"CARNIVORE" by Larry Wachowski and Andy Wachowski UNPRODUCED FADE IN: EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT Dream-like tides of shadow swirl around the wet phosphorescent streetlights that glow dimly in a desolate urban intersection. It is Fall; the misty breath of winter rises up through the sewer grates. Huddled in a small doorway is a figure swaddled in darkness. We hear footsteps, expensive shoes clicking against the pavement in a brisk city gait. The figure stirs. A well dressed man passes the doorway as the figure raises its head. It is Kuru. Kuru is dressed in rags, his jet black skin, including his face and bald head, is covered with blue tattoos. KURU Mister? His hand reaches for the shadows. KURU Mister? You got a dollar, mister? The man ignores him as Kuru rises behind him. KURU Mister -- mister, please. I'm hungry. Walking even faster, the man continues past Kuru as he strides into the street against the blinking "Don't Walk" sign. KURU Mister? Mister? Hey -- Mister! A horn explodes as a car booms past, almost hitting the man. He shrieks. Kuru's laughter echoes from the dark. The man looks back but Kuru is gone. He scurries across the street toward the layered concrete parking garage. Dead red neon causes the vertical sign to read: RAGE. INT. GARAGE STAIRWAY - NIGHT The man climbs quickly, the metal stairs ringing, "thoom, thoom, thoom." As he reaches his level, a whisper floats up from the garage's concrete bowels. KURU ...mister. The man looks over the railing but sees only shadow. He then turns and pushes through the door. INT. PARKING GARAGE - NIGHT The grey garage is damp and cold, every sound echoing as though it were inside a whale. Nervous, the man hurries toward the only car on the level, his red SAAB. He digs out his keys and hits the remote alarm disarm. Far away, we hear a rattling metal sound. The man reaches the car groping for the door handle as the rattling draws closer. He jumps into the car, locking the door and jams the key into the ignition. Suddenly, a baseball bat arcs down so that the twisting of the key seems to shatter the windshield. The explosion of glass becomes -- INT. DINER - NIGHT The crash and tinkle of dirty plates being thrown into a bin by a busboy clearing them from the table of an old diner. Once the table is cleared by the quick automatic hands, the busboy wipes it down with a grey rag. He then places a setting. A napkin. A fork and a spoon. A knife. The utensils are heavy duty stainless steel. The knife is flat like a butter knife but the end is serrated and sharp enough to cut meat. We hold on the empty setting as if we were sitting at the table waiting to be served. John Bunyan throws his backpack into the booth and sits down at the empty setting. JOHN Man, I'm starving. John is a friendly looking fellow whose simple expression of awe and behind-the-times wardrobe immediately places him as new to the city. The waitress steps over to the table. John smiles. JOHN Hi there. She stands, pencil to pad, waiting for his order. JOHN How are you tonight? She sighs. WAITRESS My feet hurt, my back is killing me and I smell like a hamburger. Now what can I get you? JOHN Let me see here. He runs his finger down the menu, not the items, but the prices. JOHN I'll have the hamburger special. WAITRESS To drink? JOHN Water is fine. WAITRESS Let me give you some advice, country. When in Rome, do like the Romans, okay? She leaves. John takes out twenty dollars from a small compartment in his backpack, then zips it back up. In the background, there is a commotion that swallows the normal diner noise. John turns and we follow his gaze to a far booth where a man and a woman are having an argument. Ophelia is a young, attractive woman who is uncomfortably overdressed, expecting to be in a more formal restaurant. Her date, Roman Links, has the face of a weasel. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail and he is also overdressed but quite comfortable. He holds up his hamburger to her mouth, trying to get her to taste it. OPHELIA No! You know I don't eat red meat! LINKS It ain't fucking red! Look at it! It's brown. Just try it! OPHELIA No! Links slaps the burger down. LINKS Shit. Why go out if you never try nothing? OPHELIA You call this going out? LINKS Oh, I'm sorry, this place ain't good enough for your highness. She tries to lower the argument. OPHELIA I didn't mean that. LINKS What the fuck difference does it make where you eat? All you ever want is a fucking salad. I take you to the fucking Ritz, you'd order a fucking salad. OPHELIA You have no idea what I want. She snatches up her purse and coat. LINKS You ain't going anywhere until you clean that plate. He snatches her by the wrist. She struggles, then grabs her fork with her free hand. OPHELIA Fuck you. Fuck your salad. She stabs him with the fork just hard enough to make him let go. Before she can get out of the booth, he catches hold of her hair, yanking her head down. LINKS You foul-mouthed bitch. He forces her face in the plate of salad and cottage cheese. LINKS Now eat it. Eat it! She screams, squirming free. Her face covered with food, eyes burning and tearing, she runs for the nearest door, the women's bathroom. Links calmly pushes the last over-sized bite of burger into his mouth. He chews, glancing around. The diner is uncomfortably quiet. He sips the last of his coffee then politely dabs at his mouth with his napkin before getting up. Links walks to the women's bathroom and lightly knocks on the door. LINKS Fifi? Open the door. It's Roman. OPHELIA (O.S.) Leave me the fuck alone. He smashes open the door, goes inside and slams it shut. John looks around the room at the frozen employees and patrons in the diner. Muffled behind the bathroom door, a sharp slap is heard and Ophelia cries out. There is another loud slap. The diner is silent, listening. John stands and slowly walks toward the bathroom as the waitress runs for the pay phone. At the door, John can hear Links talking and Ophelia crying. He knocks. Links becomes quiet and John knocks again. The door swings open. Links has a huge black eye. LINKS What the fuck? JOHN I heard the woman crying. LINKS Are you from another planet or something? JOHN Why don't you leave her alone? Links' bony finger pokes John in the chest. LINKS Why don't you do what you're supposed to do and mind your own fucking business. John shrugs, staring hard. JOHN Too late now. LINKS You got that right. Links throws the first punch but John blocks it, ramming a fist into Links' gut. Links doubles over as John grabs him, spinning him out of the bathroom, cocking another punch. He swings, mashing Links' thin pointy nose, sending him sailing onto his back. Links scrambles to his feet, a wild man, hair splayed across his bleeding face, and grabs a knife from the nearest table. Screaming, he rushes at John like an animal. John jumps back but the knife slashes open his forearm. His hot blood speckles the bright white ceramic floor. John howls and lunges at Links, seizing hold of the knife hand, knocking both of them to the ground. They thrash wildly like dogs, Links even biting John, fighting for the knife until -- Ophelia stomps on Links' arm with her high heel and snatches up the knife. OPHELIA Stop it. Stop it, Roman! Both men recoil, standing. Links, his ears red hot, throws back his hair. LINKS This ain't over! This ain't over! He points at his bloody nose, staring at John. LINKS I never forget. This dog's got a long memory! And you -- He stabs a finger at Ophelia who is still holding the knife over him. LINKS Pay for your own fucking salads! They watch as he whirls, storming out of the diner. John, suddenly conscious of his bleeding arm, groans. OPHELIA Oh my god. You're really hurt. JOHN It's okay, I think. His knees buckle a bit at the sight of so much of his own blood and he sits at one of the chrome tables. JOHN Maybe not. Ophelia digs out a handful of paper napkins from a dispenser and presses them to his wound. OPHELIA I can't believe this, I mean Roman is a little crazy but what you did, it was really... thank you. John looks up into her smiling face. JOHN You're welcome. OPHELIA You're not from around here, are you? JOHN Just off the bus, actually. I didn't know it was that obvious. Ophelia looks up, suddenly uncomfortable that the eyes of the diner have been on them the entire time. OPHELIA Listen -- JOHN John. John Bunyan. He shakes her hand, using his left. OPHELIA I'm Ophelia. We really need to get you to a doctor. JOHN I don't really have the money. But I'll be alright. OPHELIA Do you have someplace to stay? Relatives? He shakes his head. Ophelia looks at the clump of napkins, white soaking red. OPHELIA Well, that arm is going to get infected if we don't take care of it. She thinks. OPHELIA Come on. EXT. THE MISSION - NIGHT A cab pulls up outside the Mission. The Mission is an old stone building that had once been a proud, magnificent landmark. It is now a squatting corpse; with its boarded windows and crumbling brick work, it wears an edifice of dark, urban decay. John follows Ophelia from the cab into the alley that runs behind the Mission. EXT. THE ALLEY - NIGHT Ophelia pounds on the heavy steel side door. JOHN What is this place? OPHELIA It used to be something like a YMCA but it was condemned. A man named Rex Mundi somehow convinced the city to let him run a soup kitchen out of it. She pounds on the door again. OPHELIA Granny? Granny? JOHN Your grandmother's house? OPHELIA No, her name is Gretchen, but she told me to call her Granny. She's the cook. From inside, we hear a faint, old voice. GRANNY We're closed. Come back tomorrow. OPHELIA Granny, wait. It's Ophelia. I have a friend here who's hurt, bleeding. I was hoping you could... After a long pause, a series of locks and bolts click and slide before the door finally opens. Granny is a woman who looks impossibly old, thin, and wrinkled as a willow tree but has the boundless energy of a child. Her smile is a checkerboard of lost teeth gladly given for the chocolate she constantly consumes. OPHELIA Granny, this is John. Her gaze fixes immediately on the cut on his arm and her eyes bulge. GRANNY Oh, blood. Come in. Come in quick. She pulls them inside and the door slams shut. We hear the locks and bolts snapping back into place. INT. MISSION DINING HALL - NIGHT The dining hall is a cavernous room that seems to have no walls or a ceiling, only endless rows of cheap fold out tables and chairs. Beneath nasal-humming fluorescent light, Granny sits hunched over John's arm. Ophelia, leaning in, dabs at the wound with a wet, bloody towel. Close on a large button hook as Granny pushes another stitch through the flaps of skin. She then pulls, drawing the skin together. John winces. GRANNY Almost done. There. Just like sewing up a turkey -- She wraps it with gauze as Ophelia hands her strips of tape. JOHN Feels better already. GRANNY Just bad enough for a nice scar and a good story. She winks at him. JOHN I don't know how to thank you. GRANNY Oh no, no -- Well -- An idea slips into her mind and a smile creeps across her face. GRANNY Okay, how about a kiss? Ophelia laughs. OPHELIA Granny! GRANNY Oh, it's not like that. Just a sweet little thank you, that's all. JOHN Uh, sure. Granny leans forward, her eyes closed, lips puckered. John puts a hand on her shoulder, leaning in, deciding to close his own eyes. The moment is painfully slow to arrive as they inch closer and closer until finally their lips touch. Granny pops back cackling with laughter. John laughs awkwardly as she licks her lips, tasting the kiss. GRANNY Yes, yes, very nice. Ophelia, you ought to give them a try. Ophelia looks up at John. There is a hint of something beyond the smile on her lips. GRANNY Now, can I get you kids something to eat, some chocolate, maybe? Sugar for the blood? OPHELIA Actually, Granny, there was something else. I brought John here because he's new to the city and has nowhere to go. Granny is suddenly very uncomfortable. GRANNY Oh, you'd really have to ask the boss about that. OPHELIA Is Rex here tonight? MUNDI At last, the fair Ophelia calls. They turn as Rex Mundi emerges from the black edges of the room. Mundi is a dark featured man, tall and sinewy who forever seems to be cast in shadow. His clothes have an antique quality to them which includes a battered stove-pipe hat. He smiles, gliding across the room, his eyes riveted on Ophelia. GRANNY Rex, I thought you'd gone out. MUNDI You know me, Gretchen. Always about. Mundi takes Ophelia's hand, holding it almost to his lips. His face hovers over her, nostrils flaring, inhaling the scent of her soft skin. Then, ever so delicately, he kisses it. MUNDI To what do we owe this savory surprise? Tell me, how is Ms. Shelley? OPHELIA She's good. I'll tell her you say hello. Mundi nods. OPHELIA The reason I'm here, Rex, is for my friend, John Bunyan. He's looking for a job, a place to stay, anything. Ophelia gestures to John but Mundi does not look away from her. GRANNY You did promise me a dishwasher, Rex. Mundi considers this, turning, appraising John. He notices the bright, white gauze bandage and the small spot of blood seeping through. MUNDI Are we running an animal shelter now, Gretchen? Taking in every wounded stray? OPHELIA I brought him here, Rex. It's my fault. He was hurt because he helped me. This is all I could think of. Mundi watches John. MUNDI The city is full of cheap hotels. OPHELIA He doesn't have much money. MUNDI Then why not bring him home? Ophelia doesn't know how to answer, leaving an awkward silence. JOHN Listen, it's okay. I don't need any charity. MUNDI I am not offering charity. Charity has no place here. JOHN I thought this was a soup kitchen. MUNDI Oh it is. But it is not run out of charity. There is a bargain, a contract if you will. I offer a bowl of stew in exchange for an appetite. John is confused. MUNDI This is my mission, you see. To teach those that will listen that no one need ever be hungry. He has a voice that seems to weave the words around his audience. MUNDI Two percent of the world's population controls ninety percent of the world's wealth. It sounds obscene, doesn't it? Yet if you were to meet one of the two percenters you would find them quite at ease with it. How do they do it? His black eyes flash like the spinning watch of a hypnotist. MUNDI What is it that they whisper to themselves when they open a closet full of fur coats, or a garage full of sports cars? How do they justify the consumption of so much while so many have so little? It is painfully simple. They may equivocate, they may obfuscate, but deep down the rich know exactly what I know. They know that this world is cruel, it is unfair and uncaring and its single guiding principle is dog eat dog. OPHELIA Gee, you're as cheery as ever, Rex. MUNDI Perhaps I should apologize for my candor. JOHN Not necessary. MUNDI In that case, would it be a fair question to ask you what brought you to our vanity fair? JOHN Your what? MUNDI To the big city? JOHN Oh, just looking for a job. MUNDI Is that all? You seek nothing but a paycheck? You have no dreams? No aspirations? JOHN Well... no. I like to cook, I hope one day to open a restaurant. MUNDI Ahh, ambition. That is something I can understand. Understand the dreams and you understand the man. Would you agree with that? JOHN Yeah, I think so. MUNDI Let me tell you, Mr. Bunyan, that I am many things to many people but I am first and always a pragmatist. My mission is growing and Gretchen reminds me that I am in need of hands. I can offer you the bedroom above the kitchen and all of Gretchen's stew you can eat in exchange for... your hand. John is surprised by the offer, Mundi extending his hand. MUNDI We have a deal? JOHN We have a deal. They shake left hands. Behind them, the door to the dining room opens and clangs shut. For a moment, silhouetted against the kitchen's light we see a very large man. MUNDI Ah, Kuru. Come, someone for you to meet. Kuru moves into the room and when he reaches the light, we see that it is the man with the blue tattoos. MUNDI Kuru, this is John, our new hand. Kuru ignores John, whispering something in Mundi's ear. MUNDI I must be off. Business. Granny will show you the room, John. Ophelia -- He tips his hat. MUNDI It is always a pleasure. Together, Kuru and Mundi leave. GRANNY I'll go find you some bedding, John. Bye now, Ophelia. Don't be such a stranger. Ophelia and John are alone again. OPHELIA I should be going too. JOHN Listen, do you think -- I mean, would you mind -- OPHELIA Would you like my phone number? JOHN Yes. Very much, yes. She hands him a business card she already had in her hand. It reads: Slimage Surgicenter. OPHELIA It's where I work. I wrote my home number on the back. Call me. JOHN I will. He watches her leave then regards his increasingly throbbing arm, the spot of blood growing wider. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT John stands in the door frame of the small, dark room. It is bare of furniture except for a twin-sized metal framed bed and a broken chair. A layer of dust covers the floor like moss. A naked bulb hangs above John's head. He tugs on the pull chain but the bulb is burned out. INT. JOHN'S BATHROOM - NIGHT John throws a wall switch and a buzzing strip-light flickers on. Cancerous spots of mildew grow everywhere on the dirty tub, shower curtain and tile. John urinates and flushes the toilet. Then, leaving the light on, he edges back into his bedroom. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT John sits on the bed, the metal springs shrieking beneath his weight. He takes off his shoes and lays back, pulling the single blanket over him. After a long beat, we begin to become aware of faint noises from deep within the building; pipes groaning, the distant hiss of a radiator. It is though the building were trying to digest something. John twists, turning away from the sounds. INT. APARTMENT STAIRWAY - NIGHT Crouched in the shadow behind the banister, Roman Links squats, hiding, watching Ophelia's door from the landing above. His breathing is labored, open-mouthed as both nostrils are stuffed with wads of bloody congealing cotton. Below, the lobby door opens and closes. Links presses against the spindles to watch as Ophelia climbs the stairs and crosses to her apartment. Silently, he descends the stairs, creeping towards her as she pulls out her keys and unlocks the door. A stair creaks. Ophelia looks back over her shoulder and sees Links. She screams as he lunges, grabbing at her coat but she rips free of him, squeezing through her apartment door and locking it behind her. LINKS Fi! Let me in! He pounds on the door. OPHELIA What do you want? What are you doing here? LINKS I didn't mean to scare you, Fifi. I'm really sorry about what happened. He leans against the door, mock pouting. LINKS I went a little crazy, that's all. Please, Fi, open the door. I need you. OPHELIA What happened to, "Buy your own fucking salads?" LINKS You know I love it when you use that word. OPHELIA Yeah? Then fuck off! Ophelia feels the steel dinner knife still in her pocket. LINKS Bitch. She rips out the knife, holding it up as if to stab him. OPHELIA Don't call me that! LINKS Fifi in heat. OPHELIA You little prick. LINKS Fifi -- Come! OPHELIA Goddamn you! LINKS Good poodle. OPHELIA Stop it! LINKS Pretty poodle. She screams, jamming the knife into the door. An inch of the blade splinters through, just missing Links' neck. Links steps back, laughing. OPHELIA I'm calling the police. LINKS I saw you leave with that guy. I saw you take him to that flophouse. OPHELIA What? You were following me? He pulls out a small plastic folder that is labeled "Master series 1001-2001." Inside are five skeleton keys of which Links draws the first. LINKS It's killing me, Fi. Just thinking about you and somebody else. It's eating me up. She hears the first key go into the lock. The lock jiggles as he twists it back and forth but it does not open. He rips the key out, pulls another and jams it in. Ophelia backs away as he works it against the lock. Another key is pushed in, its teeth fighting tumblers. Ophelia yanks the knife out of the door. OPHELIA Roman! LINKS I need you, Fifi. He slides out the last key. LINKS You're mine. My Fifi. He shoves it in, the teeth sawing into the keyhole. OPHELIA Roman! The lock clicks and the door floats open, stopping lightly against the chain lock. Ophelia holds her breath. After a beat, she hears his footsteps fade down the stairs. Ophelia leans against the door, still clutching the knife. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT John sits up in his bed, hair heavy with sweat stuck to the side of his head. Dehydration carries him to the plip, plip, plipping bathroom sink. As he rises, we see that his sheets are soaked with blood. INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT John squints at his bleary eyed reflection, turns on the water, and reaches for a glass. The glass is knocked from the sink top and shatters on the floor. JOHN Oh great -- John looks down and immediately sees why he broke the glass. Where his hand had been is now a bloody, bandaged stump. JOHN Oh god! My -- My hand! Where's my hand?! INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM His body heaving in panic, John searches frantically around the room, under the bed, behind the radiator. JOHN Where is it? Oh god, not my hand. I need that! He turns for the hall. INT. KITCHEN John finds Rex Mundi in the gleaming steel and tile kitchen making himself a sandwich. JOHN Rex! Mundi smiles warmly from behind a mountain of strange condiments, meats, and produce. MUNDI Hello, John. Care to join me in a midnight snack? Mundi drags a serrated knife across a loaf of French bread. JOHN No, Rex. My hand -- Look! My hand! MUNDI Oh my, I see. JOHN Someone -- Someone stole my hand. I woke up and it was gone! Mundi butters the two long slices of bread with clumpy wads of mayonnaise, licking his fingers, chuckling slightly. MUNDI Relax, John, relax. Can't you see you're only dreaming? John stares, confused. JOHN What? Then -- then this isn't real? Mundi begins to pile things onto his sandwich. MUNDI Real? Oh no, John. I didn't say that. Dreams are more real, more true than life itself. He looks up. MUNDI They are the sum of us, John. Secrets whispered while we slumber, revealing who we are. And are sometimes all that we are. Mundi returns to fixing his snack. MUNDI You say you are missing something. Your innocence? Lost childhood, perhaps? Any sexual shortcomings of late? He smiles at John. MUNDI Have you, maybe John, run off and sold your soul to the devil? John begins to feel a sickness in his stomach. MUNDI Perhaps, though, the answer is a more literal one. Mundi closes the top of his sandwich. MUNDI A hand which is a sandwich turns a man into a meal. He lifts the sandwich and John sees his hand between the two pieces of bread. MUNDI Care for a bite? He takes a huge bite. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM John's eyes crack open. He rubs his hand, then his face. JOHN What happened to counting sheep? He rolls over. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - DAY Close as a pile of raw liver drops into a deep metal pot sizzling with onions and yellow fat. Granny stirs the reddish brown meat into the mixture, then ladles in another cup of melted fat. As the steam blossoms up, she inhales deeply. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM - DAY John, still asleep, begins to smell Granny's cooking wafting up through the floorboards. The smell is suffocating, as if his mouth were suddenly stuffed with liver and onions. His eyes pop open. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - DAY Granny pours a mound of salt into her hand and begins to sprinkle it into the pot when John, stiff and disheveled, stumbles into the kitchen. GRANNY Morning. Stomach got you up, did it? Granny scoops up a big spoonful. GRANNY Liver and onions. Base for any good stew. It's real revitalizing. She offers the steaming meat to him, blowing on it between her teeth. John swallows hard, trying to keep his stomach from turning on him. JOHN No thanks. Not just yet. She dumps it back into the pot. GRANNY Suit yourself. They both turn as the basement door slams open and Otto enters carrying a large sack of flour over his shoulder. Otto is the Mission's dwarf-like butcher. He is a terribly wide man with enormous hands that he is constantly wiping on his bloodstained apron. GRANNY Oh John, this is Otto. He handles the goods and deliveries and does all of our butcher work. Otto wipes his hand before they shake. He lets the bag of flour drop to the ground and crosses back to the basement door, giving John a friendly wink. JOHN You butcher your own meat here? GRANNY It's a lot cheaper that way. John watches as Otto shuts the basement door behind him. After a beat, we hear the click of a lock snapping into place. EXT. THE MISSION - DAY John is wandering outside the building, exploring his new surroundings. It does not look quite as ominous in the sunlight. John turns, following a strange noise around back. EXT. ALLEY - DAY A large stray dog is chewing open some plastic garbage bags piled near a dumpster. JOHN Hey boy. Find anything good? As John edges closer, the dog looks up, revealing his large canines. John freezes as the growl grows to a bark. The dog coils ready to attack when the back door slaps open. OTTO Hey! Otto rushes right at the dog. OTTO Get out of here! Go on, get! The dog whines, bolting down the alley as Otto turns to John. OTTO You alright? Didn't bite you, did he? JOHN No. OTTO Yeah, mostly they're alright, even friendly considering. But when they're hungry, you got to be careful. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - NIGHT Wearing heavy, yellow latex gloves, John scrubs the enormous silver pot Granny had been cooking in earlier. There are stacks of soup bowls beside him, perhaps three hundred of them, already cleaned. John rinses the pot and racks it. It has been a long night. He opens the door and sees the bowl of stew Granny left for him. It is still hot. John smells it. It smells good. He dips a finger into it and samples it. Surprised, it tastes very good. He grabs one of the newly washed spoons. INT. MISSION DINING HALL - NIGHT The only lit strip of fluorescent light hangs above the far table where Granny sits, smoking a cigarette. John sits down with his bowl across from her. GRANNY All done then? JOHN It wasn't too bad. Those bowls were pretty clean. She smiles, nodding. GRANNY They love every last drop. JOHN Who are they? GRANNY The poor. Homeless. Rex calls them the invisible people. JOHN The same people every night? GRANNY When we started, we had thirty to forty. Now we get two hundred. John spoons up his first taste of the stew. Granny watches as he blows on it and slips it into his mouth. GRANNY How do you like it? He chews a juicy piece of the meat, hot in his mouth. JOHN It's good. It's really good. She seems as if she's about to start laughing. JOHN What kind of meat is this? Veal? GRANNY Whatever's donated. Veal, chicken, beef, lamb, rabbit even. John samples it again, trying to identify the different ingredients. JOHN Garlic, rosemary, basil. Lots of pepper but -- He swishes the masticated stew over and around his tongue. JOHN There's something I can't put my finger on. She smiles again. JOHN What else is in it? GRANNY Oh, a little bit of everything. JOHN Come on, Granny. A secret recipe? GRANNY Everyone's got a secret. JOHN I don't have any secrets. GRANNY You do. You just can't keep them to yourself. Granny stares off into the dark edges of the room, exhaling a cottony cloud of smoke. John's chewing fills the silence. He looks up. GRANNY I remember when I came to this city. I was young and poor with little ones. JOHN You had kids? GRANNY A long time ago, Rex helped me. Like he helped you. She smiles her checkerboard smile. John fills his spoon with a big chunk of the stringy stew meat, but stops remembering something. JOHN Oh, Granny, do you think you could loan me a quarter? I'm good for it. INT. OPHELIA'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Ophelia, in bed, awakes and reaches to answer the ringing phone. OPHELIA Hello? JOHN Ophelia? Hi, it's John. John leans against the wall, talking on an old rotary pay phone. OPHELIA John? JOHN Um, yeah. We kind of met the other night... Ophelia sits up, rubbing her eyes. JOHN Over dinner. She smiles. OPHELIA Oh, hi. How are you? How's your arm? JOHN It's okay. Uh, did I wake you? I can call another time. OPHELIA No, no, it's okay. You saved me again, actually. JOHN Huh? OPHELIA I was -- I was having the weirdest dream. JOHN You too, huh? I think I'm punishing myself for not getting a chance to thank you properly. OPHELIA Oh really? I think I should be thanking you. He smiles. JOHN Okay. Then thank me by letting me cook you dinner. She laughs. OPHELIA Sounds easy enough. JOHN Tomorrow? Nine o'clock? OPHELIA Do you mind if it's vegetarian? JOHN How could I forget that? OPHELIA Tomorrow then. He lingers, savoring her goodbye. JOHN Bye. He hangs up, a grin spreading wide on his mouth. EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT We race with a pounding roar of drums, down an empty street, around a corner and into a parking lot. Faster and faster we glide across the cracked concrete which is awash in the bright overhead kliegs toward the only car in the lot, a red Mercedes. We circle around the car, the drums at their most fevered pitch and we see the driver's door open, the window smashed. It hangs open, the only sound is the whining electric warning that the keys have been left in the ignition. On the car seat, we see a splintered broken gold inlay cane. EXT. PARK STREET - NIGHT The whine becomes the metal squeak of a broken shopping cart. A small figure pushes the cart which is piled high with green garbage bags down a deserted sidewalk, a cigarette hanging between her wrinkled fingers. Close on the broken wheel as blood trickles from the dark load down the chrome frame. INT. JOHN'S BATHROOM - NIGHT A steady rhythm of droplets drip from the leaping faucet against the soft echoing digestive sounds from the building's pipes. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT John, unable to sleep, rolls up from his bed in frustration. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - NIGHT The refrigerator door opens, frigid light spilling into the dark kitchen. Inside, there is a massive bowl of raw meat. John groans. He turns, reaching for a cupboard but pauses when he notices the basement door is ajar. With one hand, he gently pushes and it creaks open. Down the uneven steps, he can make out a light at the bottom. JOHN Otto? He steps down. JOHN Otto, are you down here? He looks around, then starts down the stairs. INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT It is the old men's locker room. Except for a sparse few hooded electrician's lamps hung from the web of pipes overhead, it is dark. John slowly moves into the labyrinth of rusting metal lockers. The red paint, cracked and peeling, covers the locker doors like frozen flame. He creeps down the aisles past a bank of old salvaged refrigerators and freezers most of which are wrapped and padlocked with heavy iron chains. INT. WORKSHOP - NIGHT On the pegboard, behind a six foot chopping block, John sees various butchering tools; hacksaws, curved bone saws, and rows of glinting, metal cleavers and paring knives. An old white radio with a bent hanger for an antenna sits on a workbench beneath the peg board, its knobs crusty with smears left by bloody fiddling fingers. A layer of sawdust covers the floor, much of it clumped together with dried blood. On a coat hook, John sees Otto's apron. JOHN Otto? At the end of the room a dirty, clear plastic curtain hangs in front of what appears to be the showers. He edges toward it and slides back the curtain. The room is pitch black. INT. THE SHOWERS After a moment, John finds the pulls chain for the naked bulb. In the center of the room, hanging from the ceiling are several blood encrusted meathooks. Web-like cracks have formed in the large tiles and green furry mold grows in the grout lines. Near the door, John sees a pair of black, heavy rubber boots. The room reeks of rot. John catches the odor from an old metal pail and mop in the corner of the room. Grabbing hold of the wooden handle, he lifts the mop from the pail, covering his nose. There is a nasty wet, sucking noise as the tangled mop strings separate from the scum at the bottom. In the light, he sees the mop is caked with thick, red-brown gore. Sickened, he drops it back into the bucket, then turns suddenly, hearing something from the kitchen. John rushes for the stairs. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - NIGHT John slips up from the basement. Mundi stands in the open back door, looking out, a silhouette against the alley flood lights. From outside, we hear low, animal-like growling. Mundi reaches to the counter where there is a small pile of meat in unwrapped butcher brown paper. He takes a piece of red meat and tosses it outside. We hear something scarf it up as John silently backs out through the stairwell door. Mundi smiles almost imperceptibly as he tosses another chunk of meat out. MUNDI Good boy. Good boy. In the alley, we can make out the unmistakable forms of several naked men and women, hunched protectively over the meat. As they devour it, their bare skin glows sickly under the yellow alley light. INT. SLIMAGE SURGICENTER - DAY Close on a white Persian cat, purring as it is stroked and scratched by a woman with long, red nails. Ms. Sedier is an extremely wealthy, older woman sitting alone in the clinic's waiting room. Nestled in a chair with her mink coat over her shoulders, she seems very much like her over-fed cat who sits in her lap. The clinic is stylishly furnished; a cross between a modeling agency and a nautilus health club. Ophelia enters from her receptionist's office, smiling brightly, carrying a clipboard. OPHELIA We're almost ready, Ms. Sedier. I just need you to sign a few more things. She sits in the chair next to Ms. Sedier, pointing out the lines that require a signature. OPHELIA That's a beautiful cat. MS. SEDIER Felicity. OPHELIA Here and here. Ms. Sedier continues to sign. MS. SEDIER They say that animals love unconditionally. No matter what I did or what I looked like, Felicity will always love me. Do you have a pet, Ophelia? OPHELIA No, Ms. Sedier. MS. SEDIER Everyone should. Do you know Mrs. Kovit? She has a Pekinese. She feeds it caviar. Can you imagine? She hands the clipboard back to Ophelia. MS. SEDIER Don't you find it funny that some pets live better than some people? Ophelia doesn't know how to answer. In the background we hear a noise coming through the walls from another room in the clinic. It is a high-pitched whine like that of a vacuum cleaner. OPHELIA Well, I think we're ready. Would you follow me, please? She leads the older woman through a series of doors to -- INT. SHELLEY M. PERDUE'S OFFICE - DAY Ophelia opens the door allowing Ms. Sedier to enter. Through the opening we see Shelley M. Perdue rising from her desk, moving to greet Ms. Sedier. Shelley M. Perdue is a mature looking woman, unnaturally, cosmetically perfect. Everything about her is slick with glamour magazine gloss. SHELLEY M. PERDUE Evelyn, it's so good to see you again. They embrace as Ophelia is about to close the door. MS. SEDIER Did you ask her? SHELLEY M. PERDUE Oh, Ophelia, of course you know Ms. Sedier is here for a treatment, but she's a bit nervous after the last one and she asked if it would be possible to have Felicity nearby. She is moving closer to Ophelia. SHELLEY M. PERDUE I spoke with Dr. Manno and he said that it would not be a problem so would you be a dear and hold the kitty-cat? You know I would myself if it wasn't for my allergy. Ophelia does not want to do it. Shelley M. Perdue takes hold of her arm. SHELLEY M. PERDUE It won't take long and I'll mind the front desk. I really do appreciate this and so does Ms. Sedier. She smiles, her teeth sharp and pearly white. Ophelia looks at Ms. Sedier and her cat. MS. SEDIER We hate to be apart. INT. CLINIC OPERATING ROOM - DAY Ms. Sedier is laying on the table, surrounded by several nurses and the cosmetic surgeon, all dressed in white and wearing masks. Everything in the room looks sterile and crowded with high tech machines attached to stainless steel cables and hoses. Chrome-plated scalpels and other operating instruments are spread neatly like a dinner setting. Ms. Sedier is wearing a small hospital gown that leaves her lower buttocks and legs exposed. Her flesh is moon-white except for her face which is still covered with make-up. Ophelia, cradling the cat, watches from nearby as the operation begins. We hear again the whirring of the vacuum clearer but now it is very loud. Ophelia sees the large clear container of the liposuction machine as it begins to fill with white, viscous wads of cellulite. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - NIGHT A large hunk of butter is thrown into a heavy skillet and begins to melt. John flashes a large knife over an onion, doing his best Benny Hana imitation. He carries his cutting board over to the large skillet and scrapes the various vegetables into the hot, melted butter. As he turns up the burner, he looks at the clock. It reads 7:30pm. INT. JOHN'S BATHROOM - NIGHT John steps from the shower, drying himself in the swirling steam and moves toward the sink to shave. He wipes a circle in the fogged mirror and we see his face lathered with shaving cream. Dragging a cheap disposable razor across his cheek, he nicks himself. Close on the blood as it trickles down the white shaving foam. He touches the blood. There is something about it. The redness. Something he has never noticed before. Slowly, John brings his fingers up to his nose. Then to the tip of his tongue. He looks up at his reflection as though his name were just called. The steam has refogged the mirror somewhat, his image blurred. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - NIGHT Steam wisps up from a rich burbling spaghetti sauce. There is a soft knock on the back door, John throws it open. OPHELIA I'm so sorry I'm late. JOHN What? Oh no, no. You're... perfect. She smiles from the bottom step. OPHELIA I'm starving. JOHN Good. Everything tastes better when you're hungry. He takes her hand, leading her in and closes the door. INT. MISSION DINING HALL - NIGHT John and Ophelia walk towards the far dining table. It is romantically set, including candlelight. The candles, propped up in tin cans, lean at strange angles. OPHELIA John, this is so nice. He helps her into a chair and lifts a large jug of wine to fill their glasses. JOHN Only the freshest wine for the lady. She looks at the cans and laughs, finding them terribly cute. JOHN It's the best I could do on my budget. OPHELIA Oh no, no. They're perfect. Everything is. Close on a candlestick as it suddenly begins to collapse, as though superheated, time-lapsing into a melted, multitiered globular pool of slag wax. Dinner is almost over. They are still nibbling at the tangle of saucy red noodles on their plates. The wine bottle is nearly empty and they both are feeling quite warm. OPHELIA When I was little, I wanted to be a dancer. My mother sent me to a special school one summer. It was horrible. The instructor would weigh us every Monday in front of the entire class. Whoever weighted the most won the piggy prize and had to wear a little piggy nose for the rest of the week. JOHN Yikes. That's pretty horrible. OPHELIA Yeah, but in a way, I was grateful because I learned real quickly what dancing was all about. It wasn't tutus and ballerina shoes. It's a brutally competitive world where you learn to torture your body to survive. JOHN And how long did that take to learn? OPHELIA Eight weeks. One summer. Tutu buried in the closet. Never saw daylight again. JOHN Wise woman. OPHELIA Not wise enough. I went from wanting to be a dancer to wanting to be a model. Not a big difference. Took me much longer to figure that out. After high school, I came here to the city. I went to all the agencies. They liked me but everyone told me I needed "work." My nose, my chin, my breasts, my hips. They all needed work. JOHN You mean surgery? OPHELIA Yeah. That's how I met Shelley. I was about to get a nose job and I just broke down. I couldn't do it. She talked to me for a long time. I guess she liked me 'cause she offered me a job. JOHN Do you like working there? OPHELIA Sometimes it does feel like we're helping people. Other times... I don't know. She drains her glass and he refills it. OPHELIA What about you? Have you always wanted to open a restaurant? JOHN I don't think so. But I've always loved cooking. OPHELIA Well, you are an incredible cook. Dinner was delicious. JOHN Thank you. OPHELIA Oh god, speaking of dinner, look what I found in my pocket the other day. She pulls out the knife from the diner. OPHELIA I don't know why I kept it. JOHN Uh no. I think my arm is having a flashback. OPHELIA God, if what happened to you happened to me, I'd have been on the next bus back home. JOHN No. I can't go home. OPHELIA Why? JOHN I'm from this small town. Total Hicksville. Unless you've been there you can't imagine it. Every day is the same. The people are the same. Nothing ever happens. Living there is like being dead. It's Night of the Living Dead, but it's night and day and night and day of the living dead. OPHELIA What about your parents? JOHN Living dead. OPHELIA They can't be that bad. JOHN My parents and I never really got along. We had a falling out when I was young. OPHELIA How young? JOHN Seven. Ophelia laughs, almost choking on a sip of wine. JOHN I found this duckling with a broken wing so I decided to bring him home and take care of him. OPHELIA Aw. JOHN He was really my first pet. I took him everywhere which was funny because I'd always see my Dad come back from hunting and he'd have all these ducks hanging upside down from his belt. I figured that was the way you carried ducks. So I'd loop some string around his feet and hang him from my belt. OPHELIA Didn't he bite you? JOHN No, he would just fall back and his wings would spread loose and he'd dangle there until I let him down. OPHELIA The poor thing. JOHN It gets worse. We had a rule on our farm that no animal could have a name, for obvious reasons. But that duck was my best friend. So in secret I gave him a name. I called him Jesus. OPHELIA Jesus? JOHN I was just a kid. Anyway, after about a year, Jesus got nice and fat and one day when I came home from school and I smelled something cooking -- OPHELIA Oh no. JOHN Oh yes. From then on I never liked school and I never trusted my parents. OPHELIA That is so sad. JOHN You know what the worst, the weirdest part of it is? I ate dinner that night. OPHELIA You ate poor Jesus? JOHN I had to. They made me. Even stood over me while I cleaned my plate. But Jesus sure did taste good. She studies him with the kind of intensity that is only possible after consuming large quantities of alcohol. JOHN What? OPHELIA I'm trying to figure out why I'm so attracted to you since you don't have a hairy back. JOHN You like hairy backs. OPHELIA No, I hate hairy backs but I always seem to end up with men that have hairy backs. JOHN What about hairy palms? She laughs. JOHN I'm glad my back isn't hairy. OPHELIA So am I. The urge to touch, to feel, to kiss is over-powering, magnetically so, pulling them up from the table to each other, their lips snapping tightly as they embrace. She tears open his buttoned shirt and reaches for his jeans. Every action seems to drive them farther, each desire leading to another. He lifts her, sitting her on the table, right where he had been eating. He pushes her dress up past her thighs as she leans back on her hands, dizzy with alcohol. We watch her reaction, lit by the flickering candles, as he pulls off her underwear. A smile creeps across her face, then a short giggle. OPHELIA He feeds me, then eats me. We see them from the dark edges of the room. Her thighs are wrapped around his head when she suddenly feels a chill. OPHELIA John, wait... He looks up over her leg. Looks around, then up at her. They laugh guiltily as he lifts her up. We hold on the table listening to their laughter fade as they run for the door. INT. SECOND FLOOR HALL - NIGHT Moving down the hall towards John's door, we hear the sound of violent love making. It sounds almost bestial. The door opens, as the sounds rise to their most desperate and wild and we see the lovers sound asleep, the sheets wound about their naked intertwined bodies. But the wild animal sounds continue, as we move over the bed to the open window. The sounds are coming from outside, rising up from the alley. They grow more and more vicious, until -- A scream. John lurches up. Ophelia stirs slightly, as he eases from her side and goes to the window. Outside in the alley, he sees two stray dogs savagely fighting over a large bone. White, against the dark fur of the dogs, its strange shape catches John eye. It is a bone he has never seen before. After a moment, he closes the window, shutting out the noise. EXT. THE CITY SCAPE - DAWN The sun has begun to rise. INT. OPHELIA'S APARTMENT - DAWN Ophelia enters, closing the door behind her. She is very disheveled, her dress not zipped all the way up, still very tipsy and smiling. Obviously, she had a good time. Then she hears something. Something inside her apartment. It is still and dark inside, the orange of dawn hardly visible behind the drawn blinds. OPHELIA Who's in here? Her heart pounds as she reaches for the nearest light. OPHELIA I have a gun. The light clicks on a metal desk lamp, and she shines it into the darkness. She lets out a scream when the improvised spot finds -- Roman Links, hunched strangely, standing on her futon bed. He looks over his shoulder, his broken nose is taped up, his eyes wide like an animal frozen in the headlights of a car. OPHELIA Shit, Roman! What -- LINKS Bitch! He charges at her and she sees that he is naked under his long black leather coat. LINKS Bitch! Filthy, fucking bitch! She rips the lamp from its cord, the light flashing blue as it dies. As he lunges at her, she swings the lamp violently, catching him on the side of the head, knocking him over a chair. Links scurries wildly to his feet and races for the door, still screaming. She slams the door behind him and slides the heavy iron deadbolt. She nearly crumbles with relief, but realizes something is wrong with her apartment. There is a terrible smell. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - DAY Granny stirs up a mixture of liver and onions as John enters, a smile stretched from ear to ear. His hair is pointing in various gravity defying positions. JOHN That smells good. GRANNY And a good morning to you, John. John smiles. GRANNY I saw your company leaving this morning. JOHN You did? Was she all right? GRANNY Oh yes. Wearing an equally ridiculous smile. John smiles even harder, almost blushing. JOHN Man, I'm starving. GRANNY Worked up an appetite, did we? Maybe you'd like a taste? She scoops up a spoonful. JOHN Right now, I could eat anything. She offers him the steaming helping of meat and wet onions and he opens wide. It's hot and he chews carefully. He is again surprised by the richness and flavor. Rolling it in his mouth, the liver seems to melt away, his face contorting orgasmically. Granny smiles, holding her spoon like some bizarre advertisement. INT. OPHELIA'S APARTMENT - DAY In the background, we can hear a vigorous scrubbing sound. The phone begins to ring but the scrubbing does not stop. The answering machine clicks on. JOHN (V.O.) When I woke up I was thinking maybe it was all a dream, but then I found, well not exactly a glass slipper... INT. MISSION STAIRWELL - DAY John, on the pay phone, is holding her bright pink panties. Smiling, he smells them, as if they were a country morning. JOHN But this is not your typical fairy tale. INT. OPHELIA'S APARTMENT - DAY Ophelia, on her hands and knees, is wearing rubber gloves, scrubbing the carpet with a heavy brush and sudsy water. JOHN (V.O.) Perhaps I should scour the countryside, trying every butt, searching for the perfect fit. She drops the brush into the bucket and grabs the phone. OPHELIA Hello, John, I'm home. JOHN (V.O.) Hey! I called work but they said you weren't coming in. Not hungover, I hope? OPHELIA Not exactly. JOHN (V.O.) Are you okay? OPHELIA I don't know if I want to talk about it. JOHN (V.O.) Oh no. Was it Roman? There is a long beat. OPHELIA Yes. JOHN (V.O.) Shit. What happened? Her voice is very faint. OPHELIA He just scared me. When I came in he... JOHN (V.O.) What? He did what? OPHELIA He pissed all over my apartment. JOHN (V.O.) Ophelia, just tell me where he lives -- OPHELIA No, John. I called the police. They're looking for him. I had the landlord change the locks. I don't want it to get any worse. JOHN (V.O.) Okay, I understand. But if you need anything. Anything. OPHELIA Thanks. John, I had a really beautiful time last night. JOHN (V.O.) So did I. OPHELIA Call me tomorrow. JOHN (V.O.) I will. INT. SLIMAGE SURGICENTER - DAY Ms. Sedier is again in the waiting room. She sits awkwardly as her thighs, buttocks, and abdomen are encased by heavy medical binders used to patch the liposuction punctures. There is a tension to her body as though she were afraid that motion might cause some seepage, some meaty human juice to leak out of the sieve-like holes. OPHELIA Are you all right, Ms. Sedier? MS. SEDIER You're smiling today. OPHELIA Am I? I guess I am. MS. SEDIER Is it a boy? Her smile brightens. OPHELIA Yes. MS. SEDIER Of course. I remember that smile. It feels wonderful while it lasts but that's the trouble with smiles, they never do. The smile fades. OPHELIA And how do you wish to pay for this visit? MS. SEDIER By check as usual. OPHELIA There was a problem with your last check. MS. SEDIER I've already spoken to Shelley about that. OPHELIA Fine. MS. SEDIER Can I ask you something, dear? How much do you weigh? OPHELIA One hundred eighteen. MS. SEDIER A size seven? OPHELIA Six. MS. SEDIER I once weighed one hundred four pounds, wore a size four and had an eighteen inch waist just like Scarlett O'Hara. She leans back and smiles. INT. CLINIC OPERATING ROOM - DAY Doctor Manno positions Ms. Sedier's lower legs in the stirrups of the adjustable operating table. Ms. Sedier stares up past the bright lights at the mirrored ceiling as the anesthetic is fed into the air mask. DR. MANNO Okay, Ms. Sedier. From one hundred. MS. SEDIER 100, 99, 98, 97... She sucks at the gas, her thoughts drifting up to the mirror. MS. SEDIER 95... 90... Mirror, mirror on the wall... Outside the observation window, Ophelia pets the fat white cat. The sudden vacuum whir makes the cat cry out. OPHELIA Shhh, it's okay. The cat continues to cry and as Dr. Manno goes to work, Felicity squirms and jumps free. OPHELIA Felicity! She follows the darting cat who runs straight to Shelley's office. INT. SHELLEY'S OFFICE - DAY The cat stops, circling a pair of high heels, its white tail curving up the perfect calf of Shelley Perdue. SHELLEY Ophelia. OPHELIA I'm sorry, Ms. Perdue, the cat got spooked. SHELLEY I'm fine. Come here. Look. She is standing at the wall adjacent to the reception area. The two-way mirror behind Ophelia's desk allows Shelley to look into the waiting area while maintaining the privacy of her office. SHELLEY Is that him? The one you brought to the mission? Ophelia looks out the glass and sees John talking to Mimi, one of Shelley's stunning beauty technicians. OPHELIA Yes, John. SHELLEY He's adorable. Ophelia smiles again. OPHELIA He is. She starts to turn for the door. SHELLEY Wait. Watch. I want you to see something. Look at his eyes. Mimi smiles at John, batting her luscious false eyelashes. John jokes with her, smiling boyishly. Finishing a report, she stands to return a file to an open cabinet. The drawer is very low. She bends. He watches. SHELLEY Yes. There they are. Eyes like that never lie. Ophelia's smile again fades away. SHELLEY Don't feel hurt, Ophelia. Or jealous. He is only looking at her as one might look upon a Monet, or a Michelangelo. Beauty demands our admiration. His eyes speak for him but you mustn't fault their honesty. She scoops up the purring cat. SHELLEY But if I were you, I would certainly ask myself, does he look at me like that? INT. RECEPTION AREA - DAY John turns as Ophelia enters the waiting area. JOHN Ophelia! OPHELIA John, what are you doing here? JOHN I came to take you to lunch. I made reservations. OPHELIA Reservations? JOHN Yeah. They do let you eat lunch, don't they? OPHELIA Yes. She grabs her coat and purse while Mimi smiles at them. MIMI Have a nice time. INT. RESTAURANT - DAY It is a trendy little bistro. A charred, pepper-crusted filet mignon is set before John. JOHN This is exactly the kind of place I'd like to open one day. Oh, that smells good, doesn't it? She nods as a walnut and avocado salad is placed in front of her. There is a clatter of wielded knives and stabbing forks as John begins sawing open his meat. JOHN It can't be too big. That's the trick. The bigger it is, the more prep there is, the less fresh it is and the more assembly line it becomes. You might as well open a McDonald's. God, I'm starving. Red, ruddy juice oozes from a glistening cube of steak that he pitchforks into his mouth. OPHELIA It's lovely, John. I've always wanted to come here but it's so expensive. He nods, his jaw grinding hard while she watches him, her fork furtively advancing on her salad. OPHELIA Where did you get the money? Suddenly he grimaces, choking down the lump of meat. OPHELIA Is something wrong? JOHN Had a funny taste... like charcoal. Maybe it's overcooked. He pokes at the bloody steak. OPHELIA Are you kidding? It's almost raw. JOHN It's supposed to be. He continues to eat but tries to cut away the charred crust, slicing out the reddest part of the steak. OPHELIA So, you didn't answer my question. JOHN Granny gave me some money, she said she knew I'd play her back some day. OPHELIA She's so sweet. JOHN Yep, she is. And she's a helluva cook. Her stew is amazing. I'm trying to get the recipe. It's unbelievably rich. How's your salad? OPHELIA It's good. JOHN Yeah, but I know what you really want. He stabs a tiny bit of steak onto a single fork tine. JOHN Come on, just a little taste. OPHELIA John, you know I don't eat meat. JOHN Why not? Is it a taste thing or an ethical thing? OPHELIA Ethical... mostly. JOHN You don't believe those vegetables died for you? OPHELIA They don't have eyes. JOHN What do eyes have to do with life? A blind man isn't alive? That's not ethics. It's just discrimination. OPHELIA I don't have to have a reason. It's a personal choice. JOHN I know but it's not like it's the forbidden fruit here. You won't burn in hell for it. And one tiny teeny weeny taste won't turn you into some kind of strung out meat addict. So come on, just try it. OPHELIA Why? Why do you want me to? JOHN Haven't you ever watched two people in a restaurant feeding each other, sharing their food? I know why they do it. It's because they're in love. They want their lover to taste what they're tasting to feel what they're feeling. That's all it is. Ophelia smiles nervously. OPHELIA Okay -- She watches as he lifts the tiny, uneven cut of meat to her mouth like a bizarre communion. She closes her eyes, her lips slowly parting as he slips the fork inside. John smiles as she chews. JOHN Little party going on in there I think. Ophelia shivers, the heavy taste blooming through her. OPHELIA I can't believe I just did that. I must really like you. JOHN In that case, why don't we pick up some pig's feet and have a real lunch. OPHELIA Oh, I get it. You're Satan. JOHN You hate me now? OPHELIA I'm not sure. Maybe I just need a taste, a tiny teeny weeny taste. She leans toward him and they kiss. EXT. RESTAURANT - DAY From far away, someone watches as they exit the restaurant. We hear the mucused whistle of his breathing and a sound that repeats rhythmically; swick, chick... swick, chick. OPHELIA That was wonderful. Thank you. JOHN Can I see you tonight? OPHELIA I'd like that. Roman Links peers around the corner of the alley, fondling a switch blade that he continues to open and close; swick, chick. EXT. THE MISSION - NIGHT A crescent moon cuts scythe-like through the clouds. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT John is washing bowls. The stack appears to have doubled in size. He is about to drown another beneath the sudsy water when he notices a small puddle of stew gravy at the bottom of the bowl. He slips off his yellow latex glove and runs his finger along the curved belly of the bowl. Sticking the coated finger into his mouth, he sucks. After a moment, we hear a small crunch as he absently bites down. JOHN Ow -- shit. A tiny drop of blood swells around his knuckle and he sucks on his finger again. Outside, one of the alley dogs begins to bay. INT. SLIMAGE SURGICENTER - DAY There are several women in the waiting area, all of whom are reading glamour magazines. Ophelia, at her reception desk, is also reading a glamour magazine. The only sound in the clinic is the rattle of magazine pages being turned. Beneath her desk, Ophelia rubs her thighs together. She has a terrible itch on the inner part of each thigh. Glancing up, she surreptitiously slides her hand under her dress. As she scratches, her nail catches on something that hurts to touch. Concerned, she goes to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - DAY Alone in a stall, she pulls her dress up and examines her thigh. There are several red sores swollen with irritation. At the center of each sore is a white protuberance, like a stye but harder. INT. DR. MANNO'S OFFICE - DAY Shelley is talking to Dr, Manno when Ophelia enters, obviously upset. OPHELIA I'm sorry to interrupt, Ms. Perdue, but there's something... something wrong with me. SHELLEY What is it, dear? OPHELIA I don't know, I thought it was just a rash but it's gotten worse. SHELLEY It's all right. Come. Sit here and let's let Dr. Manno have a look. She gestures to the examination table and Ophelia sits, fitting her feet into the steel stirrups. Swinging a light between her legs, Dr. Manno examines the sores. SHELLEY Oh no. OPHELIA What? What is it? DR. MANNO Does this hurt? OPHELIA Ow -- yes! SHELLEY How bad is it? DR. MANNO Difficult to say. OPHELIA Tell me, please. What is it? DR. MANNO Calcified cellulite. In certain cases, particularly with vegetarians, cellulite spreads beneath the derma like a spore, typically in dark, moist places like between toes or the inner thigh. The danger is that it is impossible to know how large the tumors have gotten. He probes her flesh, feeling a large lump. With a pair of gleaming stainless steel forceps, he clamps hold of one of the white nubs. He pulls and the nub is revealed to be a thick white stalk like a root growing from the eye of a potato. Ophelia winces and writhes in the chair as Dr. Manno continues pulling the stalk. DR. MANNO It's coming. Hold on. The side of her thigh bulges, the root obviously connected to something much larger. Ophelia screams as the fist-like potato of calcified fat is torn from her thigh. INT. OPHELIA'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Ophelia continues to scream, bolting up from her bed. JOHN Ophelia?! Ophelia breathes, looking at John, realizing she is in her apartment. OPHELIA It was a dream. Just a bad dream. She opens her leg and examines the inner thigh. JOHN What? Is something wrong with your leg? OPHELIA Do you know what that is? There are several small dimple-like marks on her thigh. JOHN No, but it looks good to me. He starts to bite her but she pushes him away. OPHELIA It's not funny. It's cellulite. It means that I have a diffused pattern of irregular and disconnective tissue. It's a genetic predisposition. That's what's so horrible. There are olympic athletes with cellulite. It doesn't make any sense, why would nature design something like this, or acne, or warts. What's the purpose? JOHN So people like Shelley Perdue could make a lot of money. OPHELIA That's not an answer. JOHN I don't know, Ophelia. Maybe nature is evil. OPHELIA Do you know the only way to get rid of cellulite is to go U.T.K.? JOHN U.T.K.? OPHELIA Under the knife. It's done with lasers now but we still call it U.T.K. She leans back down, switching off the light. OPHELIA I think you're right, John. Nature is evil. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT A big stray is viciously digging at the garbage behind the mission. Sensing someone, his head jerks up. Roman Links stops. He looks terrible, still wearing the same clothes; one brown crusty wad still plugging his nose. The dog growls. Links growls back. The dog coils onto its haunches, baring its teeth. Links slides the knife out of his pocket; swick. The dog attacks and Links slashes a bright red cut across its flank. Howling, the dog scampers away. Links smiles, wiping the bloody blade on his pant leg. Prowling along the back of the Mission, Links searches for a way inside. He finds a rotting piece of plywood covering a basement window and pries it open. INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT Worming through the small window, Links drops down among the stalls of the men's room, the toilets are black with an unctuous grime. He slips on a patch of congealed grease as he moves through the showers into the locker room. INT. LOCKER ROOM - NIGHT Creeping through the maze of lockers, he finds the work bench. Several pounds of meat and miscellaneous organs have been fed through the grinder. Huge piles of hamburger sit proportioned onto butcher paper. Sniffing, eyes wide as he reacts to every noise, Links creeps toward the refrigerators. One of the chains hangs loosely around the bulbous waist of an old Frigidaire. The padlock is open. Quietly, Links pops the door. In the white light and swirling frost, his expression turns to horror. The door slams shut, revealing Kuru. Links yelps, coiling back, his knife flashing from his pocket. Kuru sees the tiny blade and smiles. From the back of his belt, he unsheathes his massive gurki like blade. EXT. MISSION - NIGHT Several smaller dogs now digging through the garbage react to a terrible animal-like scream. INT. SLIMAGE SURGICENTER - DAY Ophelia is sitting anxiously at her desk, staring into the appointment book. There are no names scheduled after three thirty. Ophelia begins to circle the open space, her pen orbiting the only blank hole in the book. After a moment, the circle becomes a spiral, the pen trail whirlpooling until the entire space is blackened into an inky tangle. She looks over at a clock. It is three twenty. She is now very nervous. Glancing at the mirror that separates her from Shelley, she gets up and goes to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - DAY Ophelia talks to the reflection. OPHELIA This is not a big deal. People change themselves every day. It is as natural as getting a haircut. It's more natural than having your ears pierced. If you had a cavity, would you ignore it? No. You see, it's not big deal. But if it isn't then why am I freaking out? I don't know! You need help -- The door opens and Shelley smiles. SHELLEY There you are. Ready? Ophelia takes a breath and looks back into the mirror. The reflection answers. OPHELIA Yes. INT. OPERATING ROOM - DAY Hydraulically, the chair rises into position. Ophelia stares at the mirrored ceiling, breathing in the gas, as Dr. Manno moves between her spread legs. Ophelia sees Shelley standing over her; angel-blue eyes staring down, a smile half-hidden beneath the surgical mask. SHELLEY Don't worry, Ophelia. Everything will be fine. It's just like magic. You go to sleep and when you wake up, you'll feel wonderful. Your legs will be smooth and beautiful. It's what you want, isn't it? To be beautiful. Ophelia's body becomes light, transubstantiating with the gas and she feels herself floating up towards her reflection. Through the slurred syrup of her senses, she hears the whir of the machine. The first tiny white bits of Ophelia's inner thigh slap against the glass wall of the catch as the splattering sound becomes -- INT. OPHELIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT The coughing hiss of whipped cream spitting out the nozzle into a cloud-like mound. Ophelia puts a spoon into the chocolate sundae and carries it to the living room. John is on the futon. He looks like a piece of overcooked meat; his eyes are dark and hollow, his face grey and gaunt. OPHELIA Are you sure you're okay? You don't look very good, John. JOHN I'm fine. I'm just tired. Tired and hungry. She hands him the sundae. OPHELIA I hope this helps. JOHN You're not having one? OPHELIA No, I can't. JOHN Why? OPHELIA My surprise. John scoops up a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. JOHN Ahh yes. The surprise. When do I see the surprise? Her smile says something naughty. OPHELIA I did it. JOHN Did what? Slowly, she slides her loose fitting dress up over her thighs, revealing the heavy white binders. JOHN Oh god. What happened? OPHELIA I got some lipo. JOHN What? OPHELIA I told you. The cellulite. JOHN Ophelia, you're crazy. Your body is perfect. OPHELIA As perfect as Mimi's? JOHN Who's Mimi? OPHELIA The one you were drooling over when you came to take me to lunch. JOHN I wasn't drooling. OPHELIA You certainly were. JOHN Maybe a little. But I wasn't really interested. OPHELIA Oh no? JOHN No. There was nothing to her. I could tell. She's like an appetizer, pretty, but never very satisfying. OPHELIA Is everything about food with you? JOHN Food is life, you know. He grabs hold of her, lifting her into his arms. OPHELIA What are you doing? JOHN I'm taking you to your bedroom. OPHELIA I thought you wanted dessert? JOHN I do. INT. OPHELIA'S BEDROOM - NIGHT It is later. They are both asleep, fit tight to each other like spoons. Again, John is having a tortured night. His face is wet with sweat when his body seems to jerk him awake. There is a smell in the air that swirls about him like a perfume. He turns and sees the bandages on Ophelia's thighs. His gut squeezes hard and demanding as a fist. Sick and afraid, he pushes himself off the bed, away from her. OPHELIA ...John? What are you doing? Hurriedly, he gets dressed. JOHN I have to go. I'm not feeling very good. OPHELIA I knew it. Something is wrong. JOHN I just need some rest. OPHELIA Promise me you'll go see a doctor. I'll give you the money. Just promise me. JOHN Okay. I will. I promise. Now, go back to sleep. OPHELIA Kiss me. He does, but as her eyes close and he pulls away, he notices something he never had before -- The taste of her lips. Quickly, he leaves. EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT John crosses the street towards "Babe The Blue Ox's BBQ," a late night take-out joint. There is a group of rowdies in leather, sitting outside despite the cold, guzzling beer and gobbling barbecued chicken. Smoke is billowing from the stack and John catches the scent of char-broiling ribs. He grimaces. A woman in the group, nibbling at a chicken wing begins to laugh, a high drunken cackle. Something is wrong. John looks at her and sees that she is now holding a large, fleshy piece of raw meat. The human like skin flaps with her laughter and a piece of gelatin falls to the table. LEATHER MAN Hey, what are you looking at? John turns, glimpsing that the woman is again holding a chicken wing. LEATHER MAN Dickhead. John hurries away, clutching his stomach. Very faintly, an ambulance siren can be heard. Something catches his eye and he stops beneath a sign that reads: "Casmir's Butcher Shoppe." The siren is getting louder. His head cocked, staring into the window listening to a sound that is growing in his head; a sound like the buzzing of flies. The ambulance booms past, splashing red light across John and the store front window. In that moment John sees hanging in the window, massive slabs of rancid meat covered with maggots and flies. Dotted with black ink spots of rot, they swing ever so slightly, dripping oil and gelatin to the ground. John spins away, doubling over as he vomits. We see the window now filled with a beautiful assortment of meats and sausages. EXT. MISSION - NIGHT John stumbles toward the open alley door when he catches a scent that immediately bolsters his strength. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Mundi is at the stove, stirring the burbling stew which is in an unusually large pot. MUNDI Welcome home, John. JOHN Where's Granny? MUNDI Off to bed. She's left me to tend the stew. JOHN God, it smells good. MUNDI You're hungry. I can smell it on your breath. JOHN I haven't been feeling very well. My stomach... is upset. MUNDI Perhaps just a taste then? JOHN Yeah, maybe. Just a little. Mundi steps away and John edges closer to the stove. The rising vapors envelop him with medicinal magic. Mundi smiles as John slurps the thick broth from the spoon. JOHN Mmm, that's good. He dips the spoon in for another when a hand shoots up out of the stew and grabs his wrist. Screaming, he wrestles to get free as the stew-demon rises up out of the brown magma until we see his face and realize -- It is John. INT. JOHN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT He wakes, terrified. Gradually, the panic subsides and, as it does, thoughts begin to fill his mind with the chill of ice water. Determined, he rises from his bed and heads for where he knows he must go. INT. MISSION KITCHEN - NIGHT A long blade knife is pushed through the wall and John methodically jimmies back the bolt from the jamb. The door swings open without a sound. The stairs curl like a beckoning finger into the darkness below. John descends, sweating almost immediately, clutching his knife. From below, we begin to hear music, barely audible, crackling through the old, cheap radio. INT. THE LOCKERS - NIGHT The music is a catchy little Muzak number like "The Girl from Ipanema." Through a slit, John sees Otto in the workshop. The butcher's hands are bloody to the elbows as he carries something that looks like a bleeding basketball. John moves with him, catching glimpses as Otto waddles to the nearest refrigerator, a bulbous 1950's model which he opens. Standing in the wash of white refrigerator light and a swirling mist of cold steam, Otto checks the object and then sets it inside. He then closes the door and goes back to work. Silently, John makes his way towards the refrigerator. In the background, over the continuing Muzak we hear Otto as he returns to work. The sounds are grisly, leading the imagination towards the most gruesome speculations; the back and forth grate of a saw, followed by a series of shredding sounds like corn being husked and then a snapping like the cracking of crab legs. John inches towards the door handle as suddenly the cracking stops. After a beat, there is a chilling sucking sound. John, his heart pounding from his temples to his toes, opens the refrigerator. Inside he sees the eyeless, tongueless, sawed-open head of Roman Links. The white tape still covers his broken nose. A scream catches like a barb in John's throat. The knife slips from his hand, clattering to the floor. His hand covers his mouth as he stumbles back, slamming into the lockers. Otto, still sucking the marrow from the femur bone whirls at the crash and sees John. He lets out a shrill animal yelp as -- John runs. Otto grabs the nearest cleaver and flails after him. John slams through the rows of lockers, around a corner towards the stairs now in sight but, Otto whips around the corner gaining -- Raising the cleaver as John stumbles on the first steps, then lunges up the curving stairs just as Otto swings -- The cleaver just misses, embedding into the wooden tread. Jerking it free, Otto scales the stairs into -- INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT But John is already gone, the back door thrown open. Otto is about to follow when a hand reaches out and stops him. Otto hunches back like a heeled dog as Rex steps toward the door. He closes it and, in his black eyes, we see the hint of a smile. INT. OPHELIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT The apartment door signal is buzzing. And buzzing. The light goes on and Ophelia enters, obviously annoyed, hitting the intercom. OPHELIA If this is you, Roman -- you fucking asshole -- the police are on the way -- She switches to "listen." JOHN No. No. Ophelia -- it's John. OPHELIA John, it's three-thirty -- JOHN Please, Ophelia, something happened -- something bad -- She presses the "enter" button. As soon as she unlocks the door. John bursts in. He is shaking and out of breath. His hair, despite the cold, is slick with sweat. OPHELIA John -- what happened? Immediately, he is pacing around the small apartment. OPHELIA Is it Roman? A little squeak jumps out of John's mouth. OPHELIA Did you see Roman? John nods, hands wringing, fingers knotting. OPHELIA In the mission? JOHN In the refrigerator. OPHELIA What? You saw Roman in the refrigerator? John nods again, unable to speak. OPHELIA Oh, I see. It was another bad dream. JOHN No. No, it's real. They told me what they were doing. They told me the first day. OPHELIA Told you what? JOHN They butcher their own meat. It's cheaper that way.