills.

Now, you listen to me, Ronny. I’m not crazy, okay?

Mm-hmm.

I’m just misunderstood. All right?

[gunshot]

[car alarm blaring]

[police sirens wailing]

Help!

Leona!

[grunting]

Oh!

[gasps]

[sirens wailing]

NYPD picked up an Evan McCauley. Drug deal gone south.

Cops found a sword on him.

Blade was made with a process hasn’t been used since, uh, Edo Japan.

[woman] So?

He claims he forged it himself.

Another broker-turned-hipster blacksmith.

Oh, ye of little faith. Are you seeing this, Nora?

Treadway?

Precisely.

If we know, Bathurst knows.

Be careful.

Thanks, Mom.

[door opens]

Tell us when you’re done, sir.

[Evan] Can I get my phone call?

Supposed to get a phone call.

[chuckles]

You’re dressed way too nice to be an NYPD detective, so… must be a doctor.

Not a thing?

No recognition at all?

I think I should feel hurt. [chuckles]

Do you remember… Syracuse?

Syracuse.

The siege.

Second Punic War.

Where we first met.

Well, not quite the thrill ride of the First Punic War, but, hey, sequels are tough, huh?

You disappoint me.

Well, join the club.

I notice… you didn’t sign it.

[laughs] Then again… craftsmanship like this… you didn’t need to, did you?

I made a sword. Is that a crime?

[sword hits table]

Evan McCauley.

Diagnosed with schizophrenia at 14… after carving the words “Look inside” into your chest with a box cutter.

Electroshock proved unhelpful.

But these…

are not bad, eh?

Doctor, can I…

Please. Go ahead.

At 16, attempted suicide via car crash, necessitating the steel plate in your skull.

Spent the rest of your early life bouncing around between psych hospitals and foster homes.

Well, I only cut a couple of his fingers off.

I don’t think I’m gonna need to plead insanity on this one, am I, Doctor?

I’m curious.

“Look inside.”

Why those words?

Why not?

Which one of these… is yours?

You can skip the… whatever the hell this is because none of that is mine.

You’re not supposed to have that in here.

What’s going on here?

Hey, Officer.

Hey, what the hell is going on here?

Pick it up.

What?

Pick it up.

Paris.

1794.

The last meal of the Comte d’Anjou.

A Bordeaux.

Not a bad choice for a last meal.

Was it yours?

I wish I knew what you were talking about, but I don’t know what to tell…

Jesus!

Every time you say, “I don’t know,” this trigger gets pulled.

Is it yours?

I don’t know…

Are you out of your mind?

We’re in a police station! Hello! Officer!

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes