PSYCHOKINETICS: RAISE MY HAND! (excerpt)
INT. ROOM. NIGHT.
An unknown tape of an interview done with COLIN McKENNA (24) in his apartment, done by his neighbor, OONA, plays. It’s drawing to a close. Colin is on the brink of a nervous breakdown. His hands and bottom lip are shivering, and he runs his fingers through his hair. The ending goes as follows:
What are you talking about?
(on second “what”)
You’ve made up everything you’ve said so far! You’re just looking for something to do, you’re wasting my fucking time—
No—no, I’m not! You’re being—
No—fuck no! I have so much more to tell you!
Tell me tomorrow!
No! No! I can’t! I won’t be ready tomorrow!
Well you weren’t fucking ready tonight, either!
Please. Please, I’m begging you.
I think we can agree I’ve done more than enough for you. Now, please let me out.
His pitiful state has frightened her, and he realizes it and attempts to regain his composure.
Yep. Here, let me—let me show you …
A door slams. We return to Colin’s apartment; the reporter has just left.
INT. COLIN’S APT. NIGHT.
Colin stands at the door. He turns back around, resembles Edvard Munch’s Self Portrait with a Cigarette.
Suddenly, his mouth opens in a smile. He laughs quietly, quite proud of himself.
Alright, you can come out now!
From behind a full-length mirror, a figure steps out. We don’t see who it is, only two shaking hands clutching a handgun for dear life. Colin doesn’t falter, in fact, his smile becomes wider. He takes a bow.
Oh no encores, please! I can’t possibly top that!
INT. ABOVE LIPPERT’S. NIGHT. 7 YEARS PREVIOUS.
Title Card: The halcyon days.
Lippert’s is a food market, though the upstairs apartment has been converted, rather amateurishly, into a comfortable space filled with card tables, mismatched chairs. Though this is no organized setting which looks as though it could be picked up and moved at a moment’s notice, the place is packed.
PATRICK NOLAN, 22, moves over towards the door and lets a couple in. The GUY, after complaining to Patrick about the lock, leaves his girlfriend with a couple other girls, all heavily made up, who sit smoking and laughing and watching television. One of them pulls a guy over and asks him about his black eye, which he claims to have gotten at a boxing tournament from Patrick. They all look at Patrick, who waves and winks with good humor. They all laugh, and the guy moves along to sit in on a game of Blackjack between five men, including MORRIS RUSSELL. The cards are being dealt by a young kid, around Colin’s age (17).
The kid slips an Ace from under the table to the top of the pile, and, upon reveal of the hand, JOHN MILLER notices a discrepancy. A fight ensues between Miller and another man, BLANCHARD, who had received the Ace. Morris Russell requests that the kid leave, and sees him out the door. Russell turns back and shrugs to the people behind him.
The camera shifts to a corner of the room, where MORGAN WALSH, 18, attempts to demonstrate a card trick to a quickly diminishing group, including a man named NATHAN ROWETT, who is falling asleep. Morgan picks on Nathan because he is the only person who isn’t moving away from him.
Hey—hey, wake up! Pick a pile.
Morgan removes 2 out of the four piles and places them back into the deck. He has tattooed his knuckles himself quite recently: the “FUCK YOU!” is still red around the edges.
Okay, pick another one. Hey, Jamie! Sit down, stay a while!
Morgan removes the one opposite. Nathan points to another pile, and closes his eyes.
EXT. STREET. SAME TIME.
Two college-age girls walk down the sidewalk. GIRL 1 sees some blood leaking out from a darkened alley, and points it out to GIRL 2. GIRL 2 turns on her cell’s flashlight and they walk cautiously down the alleyway. Eventually they come to COLIN, at this point age 17, who appears to be dead.
I’ve never seen a dead body before.
God, you’re morbid. Get the fuck outta there?
(standing, turning towards her friend)
Well aren’t you at least a little bit interested?
Suddenly, Girl 1 screams. Girl 2 likes to think she is tougher.
Why hello there.
Girl 2 turns around and screams as well. Colin winces.
Mother of God, you’re loud. The both of you … fucking … echolocation …. What time is it?
Uh … uh …
Girl 2 turns Girl 1’s left wrist over, to reveal a watch. She reads:
He appears to be slightly confused at their fear, and becomes much more friendly.
This is fake. The blood? I’m an actor—well, community theater, but that’s temporary and unimportant. This is all … I just wanted to see how realistic it was. You ladies have been wonderful, absolutely stellar. It’s 2:24; it took almost five minutes for someone to fall for it, and really, you’re the first ones to have walked by, so I consider this a success.
The poor girls have no idea what to make of this.
Now, I believe I twisted my ankle when I fell—all to make it more realistic, see. Can one of you help me up?
Both girls rush to help him. He is clearly in a lot more pain than he intends to let on. Colin limps away, pausing at the end of the alley.
Now, you ladies have a good night. Thank you for your help.
The girls look at each other, confused. After a pause, they rush to the end of the alley to watch him go. He is too far away to hear when Girl 1 says:
INT. ABOVE LIPPERT’S. NIGHT.
There are four cards, pick two.
Nathan points. Morgan removes them.
There are two cards, pick one.
Nathan picks one, then turns away. Morgan takes the card, and turns the other one over.
Is this your card?
INT. LIPPERT’S. SAME TIME.
It is dark, closed for the night. Colin enters, goes behind the counter, next to a wooden door, and dials four numbers on a landline.
INT. ABOVE LIPPERT’S. SECOND LATER.
Close on the intercom above Lippert’s, which is itself attached to a telephone, which is ringing. We see shadows of people passing behind and the fabrics of people passing in front.
The fuck’s Colin?
LIPPERT’S. SAME TIME.
Nobody answers. Colin curses and dials again. He is holding onto the receiver for support.
ABOVE LIPPERT’S. SECONDS LATER.
Patrick makes his way through the crowd, looking. He is fiddling with a Rubik’s cube without registering he is doing so.
Is he over there?
Haven’t seen him.
The fuck is Colin?
I look like a babysitter?
Patrick notices the phone is ringing, and goes to answer it.
You gotta Band-Aid?
What? Who is this?
INT. LIPPERT’S. SAME TIME.
Yo, Pat. Patrick. Listen to me.
INT. ABOVE LIPPERT’S. SAME TIME.
Patrick waves to people passing by. It’s clear he can’t hear Colin over the noise, but now recognizes the voice.
Come on up.
Patrick unlocks the door and goes back to the game.
INT. LIPPERT’S. SAME TIME.
The door unlocks, and Colin pushes it open. He mutters under his breath.
INT. ABOVE LIPPERT’S. SECONDS LATER.
Colin knocks on the door, which Patrick opens. His face is ashen, and his clothes are soaked in blood.
Colin passes out. Someone catches him.
Colin comes to on the couch. There’s a crowd of people over him; a palpable static electricity buzzes.
Hey, hey, everybody, give him some space, give him room to breathe.
The crowd parts to let Patrick through.
How you doing, Colin, you okay?
Colin nods and groans. Patrick laughs, relieved. Colin takes after his lead and begins to laugh.
That’s it, buddy.
(over his shoulder)
Somebody get me some ice.
Somebody passes a bag of frozen peas over Colin’s head. Patrick takes them and brings it to Colin’s ankle. His shoe still needs to be removed. A man (MAN 1) passes Colin a rag.
Bite this, kid.
Colin bites. Patrick starts to tug at his shoe, and Colin screams into the rag. Eventually, Patrick takes a kitchen knife and cuts off Colin’s shoe. He tapes the ice to Colin’s foot hurriedly as he realizes he has made a mistake….
Shit. Uhhh … everything’s good! Everything’s good!
MAN 2 looks at Colin’s foot over Patrick’s shoulder.
Thing’s a fucking balloon.
Shut the fuck up!
It’s about an orange, about an orange—but a small orange, a malnourished orange--
It’s a cantaloupe.
I’m gonna fucking kill somebody.
Colin faints again.
In the background, Blanchard leaves, and Miller follows. Blanchard does not notice.