The Taking of Deborah Logan Page #4

GODDAMMIT!

My Spade!

MIA:
Just check your rooms.

SARAH:
Did you check

all locked rooms? You OK?

No, I'm not OK!

I'm f***ing far from OK.

- I'm sorry. I hurt my back.

- Here, take these keys.

Look, I don't know, OK?

Luis, I swear to God, if you

don't f***ing get off my ass...

You f***ing look.

I'm gonna go just see

how she is.

GAVIN:
Of course not.

(SOFT RUMBLING)

Wow, old school.

- MIA:
Luis?

- LUIS:
Yeah?

- Is that it?

- Yeah, it was in the freezer.

It's the only place

she didn't look.

Hey. Mom?

Mom, we found your spade.

Maybe you wanna sit down, Mom?

Ma, can you talk to me, please?

Please, Mom, please.

- Mom?

- (MUTTERS TO SELF)

- Mom, you're scaring me.

- (TO SELF) She knows.

(MUTTERS) Sarah.

(MUTTERS INDISTINCTLY)

(SCREAMS)

- LUIS:
Holy sh*t!

- Go get help.

- Oh, my God. Someone...

- (STATIC HISSES)

Would you grab this?

Should we put you

in front or back?

- In the front, I'll sit.

- In the front.

DEBORAH:
I'm...

I'm just mortified.

I would never dream

of speaking to anyone

the way I evidently spoke to you.

I'm terribly sorry.

It's... it's OK.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Oh, look at the leaves.

Aren't they beautiful.

Glorious time of year.

What do you mean 'home'?

She's got a home. What kind of home?

You mean someplace

she should go lay up in a bed?

You know,

under fluorescent light?

Lay there all day,

stinking like urine?

That's where you go to die,

my friend.

That ain't a place to live.

This is a place to live.

- She loves this.

- DEBORAH:
That shirt.

Oh, that shirt I hate.

- Can't you wear a nice blouse?

- I don't have a blouse.

Nice to see you too, Ma.

- I missed you, yeah.

- Nice to see you.

- Yes, dear.

- Complimentary valet.

Oh, Harris, thank you

for all your help.

- How's your neck?

- It's fine, it's fine.

DEBORAH:
Told you

to stay away from here.

(DOOR CREAKS)

I didn't know,

I didn't know, I didn't know.

(CLOCK TICKS REPEATEDLY)

(BREATHES HEAVILY)

(SOFTLY) Please... please...

Stop...

St-stop.

No.

(BREATHES HEAVILY) No.

MIA:
Deborah's brain is

much like the switchboard

she so adeptly worked on

for decades...

Go away, go away...

...her misfiring synapses

like the phone lines

being pulled from their jacks,

losing connections.

As memories are taken

one by one,

it soon becomes clear that

you can't run from Alzheimer's.

You can only face it head-on,

hopefully with dignity

and grace.

No, no.

It becomes clear

that Sarah has found

her own coping mechanisms.

SARAH:
I've got no choice, babe.

She... she's not making it easy.

She doesn't want my help, so...

Well, I got the U-Haul

from Monday, so...

My girlfriend, Shelly,

I could not tell her the truth.

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