Nightmares & Dreamscapes: From the Stories of Stephen King (2006): Season 1, Episode 3 - Umney's Last Case - full transcript

Well, I can see I...

Hold still. Hold still.

- You are... Oh.
- Ah, ah. Oh.

Bang, bang, Mr. Umney.
You better skedaddle.

I got a big, bad gun,
and it's smokin'.

Aw, don't shoot.
I'll do anything.

- Oh, just you wait, Mr. Umney.
- Ooh. Oh. Slippery.

Ah. I like 'em slippery.
Ha ha ha ha.

You're nothing
but a high-class gigolo.

Low-class, baby.

- Oh, gosh, you're fun.
- You think so?



Mrs. Sternwood.
Uh, have a drink?

Clyde, you stinker.

Mr. Sternwood was
the stinker, remember?

And I got you out of it
clean and square.

Oh, Clyde, I thought
we had something special.

We gave it a go.

Right. Well,
no more daydreaming.

I know you don't love me.
You've made it more than obvious.

So I am going
to end my life.

- What is that?
- Drain cleaner.

Drain cleaner?
Somehow, I don't think so.

You know, Mrs. Sternwood,

I don't believe I've ever really
seen you the way I'm seeing you now.

- What do you see?
- You're lovely,



cunning.

You are, Mrs. Sternwood,
the last eternal mystery.

Scorching, beautiful,

built for love,

not the kind of woman
who would ever

clean her own drains.

Aaah. Oh, my god.

Sugar crystals.
Just as I suspected.

Oh, my god.

Clyde Umney,
private investigator.

I'm a fool.
And you're awfully sweet.

Trouble at blondie's.
I've gotta go.

But... But, Mr. Umney,
I... Wait, wait, wait.

Get some coffee for
her sugar, will you, doll?

Worries, Mr. Umney?

Not my style.

What have you
got here, Vernon?

Why, that's Jesus walking
on the sea of Galilee

And my wife dressed up
like sweetheart of the rodeo.

Nice fringes.

Vernon, you've invented
something here.

We are standing in the
world's first moving-up-and-down
picture gallery.

Why, it's art for the modern age...
Efficient, cost-effective...

Look out.
He's got a gun.

Oh, my gosh.

You're a tough old bird,
aren't ya?

- No worries, Mr. Umney.
- He's right in there.

He's all yours boys.

Latest edition,
only 3 cents.

Hitler on the move.
Germany takes Austria.

Rainstorm hit LA.
Only 3 cents.

Get the latest edition.
Only 3 cents.

Hitler on the move.

Rainstorm hit LA.
Only 3 cents.

Sure appreciate that dime,
Mr Umney. You're the only one
that doesn't try and stiff me.

Oh, why would anyone
want to stiff you, Peoria?

You're such a polite and
well-behaved young man, as a kid.

News is bad, Mr Umney.
I went to see the doctor.

- Yeah? What's the buzz?
- He says there's no way I'll ever
be able to see again.

That's a real tough break.
But don't lose heart, you just keep
those grades up here, are you?

Sure thing. Rainstorm predicted.
Latested edition.

Thought you ought to know, Clyde.

Dunninger has been get
rough with your girl.

- That's it, I'm leaving.
- Where do you think you're going?

I told her to stay away
from that hop head.

I have to turn you in.

What's your problem, Ardis?
You got popcorn for brains?

I saw what you did, Dunninger.
I couldn't help it.

I was on that street corner
waiting for the bus

when you pulled up
and shot 3 innocent people.

Ah, don't go soft.
They were double-dealing
dope addicts.

- I can't just forget it.
- You can if you're smart.

If you turn yourself in to the police,
they'll go easy on you.

That's right.
They'll fry me nice and slow.

When my little sister
was lost, drowning in sin,

I just waited, thinking
god will protect her,

that she'd come to her senses,
and it'd be all right.

You know what,
Mr. Dunninger?

God is out to lunch.

Go the police, and they'll be
scraping your little sister's face
off the pavement

and shoveling it in one of blondie's
homemade mincemeat pies.

Let her go, Dunninger.

Bow-wow.
The talented Mr. Umney.

Clyde, look out.

Stay here.

Behind the bar.

Clyde?

Clyde?

- You ok, doll?
- I am now.

- Come home with me.
- I can't. Mother is waiting.

Run away to Mexico with me,
just you, me, and the road.

It's not like that, Clyde.

You know it never is.

It's different for us.
We're one and the same.

We belong together, and
someday I'll prove that to you.

- Come on there, folks.
- Stan. - Yeah, Clyde?

Do me a favor, will ya?
See that miss McGill gets home.

You betcha.

Stay out of the rain, kid.

Outside.

Shut up, buster.
Get a job.

Whoo.

Ha ha ha ha.

Swell.

Go on. One more time.
Whoo hoo hoo.

Wait. Come here. Come back.

There. Ooh.
Ha ha ha.

- George.
- That's my job.

Wait, wait. Now.

Go.

- Whaah.
- One more.

Ok. One more.

Whoa.

What happened to the rain?

Boys, this is
one perfect day.

Somebody should slap
a little "R" inside a circle symbol

right smack in
the middle of this day,

a registered Los Angeles morning,
a Louis B. Mayer production.

Hmm.

What do you say, George and Gloria?
Something ooky-pooky?

Feeling an eensy-weensy
hangover?

Look. Buster, a cat.

Hey, what's the beef?

Why don't you yap when
I need you to, you ignorant mutt?

Forget the rain, sunny days ahead.

Get the latest news.
Only 3 cents. Forget the rain.

You like like somebody just
gave you six tickets to the first game
of the World Series. What's the buzz?

My mom hit the lottery
down in Tijuana. 25,000 bucks.
We're rich, brother.

- You don't believe me?
- Come on, Peoria.

You're old enough to know that

sometimes people get
what they want to happen mix up
with what actually does happen.

You mean daydreams? This ain't
no daydream, Mr Umney.

This is real. My mama dumped
the money all over her bed.

And I just rolled and rolled
in that sweet smelling cash.

You ever get a funny feeling, Peoria?
Like your clothes don't fit.

Ain't you picking up
on this news flash?

I don't have to sell papers
on this lousy corner, no more.

Look, maybe you should go up
to Blondie's, have a cup of joe and
talk this thing over.

- Can't, it's closed.
- Blondie's?

The hell you say,
I was just there last night.

You ain't heard the best.
My uncle friend knows a doctor

who's gonna do an operation
and I'll be able to see again.

No, no, no, no...
Someone's off kilter

You're supposed to be here on this
corner. You're supposed to be blind.

I thought you'd be happy for
my good fortune but you ain't.

I am. I mean I want to be.

But wait.

Ah. What the hell is
the matter with you?

Blondie's is gone, I told you.

You know what, son?
I think we got off on the
wrong foot this morning.

Screw you, Mr Umney.
You are a prick.

Impossible.

Not Blondie's.

- Vern.
- Mr. Umney.

What happened to Jesus
walkin' on the sea of Galilee?

Where's the sweetheart
of the rodeo? What is this?

Remember, the party
is on Friday.

Wait a damn minute.
What party? What's going on?

Retirement.

To hell you say.

Mr. Landry is coming.

Mr. Sam Landry,
owner of this building.

If you don't
wanna come, fine.

You've been acting crazy as a loon
for the past 6 months anyhow.

What's gotten into you?

You know what.
It's the big "C".

Terminal cancer?
Since yesterday?

I'm retiring to Arizona.

Gonna live with my sister
for as long as I have.

Let's face it, I don't expect
to wear out my welcome.

You're supposed to be here,
right here sittin' on your stool

with Jesus and your wife
over your head. Not... not this.

For how long, Mr. Umney?

Since you know everything,
You could probably tell me.

How long do I have
to keep driving this damn car?

Well...

Forever.

Forever, Vernon.

- You can't retire.
- No?

By the way it looks to me,
I really ain't got a choice.

This isn't right.

You know
it isn't right, Vern.

What's not right,
Mr. Umney?

Bye, Mr. Umney.

Get me the file
on the Mavis Weld case,
will you, doll?

Dear Clyde,
I have had all the groping

and sneering
I'm going to take from you.

Life is too short to be pawed
by a washed-up divorce detective
with bad breath.

You did have
your good points, Clyde,

but they are getting drowned out
by the bad ones.

Do yourself a favor
and grow up.

Yours truly, Arlene Cain.

P.S. I'm going back
to my mother's in Idaho.

Do not try
to get in touch with me.

She liked it.

She said she liked it.

Bad day, Clyde?

Turns closed for renovation.
Get out of here whoever you are.

I'm taking a sick day.
I can do that because I'm the boss.

Look at me, Clyde.

Samuel D. Landry
at your service.

Sam Landry?

You're the...

You're the one
that owns the building.

It's all my fault.

I'm sorry, Clyde,
I really am, but, uh...

meeting you has been, well...

not what I expected.

For one thing,

I like you a lot more
than I thought I would.

But I've got business here,

and there's no going back.

Yeah? You're... You're
not like any businessman
I've ever seen.

- You call that a briefcase?
- It's a computer, a typewriter
with a brain.

Ok. I'm gettin' it now.

You carry a brain around
in your briefcase.

You wear shoes that look like
Boris Karloff's Frankenstein get-up,

What are you, some sort
of a horror-movie guy?

No. Clyde,
I'm a literary guy.

What's the writing
on your shoes?

- Reebok.
- Reebok?

Sounds like a dish on
a Chinese carryout menu.

Oh, you like that, huh?

I know all
your ideas, Clyde.

- After all, I'm you.
- Yeah.

I noticed
the resemblance.

Not familiar with
the Cologne, though.

It's called Aramis.

It won't be invented
for another 40 years or so,
just like my sneakers.

The devil you say.

Uh, the devil
might come into it.

Where are you from?

I come from the future, Clyde.

Just like a...
a pulp-magazine story.

Yeah, you come from
Sunnyland sanitarium, more like it.

But not like
a science-fiction story,
Not exactly.

What was your
father's name, Clyde?

What has that got to do with
the price of cucumbers on Monday?

You don't know, do you?
What about your mother's?

Here's a couple of easy ones
across the plate. Where'd you
go to school?

What was the name
of the first girl you ever
went all the way with?

- Ok, stop playin' games.
- Where'd you grow up?

- Carmel? Dusty Bottom, New Mexico?
- Cut the crap.

- Do you know? Do you?
- Yeah. It was, um...

"San Diego. Born and raised."

San Diego.
That feels right.

It feels right
because I wrote it.

What's a Sony?
Some sort of a side dish
you get with a Reebok dinner?

It's a Japanese
electronics company.

Oh, now you're
kiddin' me, mister.

The japs can't even
make a windup toy.

Not now.

Tell me, Clyde,
when is "now"?

- Do you know the date?
- 1938.

W... Wait a minute.
Uh, 1939.

Don't feel badly. You don't know,
because I don't know.

I've always kept the timeline
vague in my novels.

Going more for a feeling.
Call it chandler American time.

- Works for my readers.
- OK...

Tell me
what's going on here.

You're beginning to know,
aren't you?

Maybe I don't know my
dad's name or my mom's name

or the first girl I went
to bed with because...

You don't know.
Is that it?

You're getting warm.

You don't just
own this building.

You own everything.

Hot, hot, hot.

Hot as a hot potato.

You see the picture on the wall
to the left of the door?

Don't do it.

"On the wall
to the left of the door,

"a revered leader hangs,
but always slightly askew.

That's my way of keeping him
in perspective."

You're a writer.
You made me up.

When? Or is that even
the right question?

You first appeared
in a mystery

called "Requiem For A Lady"
in 19...

77.

You've grown a lot more complex
and interesting since then.

You were pretty one-dimensional
at the beginning.

Yeah? What a pisser for me.

Your latest was called
"How Like A Fallen Angel".

I started that in 1995.
Took me 5 years to finish.

My life's been interesting,
Clyde.

Writers don't do their best work
doing interesting times.

Yeah? Well, you screwed up
big-time with this one.

Peoria's ma winning
the Mexican lottery?

That's pure guff. They pay off
in pesos south of the border.

I was aware of that.
Peoria was lying.

I knew it and I wanted you
to know it - Why?

To prepare you for my coming.

That's what it's all been about.

The neighbor's dog not barking,
Blondie's all boarded up and closed.

Those were clues, my friend.

- Clues, huh?
- to prepare you for my coming.

I didn't want to scare you
any more than I had to.

Yeah? Well, you're
scaring me plenty, mister.

If you created me

and you can turn George Washington
into Franklin Delano Roosevelt,

then you can do anything.

Buster. Here, boy.

George? Gloria?

It's me, Clyde,
from next door.

Here's to you,
George and Gloria.

No more parties.
No more trips to Palm Desert.

No more Basie and Ellington

blowin' through
the open window in Spring.

No more of that Welsh
Corgi bark that goes through
your head like slivers of glass.

You did this.

You made George kill his wife,
you stinking bastard.

You're a clever boy, Clyde.

But readers love nasty murders,
because secretly they wanna be the killer.

Shoot the annoying neighbor.
Strangle that whining girlfriend.

Make-believe
is a great healer.

Yeah? Well, it didn't heal the Demmicks.
They were good people.

You think you're god,
but you're just a two-bit bully.

Why, I've beaten
wiseguys tougher than you
in your own books.

"His revelations hit me
like some kind

"of debilitating drug.

"All the strength
went out of my muscles.

"My legs felt like

"a couple of strands
of al dente spaghetti.

"All I could do was
flop back in my chair

and look at him."

That's not very good,

but rapid composition has
never been one of my strong points.

You son of a bitch.

Yeah.

I suppose I am.

You know your client,
Mavis Weld?

She was a character in a
novel called "The Little Sister"
by Raymond Chandler.

- Ring a bell?
- No.

No. Of course not.

In your world, Chandler
never even existed.

But he's the man for every
mystery scribe since then.

Clyde Umney was the name
of the lawyer in Playback.

I did it as an...

um, a tribute,
an hommage.

Hommage? Sounds like a fancy word
for stealing, if you ask me.

So what'd you come here for?
What's the heist?

I came for you, Clyde.

For me?

Sorry. I'm afraid you're gonna
have to think of your life in a new
way from now on, Clyde.

As a, um...

Well, as a pair of shoes.

You're stepping out,
and I'm stepping in.

Oh. How fascinating.

And, uh, what happens
to Clyde Umney?

I want you to see something.
This is my personal diary.

Don't even think about it.

This is stuff
I didn't make up.

This is my life,

the interesting part.

Why did you come for me?

There.

It's...

It's about a cemetary...

Linda and I went to see
our son's grave every week.

I'm sorry for you, Landry.

I can't come here anymore.

Why? Are you behind
on writing the book?

- How can you say that?
- Because the book is all you do.

Yes, I write, in order
to stay relatively sane.

But coming here is like
ripping out stitches over and over.

I'm not gonna leave Danny.

Nobody is leaving him.

It's just so cold in the ground,
and he's all alone.

How long do we go on
blaming ourselves?

Just give me a minute,
will you, hon?

Mom. Dad.
Look at me.

They're gonna win.

Don't you dare.

Go.
Oh, yeah.

And he's under the net.

Yes. You owe me.

Danny. Danny.

- Danny's at the bottom
of the pool. Somebody help.
- Sam. Sam. Sam.

Danny's at the bottom
of the pool. Somebody help.

Danny.

Danny, no.
Get him out.

Help Danny.
Get him out.

Where are you?

Uh, page 187.

No. Not what freakin' page
you're on.

Where are you? How are you?

- 'Cause you're not here with me.
- I'm working.

You're escaping, off
in your own private universe.

Oh, god.

You know what?
That's great for you, Sam.

Why don't you just live
in your fictional world,

because that way, you
never have to face the fact
that we've lost our son.

I'm aware of the facts.

God.

You know what?
Maybe I'm as nutty as you.
But sometimes...

Sometimes I wish
Clyde Umney were here.

He's definitely younger.

He's your better half I tell you.

Be a hell of a lot more sensitive.

Remember when he saved
Ardis McGill from going crazy

when she lost her little sister
to a life of prostitution and

and how he consoled Mrs. Norris
in "How Like A Fallen Angel"?
He gave her hope.

He brought her back to life.
He screwed her brains out.

You just sit there
staring at that screen.

Linda didn't know it, but

she gave me
the idea to come here.

She's given me
a lot of good ideas.

Not only do you steal
from that guy Ray Chandler,
you steal from your own wife.

I've heard of low,
but that's bargain basement.

Are you getting
this news flash?

Writers are the most shameless,
self-centered bastards in the world.

We lie, we seduce,
we'll steal your soul...

Anything to look good
on the page.

Aw, you won't get
any tea and sympathy from me.

I'm a bestselling author,

and I don't have the words
to console my own wife.

You're my alter ego.
You can do what I can't do.

- Go to Linda. Help her.
- You are nuts.

Like the way you saved
Mrs. Sternwood from swallowing
drain cleaner.

If that'd been me,
I would've had a panic attack,
but you were great.

I'll stay right here
in my own shoes, thanks.

As you say in your world,
I am the man.

What the hell does that mean?
We're all men.

Here. Take a powder.
I got work to do.

Don't get snotty.
I made you.

Oops. Did we make daddy mad?

Is that how you talked
to your little boy?

Damn you.

Ah, what are you gonna do,
turn me into a barking dog?

"Dunninger's boys knew
they couldn't touch me

"without bringing down
the heat.

"So, they took it out
on my girl.

Well, not her, exactly,
but her little sister."

Don't do this, Landry.

"And when Ardis found,
the poor kid,

"she looked like she'd been
attacked by a circus of crazed
monkeys with samurai swords."

Stop it,
you stinking pervert.

"And they carved her
face into monkey meat."

They killed her, Clyde,
my poor little sister.

- I know.
- Why did she have to suffer so?

Ardis, get the hell
out of here.

I told you
it would never be good.

This world of ours is
a heartless maze of greed and
hate, and there's no way out.

You're wrong.
The world is bright
because you're in it.

Why do bullies
always win?

"She was already
over the edge.

"And there was nothing
I could do to stop her."

They don't always win. You
know why? Because there's love.

"She had taken things
into her own hands."

I hear you, my darling.

Ardis, listen.

N... Aah.

I wish you
all the love in the world.

You didn't have to do that.

It's a new chapter, pal.

You think you're pretty slick,
Mr. God almighty,

but you're a bush-league
version of God.

I'm not your puppet.
You can't control me.

"My will ebbing,
I pushed on."

- This is dust...
- "This was it."

- And your stories are dust.
- "Final adversary..."

It's the characters that
live on. Nobody will remember
your clever little tricks.

"That was coming at me
like a bullet to the gut."

- But they'll remember Clyde Umney.
- "The big sleep."

Aw, that's right.

Make everything stop so you
can do anything you want.

Clyde Umney
would never do that.

He'd call it
the coward's way out.

Let me live.

This is my life.

Too late.

It's my name
on the windows.

I have always wanted
to be a private eye.

Ever since
I was a little kid,

To live in a world
I could understand...

Where sweet little boys
don't drown.

Husbands and wives don't
stop loving each other.

That place is here...

My place, my time,
Los Angeles, 1938...

And that private eye
is me.

Is this the end
of Clyde Umney?

I don't exactly know
what's coming.

Close your eyes.

I'll try to make this quick.

I hope it doesn't hurt,
old buddy.

But you could care less
if it does, you arrogant prick.

"And so I left town."

"And as to where
I finished up,

"well, mister,

I think that's
my business. Don't you?"

"The end."

Sam...

I'm Clyde Umney.

Gosh, Sam, what did you do?
You grow a mustache while
I'm mopping the floor?

I'm Clyde Umney,
Mrs. Landry, from 1938.

This is a little early
for Halloween, honey.

Can I come in?
The pool is cold.

What do you expect?
Nobody's used it in months.

I guess nobody would.
Not since your son drowned.

Danny.
He was 6 years old.

Sam told me all about it.
And I'm sorry.

It was a tragic accident,
ma'am, and you don't need to be
shouldering in the blame.

When did you talk to Sam?

When he came into my office
and stole my damn life.

So...

this is the house
imagination built.

- Sam was big on imagination.
- Yeah, I can imagine him.

In cement shoes
at the bottom of a lake.

Sam talked about this.

He called it the big rewrite.

He was gonna write you
out of your world

and write himself back in.
I just thought it was another one
of his daydreams.

But...

Wait. You're...

You're as real
as can be.

We swapped lives.
That's what must've happened.

What did it feel like?

There was a... a lot of
bright, green light, and then...

I guess I came in
through the machine,

Like a keyhole
between 2 worlds.

But it feels all right.

Huh.

That thing is
black-magic voodoo.

On a good day.

Does this mean
that Sam is gone?

He's probably got his heels up
on my damn desk right now,

fleecing my clients and chasing
my girl. Only, she's dead.

He probably brought her back
to life, the selfish bastard.

Do you want a drink?

You oughta know.
Oh. Hold the phone.

You're a lot more fun
in person.

In the novels,
you're very grim.

Murder is grim, Mrs. Landry.

What the hell are we
supposed to do now?

Well...

you're a hard-boiled
detective, and I'm a dame.

We could always find some
lonely, gullible type and shoot him
for the insurance.

Irony. You didn't have
that in your world.

You mean talkin' uppity
in order to sound smart?

Yeah...

We had it.

Sam Landry,
private investigator.

Sam Landry,
private investigator.

Sam Landry here.

Ring.

Landry here.

Doll, I told ya,
don't call me at work.

This is gonna be all right.

Ah. That's swell of you,
Mrs. Landry.

Well, I want you
to feel at home.

Say, uh...

You know how
to work that machine?

Not if you keep
calling me Mrs. Landry.

Couldn't be any harder
than flyin' an airplane.

Like you did
in "Wings of Deceit".

You know, that was
not Sam's best.

He had some success,
and then he got fat and lazy.

Are you gettin' this
news flash, Mrs. Landry?

Your husband cared for you.
He didn't want you to suffer anymore
because of the kid kickin' off.

That's why I'm here.
That's why everything's loused up,

and somehow
I gotta get back.

But you can't, because that's
not the way sam wrote it.

Well, screw him.

Sam was right, though.

Being with you is having
a very positive effect.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Well, I call it hell.

Frozen dinners
you cook in a box.

Sneakers that look
like Frankenstein shoes.

Music that sounds like
crows being steamed alive
in a pressure cooker.

There's a lot
to recommend in this world.

The sushi.

Caller I.D.

300-thread-count
egyptian cotton sheets

available by catalog.

Wait a minute.

Bite me, Clyde.
I'm just a tramp.

I know who are.
You're Cora Papadakis.

The hellcat from
"Requiem For A Lady".

You know, Sam stole that name
from a man called James M. Cain.

He was a greedy
little thief.

- You're no good.
- Oh, God. - You're a bum.

Oh, just relax, will you?
We're a married couple.

If you and my husband are the same person,
then technically, we must be married.

Ardis McGill was always
supposed to be my one true love.

But wait. We don't have to play
by his rules, Clyde.

We can write our own story.

Oh, let's just drive
to Mexico, baby.

Just you, me,
and the road.

Let's make a baby.

I know it's gonna look...

just...

like you.

When did you open shop,
Detective Landry?

A few chapters ago.

I see.

So...
what up?

Um...

You suspect your wife
of fooling around?

- Hi, Mr. Landry.
- Candy?

No, thanks.

I'm here to clean
your pool.

Oh. So that's what they're
calling it these days.

Yeah.

So, you look good.

How's the writing going?

Peachy.

I'm home, honey.

- Bang bang.
- No.

- No. No.
- Yeah, you better run.

I got a big, bad gun,
and you're gonna get it.

Don't shoot. Don't shoot.
I'll do anything.

Danny's at the bottom
of the pool.

- Danny's at the bottom of...
- Sam. Sam. No. Sam. No.

- Mom.
- Don't shoot. I'll do anything.

Get out.

Whoa.

- Whoa.
- Leave my boy alone.

- You lousy, two-faced...
- All right, calm down.
Calm down.

Washed-up divorce detective with bad breath.
- Calm down.

Calm down,
Mrs. Landry.

- I just want Sam and Danny.
- Get ahold of yourself, Mrs. Landry.

I thought we could
start over.

I thought we could have a baby
and it would look just like...

No.
I bought clothes.

I was gonna surprise you
with a second honeymoon.

Or first. Or whichever.
But...

You're with her.

It's never gonna change,
Mrs. Landry.

This is who I am.
This is how it's written.

No. No. Because Sam
changed the ending.

Sam thought he was god,
but he forgot one thing.

Character is destiny.

Clyde Umney's
never gonna change.

If it makes you feel any better,
I don't wanna be here either

in this groaning world of yours,
with its freight of disease and
senseless violence.

Just go.

Just go back to wherever
it is you came from.

In a snap, Mrs. Landry.

Only, god didn't leave
the directions.

- I know she is.
- How do you know?

- I saw them together.
- You saw them together.

So that's how you...

put it together.

Yes.

- In the toolshed.
- Mm-hmm.

What, may I ask...

Of course, you may ask.
You ask him.

What were they doing
in the toolshed?

Is it necessary to go into
such personal details?

That's why they say "private",
in private eye, Mr. Woolrich.

That's... pretty good.

- Need a nurse in here.
- Right there.

His pupils are
fixed and dilated.

- Ok. Let's move him.
- Yes, doctor. - 1, 2, 3.

We're losing him.

- No.
- Detective Landry.

No. No.

- What on Earth?
- No.

What have I done?

What didn't I do?

"Ardis McGill was
a really great gal.

"I mean, really great.

In the sense that you'd never
met anyone like her before."

Take me back.

Through the looking glass...
now.

Wow.

Honey, that's really bad.

- Ok, ok, it isn't perfect.
- Ha. It sucks.

- But who says you can't learn?
- God.

I guess it's a one-way thing.

You can't just type the words.
You gotta be a real writer.

Which is what?

A writer wakes up
with his mouth full of pity.

Hemingway said that.

How did I know?
I didn't. It was Sam.

Sam's the real writer.
I'm just me.

Forget it, baby.

No. I'm gonna get
better at this.

Did you read that, Sam?
I'm comin' after you.

I found my way in.

I can see you,
but I don't think you'll be
able to see me,

not until I wrap my hands
around your neck.

Until next time, pal.

--- Subtitles by Rubens ---