David Morrell - NightScape

JAMIE

My name is Jamie Neal. I'm twenty eight. I've been here…I think…for sixty-four days. I think. Why didn't you give me windows? I want to see…

(paws at a wall)

the stars. The sun sets even here. Not on the schedule I'm used to. But I could get used to that schedule. And I'd love to see it. After sixty-four days.

She squints toward the ceiling.

JAMIE

Or nights. How can I know? If only I could see… I bet the sunset…no smog here…the colors must be…

(her voice drops)

I remember…crimson…like a flower…a rose…in blossom…

(melancholy)

beautiful.

In a sudden rage, she kicks the remnants of the habitat's model she earlier crushed.

JAMIE

Never mind windows! Why didn't you give me…?

She spins toward the numerous consoles.

JAMIE

Computers! Temperature gauges! Pressure readouts! Oxygen monitors! Humidity! Gravity! Even dust! I can measure everything! Except the single most precious thing in my life!

She slumps against a table.

JAMIE

Time. Maybe it's only sixty-three days. Or maybe sixty-nine. Or maybe I've been here only a couple of weeks. But it feels like…

(despairing)

Eternity.

BEEP.

JAMIE

Why didn't you at least allow me to wear a watch?

She gestures frantically toward the consoles.

JAMIE

Or let me have a clock? Nothing fancy! No digital astro-time calculator. No computerized star-date monitor, with comparative readouts for here and home and the Gemini galaxy and… Just a plain old-fashioned clock,

makes a twisting motion with one hand, pretending to hold an object in the other

The kind you wind up at night, and it ticks, and the hands go around, and if you want to wake up at a certain hour, you set the alarm. And when it rings, you know it's tomorrow. And if you make a mark

(pretends she has a pencil)

on a page every time the alarm goes off…and if you count the marks, you're sure how many days you've been here. You don't feel as if you're…

(slumps against the wall)

going crazy. Is that the point of the test? How would I react -not if but when I broke down? Because of…

She stares in horror toward the door.

JAMIE

Time.

The SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

No.

A SECOND WAIL.

JAMIE

Please! Don't make me go in there again!

A THIRD WAIL.

Tears stream down Jamie's face.

A FOURTH WAIL.

Jamie walks toward the door, as if hypnotized.

JAMIE

Fulfill my contract. Obey my orders.

JAMIE's POINT OF VIEW-approaching the door.

JAMIE

Go through my paces.

She pauses. OFF STAGE, we HEAR THE HISS OF THE DOOR SLIDING OPEN. We ZOOM TOWARD A CLOSE-UP OF Jamie's FACE: contorted, apprehensive, horrified.

JAMIE

Time. Yes, again. Time.

The door has slid open. Beyond it, we see a CORRIDOR. But as if this is Alice in Wonderland, the corridor narrows and becomes lower.

THE BEEP PERSISTS.

JAMIE

Time.

She feels her pulse.

JAMIE

The beat of my heart. The only time I know.

She takes a Walkman-sized object from a counter, straps it around her wrist, stares at a suction cup at the end of the object, and reaches beneath her Lakers sweatshirt, apparently attaching the suction cup to her chest.

At once the BEEP BECOMES A LITTLE FASTER, as if the object on her wrist monitors the speed of her heart.

JAMIE

The constant motion of time. Except that it's meaningless without something to compare it to…Without something to appreciate… Without a sunrise. I could imagine a sunrise if…Why didn't you give me a watch?

THE SIREN WAILS.

Jamie flinches, clutches her fists in fury, and glares at the ceiling.

JAMIE

All right, I'm going!

The BEEP that measures her heartrate INCREASES.

She shifts through the doorway.

The roof is low enough that she's forced to stoop now. The walls narrow until they touch her shoulders.

THE BEEP GAINS A LITTLE MORE SPEED.

JAMIE

(walking stooped, glaring up)

What I want to know is, when my heart beats faster, does that mean I'm getting older?

(swallows, staring at the crawlspace)

Would sixty-nine days that feel like sixty-three days…or however long I've been here… actually be the equivalent of a hundred and twenty days? Six months? The nine months you're paying me to stay here? Because time drags…

The lowering ceiling compels her to kneel. The narrowing walls squeeze her shoulders.

There's a crawlspace directly ahead.

Jamie shudders.

THE BEEP INCREASES.

JAMIE

But my heart feels like it's on rocket fuel. Speed. Does the speed of my heart affect time? Have I been here…

The ceiling is now so low that she's forced to drop to her hands and knees.

JAMIE

Forever?

She places a hand toward the crawlspace, about to insert her head. Trembles. Hesitates.

AND THE SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

Give me a break! I told you I'm going! I just need a minute to…!

Abruptly the door HISSES shut behind her.

She whirls.

THE BEEP INCREASES SPEED.

And something SIZZLES, the HUM AND CRACKLE of electrical current.

She flinches, in agony, raising one hand, then another, trying to push herself off the floor. But the ceiling's so low she can't raise her back. She jerks one knee, then the other off the floor, desperate to minimize contact with the CRACKLING electrical current.

JAMIE

No! Please, stop! I'm going! 1 promise!

She scurries into the crawlspace.

At once, the CRACKLING current stops.

Her face is contorted with pain as she sprawls on her stomach. The crawlspace is so small it reminds us of an air-conditioning duct. She breathes heavily, exhausted by the electrical current, slumping in relief.

JAMIE

No more! This can't go on forever!

A sigh of despair.

JAMIE

Or maybe this is hell.

She crawls awkwardly, wincing, bumping her head on the ceiling, scraping her shoulders against the tight walls.

JAMIE

Maybe you never meant to keep your word. Maybe you're just playing with me? Are you enjoying this, putting me through my paces, watching the way I react. Am I just some kind of…? Just a cruel sadistic game to you?

With effort, Jamie reaches the end of the crawlspace and squirms toward another compartment. Her brow is moist. Her elbows and knees are dirty. The shoulders of her sweatshirt are frayed and grimy.

She musters strength and struggles to stand…wavers…leans against a wall.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, she stares ahead. What she sees makes her close her eyes in despair. She reopens them, squinting. Her voice cracks.

JAMIE

Why did you…? No! You broke the bargain again! You changed the rules! You…!

THE BEEP INCREASES.

With a sob, she struggles not to sink to the floor.

JAMIE

It's not the same! Why do you keep changing the…?

Now we see the room Jamie has entered. It's completely bare. More important, the floor tilts upward – severely.

JAMIE

Not the same. Not the same.

A SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

I hear it, you…!

She staggers forward, reaches the incline, attempts to climb it while standing, but falls to her stomach and claws her way toward the top.

JAMIE

My name is Jamie Neal.

(claws upward)

I think.

(claws upward)

I'm twenty-eight.

(claws upward)

I think.

(claws upward)

Going on a hundred.

(claws upward)

I'm an assistant professor of…

Jamie hesitates, nods in fierce resolve, and continues crawling higher.