FADE IN:
EXT. A BLUE SKY – MORNING 7:02 A.M.
Flying over an isolated campus, sprawled across 45 acres of green grass, wooded countryside and hills, a hawk spots a perch in a Hickory tree and swoops down to land. Through the branches, a few laughing people can be seen walking to and from buildings. One of them, NURSE NANJEE ANJIRU, in her pink sweatshirt and jeans, waves goodbye to her friend, then walks away with a smile. Her playfully styled, long, red, curly hair and the morning sun’s warm glow on her golden skin adds to her aura of liveliness, to her being a passionate person about life.
NANJEE (V.O.)
I’ve always considered myself blessed to work at the Meadowland Institute for Mental Health; beautiful, well-manicured grounds, great people working beside me. Daily, I’m challenged and fulfilled. I make a difference. People know that I care, that I want to help.
Nanjee enters small, apartment-sized building with a sign on the side that reads Meadowland Institute, Unit Six.
INT. UNIT SIX LOBBY – MORNING 7:13 A.M.
People mill about lobby area, a few clearly patients. Nanjee passes them, and a man registering at the sign-in desk. She waves at a few before entering the elevator and pressing the button for the third floor. As she waits, she catches her hazel eyes reflected in the mirrored panels.
NANJEE (V.O.)
Yet, there are times, I wonder. Do I do enough? Everyone has moments they’re not proud of, moments they’d go to the ends of the earth to undo or make amends for, especially those in here. It’s about getting people past those moments, helping them. Do I do enough? When it comes to that, do I help enough?
INT. ELEVATOR – MORNING 7:17 A.M.
She checks her over-sized handbag and re-positions the package of oatmeal cookies.
NANJEE (V.O.)
On Unit Six, for those judged criminally insane and those awaiting a like verdict, we dispense help. There are times that seems to be the philosophy at least. Give them Paxil, Prozac, or an anti- … fill in the blank. But does that truly help? I believe real help is given from the heart, that it’s not passed out in paper cups with water. Real help exceeds the nine to five working hours.
INT. THIRD FLOOR – MORNING 7:18 A.M.
NANJEE (V.O.)
What pills help people get past trauma, pain, hurt? Where are the pills that modulate rage, shame, humiliation? Do I do enough to help that when the pills don’t?
Walking behind the desk, she greets JAMES, a security counselor, and the OTHERS. James grabs a clipboard and rises.
NANJEE
You about to do a round?
JAMES
Yeah, what’s up?
NANJEE
When you check on Mr. Cantu, will you see if he’ll talk with you? I’ve noticed, the closer we get to tomorrow’s verdict day, the more withdrawn he becomes. He hasn’t really spoken with me for a day and a half. His hallucinations have been stronger and more frequent too. I don’t know, maybe it’s the rise in his anxiety.
JAMES
Maybe it’s his meds. They get mixed up more than anyone elses I’ve ever seen. I’m surprised he’s not permanently seeing one thing or another.
NANJEE
I’ve tried repeatedly to fix that. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why it hasn’t been already.
The two share a look. James steps close enough to Nanjee to ensure no one overhears.
JAMES
(speaks softly)
If I didn’t know any better, it’s like someone has it in for him, another nurse, doctor? I think he’s guilty as hell, but I’d never do that to any patient.
NANJEE
Someone would. If I can find out who’s doing it, and what they’re giving him … I won’t even tell you what I’d like to do to them.
Nodding his head, James turns to leave.
JAMES
I know how you feel, good luck.
INT. SOLOMON CANTU’S ROOM – MORNING 7:32 A.M.
Dressed in a hospital gown and pants, the 25-year-old Solomon GRUNTS from the exertion of working free another bed spring and twisting it, and bending it into another shank. Finished, he slides out, from beneath the bed, and yawns wide as he props himself up on an elbow. Unable to continue ignoring the SOFT WHISPERING and the WAILING, he wipes the perspiration from his forehead and scans the room. The room is empty save him. After several minutes of remaining motionless, to be certain, he notices the usually constant WAILING is decreasing until SILENT. Reaching up, he grabs four of the seven mushroom-colored pills from a folded napkin beneath his pillow, and swallows them each.
SOLOMON
Can’t sleep, got to stay awake; force her to come.
Getting to his feet, Solomon jumps up and down, then shakes off the calmness. He stretches for several minutes before dancing about his room. Still uncomfortable with his relatively slow heart rate, he alternates between push-ups and jogging in place. Slowly, his heart rate increases as he continues.
SOLOMON
Got to be ready. I can do this.
He goes back beneath the bed. As he begins to loosen a third spring, the WHISPERING gradually returns. Quickly, he looks about. Nothing. He rolls out from underneath his bed, a shank in hand, ready for demons to pounce down on him from above. Nothing. No demons anywhere. Nothing, so he turns his attention back to the springs, but as he does, a door to an adjacent room is closed. Hurriedly, he jumps up and scrambles into his bed, pulling the covers over him. He peeks through partially closed eyelids.
SOLOMON
The only way to kill her is if you surprise her. She’s too strong otherwise. Be patient, wait for her.
After closing another door, James walks up and peers through Solomon’s diamond- shaped observation window. James is no demon. He has bright, kind eyes, smiling eyes. Solomon watches them though.
Slowly, James’s skin becomes pasty and begins to droop, then melt away. Holding his breath, Solomon closes his eyes shut. He anxiously taps his feet. He knows he has to look again, but before he steals a glance, he readies himself, then looks. James’s face is normal.
JAMES
(slow, drawn out voice)
Are you dying this morning?
As the WAILING and MOURNING sounds increase, a fly crawls from James’s tear duct and flies through the plexi-glass window. Stealing another glance, this time Solomon looks about the room to see if any demons have made it inside. Not seeing any, he looks back to the viewing window.
JAMES
(normal)
How are you doing this morning?
Confident the question is merely a trick, Solomon assays the room a second time, a suspicious expression fixed on his face. There is nothing. He pulls the covers down to his chin.
SOLOMON
(mumbling)
Come on. Come in here demon.
JAMES
(slow, drawn-out voice)
I want your eyesight, Mr. Cantu.
James’s eyes fall from his, now skinless, head. Blood drains freely from vessels and exposed facial muscles.
Solomon sits up. Tightly, he grips the shank beneath the sheet. He stares into James’s eyeless sockets. The WAILING continues.
JAMES
(concerned)
Are you alright, Mr. Cantu?
Solomon swings a leg over the side of the bed, lays back and fingers the shank readily, alternately repositioning his grip while watching and waiting.
James watches and waits also.
Slowly, Solomon’s tense expression relaxes slightly, into a focused mask of determination. James continues to watch him as he opens the door to the bookpass, grabs his breakfast tray and pulls it out, setting it on the floor along with the other trays.
JAMES
Okay, I’ll check back with you later.
After watching Solomon for a bit, James closes the bookpass door and marks his chart before moving along.
Once James leaves, Solomon throws the covers from him; his manic energy level too high to remain still. Stretching, he moves his arms, his legs. He wiggles his toes. The energy continues to build. He jumps from his bed, rolls beneath it and resumes working free the springs.
As the WHISPERING and continual WAILING grow louder, another door to an adjacent room is closed.
SOLOMON
(fast, crazed)
He’s coming back.
Solomon stops working the spring.
SOLOMON
(calm, assured)
He’s not coming back, he’s getting someone’s breakfast tray. He left.
SOLOMON
(pouty, defiant)
Well, he might be coming. He might even be Sabadilla disguised. You don’t really know.
SOLOMON
(calm, assured)
He won’t come. And, Sabadilla wouldn’t use a disguise. Only a weaker demon would use a disguise.
SOLOMON
(slow, whispered)
You don’t know that. That could be why she’s stayed away. She’s watching and waiting for a good disguise.
SOLOMON
Fine.
Jumping up, he speeds to the door and stands on tip toe, to peer out the window. He looks up and down the hall as far as he can, but James is not in sight.
SOLOMON
(declarative)
Everything is secured.
SOLOMON
(laughing hysterically)
If she uses the door.
He looks a last time out the window, then returns to sit on his bed. The last pills are beneath the pillow, he grabs them and swallows them before rising and running his hands over his hair.
SOLOMON
(looking up to ceiling)
I had you. I beat you, yes I did. And, I’ll beat you again.
Solomon walks toward the mirror hung above his sink, towards his reflection.
SOLOMON
You can never beat her. She owns you. She owns us.
He looks at his dark brown eyes in the mirror.
SOLOMON (cont’d)
Remember our deal?
SOLOMON
(adamant)
No! I did beat her. I beat her and I fell in love and I was happy. This was different. This was us. Had to because I beat her. I was happy and I fell in love with Manon.
His voice trails off. Moving from the mirror, he walks the room, circling it again and again, over and over. Occasionally stopping and sitting at his desk, he journals, writes letters and poems; he even sketches, until the WHISPERER’S warnings force him to stop. He crumples each piece of paper without thought, only once pausing to ponder a half composed poem.
The only consistency in his behavior is his high level of energy and his periodical checking of his eyes. The cycle continues for hours before he abruptly stops and kicks the wall.
SOLOMON
Manon loved me! She loved me and I loved her!
SOLOMON
(softly, carefully)
She hasn’t written once since we’ve been here.
SOLOMON
She still loves us.
SOLOMON
She hasn’t visited.
SOLOMON
(defensively)
That’s good, cause we can’t protect her from Sabadilla.
SOLOMON
You don’t know, you just—
SOLOMON
Shush!
FOOTSTEPS approach.
Solomon rushes to his bed and dives on top of it. Reaching beneath it, he grabs one of the shanks and makes sure the other is within grasp before covering himself.
The intensity of the whispering’s WARNINGS are less. The WAILING is softer.
SOLOMON
Someone’s coming.
SOLOMON
I know.
SOLOMON
Then shut up.
SOLOMON
That’s not me, it’s the whisperers.
SOLOMON
Shut up anyways.
SOLOMON
Why? They can’t see me. Can’t hear me either, only you can.
SOLOMON
(angry)
Shut up! Don’t make me turn you off.
SOLOMON
You can’t. You never could.
The KNOCK on the door silences them.
Instantly, Solomon curls up and squeezes his eyes tight. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, feigning sleep.
The door is KNOCKED again.
INT. HALL OUTSIDE SOLOMON’S ROOM LOOKING IN – AFTERNOON 12:04 P.M.
Nanjee notices the recently brought lunch tray in the bookpass. It’s untouched. She notices the blank pieces of paper scattered about his desk, the other, crumpled papers about the floor. Unlocking the door, she enters just inside the doorway, slowly, aware of Solomon’s high energy level; evidenced by his constantly shaking foot.
NANJEE
Big day tomorrow right? I know you’re probably all nervous as can be, but it’ll be okay, you know. Don’t worry about it.
Solomon peeps at her briefly through a partially open eye.
NANJEE
It’s me Solomon, I’m not a demon. I’m going to your sink, get you some water. Is that okay?
Solomon lays quietly and grips his shank tightly, making sure it remains unseen.
Without awaiting an answer, Nanjee picks up Solomon’s empty cup and walks slowly to the sink.
NANJEE
I know you can hear me. If you don’t feel like talking to me today, it’s okay, but stop faking like you’re asleep. You know I know you better than that. And besides, I can see your foot moving.
Nanjee turns the faucet on, fills his cup, then pauses and awaits his response. Solomon stops moving his foot.
NANJEE
Thank you. Can you open your eyes too? I’m here to help you. You don’t have to fear me. I’m no demon.
SOLOMON
(quickly, whispered)
She doesn’t understand. She can’t help, she’ll only trick us.
SOLOMON
Don’t answer her then, and definitely don’t look at her. It could be a disguise.
Solomon continues to keep his eyes shut.
NANJEE
Solomon, look at me. I am human, I promise you.
He doesn’t look.
NANJEE (cont’d)
Well, I brought you some of your favorite cookies. Didn’t you say once your mother used to give you oatmeal cookies to calm you?
She holds the cookies out for him to see. They don’t elicit a response from him. She walks to him, sets the cookies beside him, then kneels before him. After brushing her hair from her face, she looks up at him and pats the space on the bed beside him.
NANJEE (cont’d)
I want to sit here beside you. Is that okay?
No response.
NANJEE (cont’d)
I want you to sit up, to look at me. Can you do that? I want to talk with you.
Squinting and seeing Nanjee kneeling before him, he rolls over and pretends to ignore her while shifting the shank to his other hand.
NANJEE
Solomon.
Bunching the sheets around him, he sits up, with his back to her. His hand and shank remain covered by the sheets.
NANJEE
Solomon.
He turns slightly towards her. His eyes remain shut.
NANJEE
Eyes.
His eyes remain closed.
NANJEE
(firm)
Eyes. There are no demons here.
The now almost silent voices still whisper their myriad of messages, but less incessantly. None persist with their accusations of her being a demon. He opens his eyes, but stares at the cookies between them.
NANJEE
Here.
She hands him the cup of water with one hand, the other sweeps beneath his pillow and comes out with the napkin the pills were wrapped in. She looks at the empty napkin, then to Solomon who steals a glimpse at her eyes. Her soft, hazel eyes are normal.
NANJEE
(disappointed, upset)
Should I guess what was in the napkin? Those pills? They’re bad for you. They’ll only make those things you see and hear worse. They trigger your visions, they don’t make them go away. Don’t you know that?
As if on cue, the wailing’s last MOURNFUL CRY seems to lament its ending as it softly fades.
Solomon hazards another glance at Nanjee. Her red’ hair is styled simply and her skin is aglow, unlike the pasty, gaunt skin color of the demons, with their frazzled, straight-hanging hair. Disappointment is evident on her face, but so is concern; as if for a younger brother.
And her eyes, they are still normal. Normal, all but for a slight bulging of her left cornea.
NANJEE
I suppose you won’t tell me how you’re getting these?
She rises and sits beside him, careful to not frighten him.
NANJEE (cont’d)
I think I know, but it’ll be nice to know for sure, so I can help you. I want to help you. There are people in here, and especially out there, who worry about you, who want the best for you. I’m one of them. Tell me, so I can help.
SOLOMON
(barely audible)
It’s the only way to make Sabadilla Amenti come. It’s the only way to be free. Leave it be.
Drawing his arm closer and gripping the shank tighter, Solomon grits his teeth and shakes slightly, fighting his emotions.
SOLOMON (cont’d)
(barely audibly)
You don’t understand. You’ll only mess everything up.
NANJEE
I do understand, and I can help; if you let me. Sabadilla isn’t real, she can’t harm you.
She gently places her hand on his arm to encourage him.
NANJEE (cont’d)
I can help you.
Immediately tensing, Solomon stares intently into her face. Her eyes are open, apologetic and still in their sockets, yet there is something. Confusion sets in, what to do? He bites down hard on the inside of his cheeks in frustration. A rivulet of blood seeps from between his lips.
Her skin color, hair, smell, they all appear human, but human eyes don’t bulge like hers is. He gradually twists his head away as he fights whether to believe this is really Nanjee. If only the whisperers were still advising him.
Sensing trouble, Nanjee pulls her hands into her lap and scoots back.
NANJEE
I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you. I know better.
The two watch each other.
After several minutes, though clearly still agitated and anxious, Solomon relaxes his rigid posture. He watches her for a few more seconds, then looks away again.
NANJEE
I am sorry, let’s start over. Do you remember when you said you wanted to be free? You said, with your father, with the pain he’d caused you, that you’d do anything to stop it, to be free of it. I wanted to help you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about it. I didn’t mean to anger or frighten you.
There is silence while Nanjee waits for Solomon to speak.
NANJEE
Do you want to talk about it?
Continued silence.
NANJEE
None of that should have happened to you, and none of it was your fault. When he beat you and you went to the hospital, that wasn’t your fault.
SOLOMON
(whisper)
I only wanted him to love me.
NANJEE
(leaning slightly closer)
I know.
SOLOMON
(slightly louder, monotone)
I had a dog, Peek-a-Boo. I used to call him PK sometimes. He’d always pop out of nowhere. He loved me. I got him when he was a puppy. He looked like a fat bundle of fur, he was a Mastiff and a Chow mix. He’d pop out at you from around corners, from under covers, or under the couch. He was cute. One morning, he was under the covers; I knew he was there. But, when he came out, one of his eyes was bulging; something with the pressure behind it. I thought it was one of them, that they had possessed PK and were coming for me. That’s what the whisperers told me.
Solomon’s eyes darken and tear.
SOLOMON (cont’d)
I wanted to kill the demon, not peek-a-boo, but his eye kept bulging and I couldn’t wait for it to pop out. That’s how the demons come out. My dad came in right afterwards to make sure I took my medicine. He saw PK and the blood; there was so much blood. That’s why he beat me. There was blood everywhere. When I woke at the hospital, I was sore all over. Sabadilla Amenti came to me then, stood before me. Pearl white skin with a violet undertone, she was extremely tall. She had waist-long, wild raven hair hanging down and the darkest brown of eyes. Her pupils, the irises, the white part of her eyes, black-brown, all of it. There was a power about her. I knew I was safe. I instantly knew she loved me. Said she could stop the visions too, said she’d make sure my dad and no one else either ever hurt me again. I shook her hand. It was a fair deal. I really only wanted the visions to stop and for my dad to love me again. After my mom and my sister died, he was all I had.
Solomon looks to Nanjee, to her eyes. Her eyes appear sad, but normal, all except for the still increasing bulge in the left cornea.
SOLOMON (cont’d)
Things were good for awhile, but two weeks or so later, I didn’t take the new meds they’d given me at the hospital. He got mad. So, when he kept hitting me, slapping me and shoving me against walls, Sabadilla Amenti came. At first, she was beautiful, her hair flowing out from behind her, her smile to me. When she looked at me, I felt special. But, then she changed. That’s when I knew she wasn’t nice. She kept hurting my dad, even though I begged her to stop. I tried to stop all of his bleeding after she left, but there were too many wounds.
NANJEE
Your father’s death wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. I read about what happened with Mr. Dimmones, I don’t think that was your fault either, so don’t give up. No matter what ruling they give tomorrow, don’t give up. Solomon. Solomon, look at me.
He looks into her other eye.
NANJEE (cont’d)
You’ve been through so much, with the way your sister and mom died, yet, you’ve come through it. You can come through this too, but you have to get it all out. That’s the only way you can be free, to see it all for what it is. You’re not alone.
Her other eye isn’t bulging, but the left is, like a demon’s would.
In silence, Nanjee watches his anxiety rise and an overload of emotions flood him. She doesn’t see his white-knuckled grip on the shank, but she notices his clenched jaw and the twitching of his eyelids. She notices the yellowness of the whites of his eyes.
His struggle to manage his emotions intensifies. She pushes the cookies closer to him and rises.
Then, she grabs a paper cup from her pocket.
NANJEE
Here you go.
She hands him a cup containing two lavender-colored pills.
NANJEE (cont’d)
I know these pills have a horrid aftertaste to them, but you need to take them. Drink the water and eat the cookies. You’ll be okay.
Nanjee watches Solomon stuff a cookie in his mouth after throwing back the pills.
NANJEE (cont’d)
And remember, you can’t only eat those cookies. You have to start eating the food they bring to you also. You’ve lost almost sixty pounds since you’ve been here, and you don’t look well. What’s Manon going to say when she sees you? You know I talked to her the other day. She always tries to come in to see you. Her and the doctor discuss you frequently.
Solomon eats another cookie to cover for his confusion.
SOLOMON
She came here? To see me?
NANJEE
Dr. Andrews thinks it’ll upset you, that I shouldn’t tell you how often she comes. She wanted me to tell you—
Nanjee leans close.
NANJEE
(loving, empathically)
Hold on, for her.
Solomon pretends to not have heard that Manon hasn’t forsaken him. Instead, he gathers his topsheet, bundles it, and hides the shank within its folds before pushing it towards the wall and rising. He walks to the mirror and stares into his eyes. Immediately, he notices it. Pulling his lower lid down, he studies the foreignness of his eyes more intently.
SOLOMON
(scarcely audible)
What is that?
He leans in closer to the mirror. His eyes are darkening.
SOLOMON
Something is wrong. There’s danger.
He steps back, half a step, from the mirror.
SOLOMON (cont’d)
(more audibly)
It’s Sabadilla. She’s close, I can tell by my eyes. She’s coming.
He looks back to the shank bundled in the sheets. Nanjee’s line of sight tries to follow, but she doesn’t get what he’s looking at.
NANJEE
What? Are you okay?
Solomon steps back to the mirror and leans in, pulling both eyelids wide apart, to read the darkening better, for more clues.
SOLOMON
(urgent)
Continue, Nurse Nanjee. Keep talking, keep telling me about Manon.
SOLOMON
(only audible to himself)
Maybe Sabadilla will come. Maybe I will kill her this time.
Solomon lets go of his lids and grips the sink.
NANJEE
Manon told me everything. She told me about your episodes. How you were struggling with her eyes. How the pressure kept building, cause she kept on you to do something about Mr. Dimones. She said it’s her fault, everything, that she’s sorry for pressuring you.
Solomon’s eyes don’t leave his reflection. His grasp on the sink tightens.
NANJEE (cont’d)
What could you have done? The courts didn’t convict Mr. Dimones for killing your son. She knows there’s nothing you could have done, but she was so overcome with grief. She didn’t think about the pressure she was putting on you, how hard it would be. She said that day was worse.
INT. SOLOMON AND MANON’S APARTMENT – DAY
Solomon sits on the couch with his head lowered and his hands cupped over his ears, squeezing them tight. Manon stands over him, wagging her finger pointedly and yelling animatedly.
NANJEE (V.O.)
She said she was getting on you pretty hard, that you kept asking her to stop, but that she couldn’t. She had to make you see that you needed to take revenge, even if you didn’t want to. She said, she kept slapping you, to make you angry; each slap harder than the first. The last time she hit you, she said you called out a name and said something about her eyes.
INT. SOLOMON’S HOSPITAL ROOM – AFTERNOON 12:50 P.M.
SOLOMON
(whispered)
Sabadilla Amenti.
He looks at his own eyes, they are no longer dark. The pill’s calming effect is clearly overriding his stress.
SOLOMON
(anguished)
No.
NANJEE
(without reaction to him)
That’s when she said you ran out and that she didn’t hear from you again until that night, after you had been arrested.
SOLOMON
No.
Solomon’s lips purse and a resolve settles over him. He looks to Nanjee’s reflection in the mirror.
SOLOMON
Leave.
NANJEE
What?
SOLOMON
Leave.
NANJEE
Why? Are you okay?
SOLOMON
Just leave!
Nanjee looks at her watch.
NANJEE
Wow! I spent my whole hour in here. My break’s almost up. I’ll try to stop back by before I leave, check in on you.
After standing and watching, Solomon continues to stare at his eyes for several more minutes, she leaves. As soon as the door shuts, Solomon begins shuffling about the room.
SOLOMON
(scolding)
You shouldn’t have taken those cookies, or those pills.
SOLOMON
Well, you should have acted like you were asleep.
SOLOMON
I was acting.
SOLOMON
Oh shut up.
SOLOMON
You.
SOLOMON
(angry)
Make me shut up. Make me!
SOLOMON
(feral)
Shut up.
Solomon SLAPS himself hard and stumbles in to the wall. Taking his time, to regain his composure, he rubs the reddened handprint on his cheek in a soothing motion. As the sting passes, he resumes his shuffling about, this time more slowly. Step, by slower step, minute by long passing minute, his shuffling gradually becomes a near-despondent walk. He circles about the room, occasionally brushing his hair forward with his hands.
All is SILENT, except for the SLOW SCRAPING sound of his feet.
SOLOMON
I hate the way she talks, like I’m a little kid, like I don’t know what I’m doing.
SOLOMON
She means well. She told us about Manon and she brought us those cookies. The cookies were real good. They always make me mellow.
SOLOMON
It’s the pills, and we don’t want to be mellow. We don’t want to talk about Manon either.
SOLOMON
But she said.
SOLOMON
I heard her and I don’t care.
SOLOMON
You don’t understand. Manon still loves us.
SOLOMON
I do understand. You don’t.
SOLOMON
How can’t I? I understand everything about you.
SOLOMON
Not this. We need Sabadilla to come, and she won’t come without the pills. And, if she doesn’t come, we can’t kill her.
Solomon massages his temples and goes to sit on his bed. He reaches beneath the pillow, then draws his empty hand back frustratedly, no pills. He sits, head down, until he nods off to sleep.
INT. OUTSIDE SOLOMON’S ROOM – EVENING 4:17 P.M.
At the door, DR. ANDREWS, an older man with a white clinicians jacket, over shirt and tie, stands looking at him through the observation window. He RAPS on the door.
Solomon awakes and sits motionless. Dr. Andrews knocks the door again, then enters.
DR. ANDREWS
Good afternoon Mr. Cantu. How are you doing today?
Solomon glares at the doctor.
DR. ANDREWS
What, no greeting for your favorite doctor? At least tell me, how are you doing? I have to make sure you’re okay, don’t I?
Solomon begins to slowly rock back and forth. Dr. Andrews shakes his head in disagreement and walks toward the bed. He reaches beneath his pillow.
DR. ANDREWS
You took her pills, didn’t you? And you’re out of the ones I gave you? I explicitly told you: one, two at the most, when you’re calming and the hallucinations are lessening. That’s how you take the pills. You can’t overdo it, you can’t speed up the process.
Dr. Andrews looks to the door and back.
DR. ANDREWS (cont’d)
Nurse Anjiru is a good person, she cares about you. She cares about everyone; she has a big heart. She doesn’t understand your situation though. Don’t take the pills she gives you. I can tell when you do and they won’t help. You want to get better? You want to see your fiancée? You want to see her stay safe? Take only the pills I give you, and tell absolutely no one. You won’t get past this unless you’re forced to, the pills will help force you. They’ll bring you to the edge, and I’ll guide you over. Then, I’ll bring you back.
Dr. Andrews extends a napkin with 12 mushroom-colored pills towards Solomon.
DR. ANDREWS (cont’d)
Here. Sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier.
Solomon swallows two of the pills, then pops two more into his mouth.
DR. ANDREWS
Only two!
Defiantly, Solomon stares at the doctor as he chomps the pills, grinding them to bits before swallowing them as well.
DR. ANDREWS
You know, my son had a lot of spirit too. You and he had a thing or two in common. He struggled with reality also, different than you, but he struggled. He’d try to go play with a rabid dog, if you let him. He didn’t quite grasp the dangers of some things. Jacob was his name, he was six. He was going to be a pilot, so he always ran around with his arms outstretched making those silly sounds, as if he was an airplane. We were at the mall, I remember, my family and I. LaCanthe Mall, nothing bad ever happens there. Anyways, between bites of his hamburger, Jacob would take his new Nazurian Fight figures for ‘test flights’ around the food court. He was zooming back to the table when the first stray shot rang out. I jumped up and my wife began screaming. Jacon turned and ran towards the man, with his fight figures out in front of him. “Bang, bang, bad guy.” He had a one in a million smile. It changed the moment the bullet struck him in the chest. By the time I got to him, all I could think to do was grab the two action figures, place them in his lap, and clutch him to my chest. When his murderer wasn’t found guilty cause of a technicality, I wanted to kill. Oh, I wanted to kill. I know how you felt, but I knew killing him wouldn’t bring back my son. Killing is killing. It is inexcusable and I believe all killers should be locked away forever, thus my dilemma. As a father, I understand. As a doctor, I want to help. But, as a man, you’re guilty.
It is as a doctor I tell you the following: the only way you can defeat your supposed demon is by taking the pills I give you and listening to me. The pills will eventually cause irreparable harm though, cause you’re too headstrong to only take them as prescribed. So, do you keep pushing yourself, or do you finally listen to me?
Nurse Anjiru returns and KNOCKS once before entering.
Solomon closes his hand with the pills in them.
She stands in the doorway, looking first to the doctor, then to Solomon, who again has that distrusting, dangerous glint in his eyes.
NANJEE
Dr. Andrews, you have a call. It’s an attorney.
DR. ANDREWS
Thank you. I assume it is Mr. Zacher, please tell him I’ll be right there.
NANJEE
Yes doctor.
Nurse Anjiru turns and leaves. Dr. Andrews watches her, then returns his attention to Solomon.
DR. ANDREWS
(warning tone)
As a father, I’ll tell you, save your strength for tonight. It’s hard, I know; you want to spend every bit of energy fighting, but you’re going to need it. I’ll be back later.
As soon as Dr. Andrews leaves and locks the door, Solomon takes two more pills. He puts the others beneath his pillow, then takes each shank and places them under the sheets.
INT. DR. ANDREWS OFFICE – EVENING 4:47 P.M.
NANJEE
When I got here, the line was dead.
Sitting behind his large walnut desk, Dr. Andrews kicks his feet up.
DR. ANDREWS
That’s okay. I’ll call him back. Before I forget, I want to compliment you on all that you are doing for Mr. Cantu, for all of the patients on this floor. They all seem real fond of you.
NANJEE
I’m glad you mentioned him. He bounces off the walls all of the time. I really think someone is out to hurt him, to overdose him. They’re sneaking some type of meds to him and I can’t figure out how. It should be impossible, yet—
DR. ANDREWS
It is impossible. I’ll have more tests ordered though, pending tomorrow’s outcome in court. That’ll show if something is in his system. Maybe he’s simply having an adverse reaction to the latest change in meds. I read the last tests myself, nothing.
NANJEE
Is it possible you misread the results?
DR. ANDREWS
Nanjee, I appreciate your concern. Perhaps we should have this talk tomorrow. I’m sure you have a lot to do before you leave for the evening, I know I do.
NANJEE
Matter of fact, I do doctor. Thank you.
As he watches Nanjee leave, he dials the number to the attorney’s office. The phone RINGS three times before being answered by voicemail.
DR. ANDREWS
This is Dr. Andrews at the Meadowland Institute for Mental Health. I’m sorry I missed your call. Again, I would like to congraulate you. I heard you were great in the defense against