EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

A dark and narrow alleyway, empty of people, sodden as though it has only recently stopped raining. Tall buildings on either side give the impression of a city just out of sight.

A DOOR in one wall is suddenly outlined in light, as though a blinding light is shining on the other side. The Door opens, and two people step through. Charles Smith steps through first, a man in his late 20s wearing a stylish suit (for the time, around 1985) and short but unfashionably unkempt hair. He is carrying a RETRACTABLE UMBRELLA in his hand. He looks over his shoulder at Ms. Doughty, then offers her his other hand, helping her over the threshold. She is a thin-lipped middle-aged bureaucrat in a slightly threadbare and loosely-tailored business suit from the same era. It's obvious that she's not comfortable with the suit, the heels, or Smith.

They are briefly illuminated by the bright light of the door behind them, and then Smith closes the door and returns the alley to darkness. He lifts off of the handle the TIME PENDANT (a small pendant on a silver chain) and slips it over his head.

SMITH

(offering his arm)

Shall we, then?

MS. DOUGHTY reluctantly takes his arm.

Smith and Ms. Doughty walk out of the alley and turn into a street. They walk purposefully down the street toward a mugging just beginning at the end of the street. A middle-aged YUPPIE is being held up at knifepoint by a STREET PUNK, an Hispanic teenager with a desperate, worried look. Ms. Doughty hangs back a little while Smith strides forward into the middle of the scene.

STREET PUNK

Just hand it over!

YUPPIE

Look, I...

SMITH

(to punk)

You don't want to do this.

STREET PUNK

And who the hell are you?

SMITH

(extends umbrella)

I'm the guy who's about to clean your clock.

STREET PUNK

(brandishing his knife)

Yeah? And what about them?

Smith coolly surveys the surrounding area as three more Punks fade in from the shadows behind the Street Punk. The Yuppie takes this moment of distraction as a cue to run to a safe distance. Ms. Doughty backs up against the wall, obviously trying to blend into it.

SMITH

(smiling)

I only brought the one umbrella.

In one smooth motion, Smith steps back and swings the umbrella around, smacking the Street Punk's wrist. The knife drops to the ground and clatters away. Two of the PUNKS charge Smith barehanded, but he grabs the first and accelerates him into the second. They trip over each other and drop to the ground.

He swings the umbrella around again, causing Punk 3 to dodge and lose his balance. Smith takes the opportunity to kick the punk's leg out from under him. The punk lands hard on his back.

Smith swings the umbrella behind, catching Punk 1 in the side of the head as he gets back up. PUNK 2, still on the ground, rolls away from Smith, gets up, and runs back into the shadows.

SIRENS are heard in the distance, getting closer.

Smith catches something out of the corner of his eye and wheels around, but not quickly enough to avoid a slash from the Street Punk's knife.

SMITH

Hey!

Smith's eyes flash anger, and he grabs the knife-wielding arm of the Street Punk and pulls hard. There's a disturbing POPPING SOUND and the punk falls to the ground, holding his arm and writhing.

The sirens get louder and a patrol car screeches to a halt at the entrance to the alley. The remaining Punks run off in the other direction. Smith leans down, lifts the street punk to his feet, and dusts him off a little.

SMITH

(leaning in close)

Think about what you're doing. You could be more than this.

STREET PUNK

What?

SMITH

Your life. This is your whole life you're messing with. Just pay a little more attention, okay?

STREET PUNK

(terrified)

Who are you?

SMITH

The visible hand of history.

A Police Officer walks up the alley toward the remaining PUNK as his Partner moves toward Smith and the Street Punk, gun drawn warily. The Yuppie stands behind their patrol car at the entrance to the alley. Smith takes his hands off the street punk, holds them out, and drops the (now tattered) umbrella on the ground.

SMITH

It's alright, officers. I think they've seen the light.

The Police Officers take both Punks to the patrol car with no resistance. Smith walks back over to Ms. Doughty, who steps back into the light to meet him. He fingers the gash in his suit jacket and shirt, opening it wide enough to show that he himself wasn't cut by the knife.

SMITH

And it's vintage, too. Billy's gonna kill me.

MS. DOUGHTY

Just what was that all about?

SMITH

Just what I said it would be. I--

MS. DOUGHTY

You didn't say anything about fighting in an alley. Honestly, brawling like a bunch of schoolchildren. I have half a mind...

(composing herself)

Honestly. When I agreed to observe you on this...

SMITH

mission--

MS. DOUGHTY

--mission, you said it was going to be important! You said--

SMITH

I said we'd be saving a man's life. And we did.

SMITH walks back to where he dropped the umbrella and picks it up, surveying the damage. MS. DOUGHTY follows him.

MS. DOUGHTY

Oh really?!? And who exactly did all this...

(waves vaguely around)

...this... actually save?

SMITH

(standing up straight)

A future mayor of this city.

Ms. Doughty looks sharply over at the patrol car, in front of which the Yuppie speaks animatedly to the bored-looking Police Officer. His Partner sits inside using the radio. The Street Punk stares sullenly out the back window at Smith.

SMITH

(peering distractedly at the umbrella)

Good one, too.

MS. DOUGHTY

(squinting at YUPPIE)

What? Which...

Smith glances at her, smirks, then points with the umbrella at the Street Punk.

SMITH

Gutierrez. Served three terms. Almost ran for president.

Smith walks away from the patrol car, back toward the side alley they originally came through. Ms. Doughty follows, glancing back over her shoulder at the patrol car and briefly stumbling over her heels. She catches up to Smith just as he reaches a door. He takes off his PENDANT and loops it over the doorknob. A bright light shines through the cracks of the door, then floods them with light as Smith opens the door. The two walk through, and the now-blinding light fades to the MAIN TITLE.

INt. CHANGING ROOM - DAY

This room is as noisy, bright, warm, and active as the alleyway was dark and empty. Row upon row of wooden lockers branch off a central corridor, with benches and chairs haphazardly placed between them, giving the impression of a cross between a busy police station and an amateur theater troupe. A large number of Agents buzz around, chatting with each other as they change into or out of costumes. WILLIAM MACDOUGALL, universally called "Billy", holds a stack of file folders and places a few of them on benches near their intended recipients.

Smith and Ms. Doughty walk briskly down the central corridor. Billy sees them, smiles, and props the stack of papers on one knee as he gets Smith's attention with a wave.

BILLY

Smith! Right on time. Flawless execution, I suspect?

SMITH

(shaking Billy's hand)

Absolutely, Billy. Went by the book the whole way. Well, except...

Smith holds up his arm, showing the shredded suit jacket to Billy. Billy winces.

BILLY

Jeebus, Smith!

(frowning and poking at the rip)

It was vintage, too. You know how hard those are to find now?

SMITH

(holding out the skinny tie to Billy)

Hey, the tie's still intact.

They laugh, which causes Ms. Doughty to scowl and butt in.

MS. DOUGHTY

Mr. Smith!

SMITH

What? Oh. Right.

Smith looks at Billy and gestures with the suit jacket, as though to ask permission. Billy nods and waves the two of them down the corridor. Smith pats his shoulder, and he and Ms. Doughty set off together toward a door at the far end of the room.

INT. HALLWAY - DAY (CONTINUOUS)

MS. DOUGHTY

I'm a patient woman, Mr. Smith, but you still have a lot to explain.

SMITH

Not exactly my strongest suit. Maybe the captain can do a better job.

They arrive at an office door marked "Cpt. Lizet Glass, Supervisor". Smith knocks, avoiding Ms. Doughty's gaze.

CPT. GLASs (o.s.)

Come in!

Smith opens the door, then gestures for Ms. Doughty to enter.

INT. CAPTAIN'S OFFICE - DAY

The office of Captain Lizet Glass is small and cluttered, but an exterior window brings in enough light to keep it from feeling claustrophobic. Cpt. Glass, a middle-aged black woman with a no-nonsense attitude and a business suit that's just shy of a uniform, sits behind her desk, pen in hand. She stands up once she sees Ms. Doughty, puts down the pen, and takes off her reading glasses.

CPT. GLASS

Done already? I didn't realize it was going to be so quick.

MS. DOUGHTY

Neither did I, and if that's the kind of thing this agency gets up on an "ordinary working day", it's no wonder I've been asked to provide oversight.

CPT. Glass

(to Smith)

What did you do?

SMITH

Exactly what I said I would do. Exactly what you asked me to do. An ordinary assignment.

CPT. GLASS

And you explained it to her?

(to Doughty)

He explained it to you before?

SMITH

(simultaneous)

Yes!

MS. DOUGHTY

(simultaneous)

No!

Both Cpt. Glass and Ms. Doughty glare at Smith.

SMITH

--No, not entirely. I went over the basics.

Cpt. Glass rubs her temples and sighs.

CPT. GlASS

All right. Tell me.

SMITH

So it--

CPT. GLASS

--and sit down. You make me nervous, people standing in my office.

Smith and Ms. Doughty take seats. Cpt. Glass moves some papers aside and returns to her chair.

CPT. GLASS

(to Doughty)

Can I get you some water?

MS. DOUGHTY

Yes, please.

CPT. GLASS

Smith, pour the lady some water. And start explaining.

Smith stands up again, walks over to a water cooler in the corner, and grabs a cup from beside it. As he pours, he starts explaining.

SMITH

Like I said, it was an ordinary assignment, something quick like you asked. Billy just finished the puzzle on a little push, and he thought it would be perfect for taking her along.

CPT. GLASS

Hold on, back up.

(to Doughty)

Did you actually get that?

Ms. Doughty takes the cup of water offered by Smith, but shakes her head.

CPT. GLASS

So say it again, but this time actually explain it.

Smith just stares at her sullenly.

CPT. GLASS

Fine, I will.

(to Doughty)

Billy's an events researcher, a kind of historian who can check his answers in the back of the book. He knows more about what really went on in the 20th Century than the three of us combined.

MS. DOUGHTY

Not to malign your staff, but is that really so difficult? It's not exactly ancient history.

CPT. GLASS

Let me put it this way. Do you know what JFK had for breakfast the morning he died? How about the exact number of people on the south side of the parade route?

Ms. Doughty shakes her head again.

CPT. GLASS

Billy knows, because it's his business to know. Was, at least. That file's closed and he's moved on to other things.

MS. DOUGHTY

But why? Who does it help?

CPT. GLASS

That's also Billy's business. He's different from your usual historian in another way; he figures out where and when history needs... a little nudge.

MS. DOUGHTY

A nudge.

CPT. GLASS

Here and there, yes.

MS. DOUGHTY

What kind of nudge?

CPT. GLASS

Like what you just saw today.

MS. DOUGHTY

That was a nudge? I'd call it a brawl.

Cpt. Glass smiles and turns back to Smith, who has taken his seat again.

CPT. GLASS

This is the part where you come in.

SMITH

Right. Billy figures out what I need to do, then I go and do what he tells me I did.

MS. DOUGHTY

What?

SMITH

(deliberately slowly)

Billy discovered a simple change to history I needed to perform... one in 1985. He got the details from the police reports, plus a first-person account from the mayor's memoir. That's what he does.

CPT. GLASS

(reading from the report on her desk)

Gutierrez wrote about how getting arrested changed his life, forced him to think about what he was doing. If he had gone through with the mugging, who knows where he would have ended up?

MS. DOUGHTY

But... who gave you the right to make that choice for him? What happened to the things he did instead of being the mayor? What happened to the other mayor, for one?

CPT. GLASS

There was no other mayor.

MS. DOUGHTY

Then what exactly did you change?

SMITH

Nothing. I made sure it happened just as it should have.

MS. DOUGHTY

Then why did you need to be there in the first place? Why is there an agency with historians, costumes, full-pension field agents and a power bill the size of the national debt?

SMITH

Because history says I was there. No one else could have done what I did, so I had to be there to do it.

CPT. GLASS

And we had to be here to send him.

MS. DOUGHTY

But that's...

CPT. GLASS

Fate?

SMITH

Destiny?

CPT. GLASS

History?

MS. DOUGHTY

...insane!

CPT. GLASS

Welcome to the my job. Try not to think about it too hard, it'll just give you a headache.

Ms. Doughty makes a little strangled sound of frustration.

CPT. GLASS

I know it's hard to swallow, but this is one you just have to accept. Trust me, I've been wrestling with it for over 30 years now.

Ms. DOUGHTY

You're asking me to just accept this on faith, but it's my job to oversee what you're doing, the decisions you're making. How can I possibly do that if it can't be questioned? Do I go back to Senator Grey and tell her, "The budget is determined by destiny?"

CPT. GLASS

Look, you saw how it works with your own eyes. I can give you a file full of historical research, interviews, computer simulations, and the personnel files of everyone who worked on them. We have that for every operation since the beginning, including this one.

Cpt. Glass picks up a folder from her desk and waves it at a point outside the door.

CPT. GLASS

There's a whole shelf full of technical manuals for operating the Door, which is something this department has been doing since the Roosevelt administration. In fact, we submit the whole shebang every year, to the Pentagon, the OMB, the NSF, and anyone else who cares to look through it. Our budget is small, it doesn't change much from year to year, and we've never gone over in the history of the department. So what exactly do you want that we're not giving you?

Ms. DOUGHTY

I'm sorry, it's just a little... hard to swallow. All this effort, all this work, all this money going into not changing anything?

SMITH

That's not so unusual. We send the border patrol out to make sure no one gets in, we send the police out to make sure crime doesn't happen, and we send cleaners out to the Washington Monument to make sure it stays the same year after year. How is this any different?

MS. DOUGHTY

I'll tell you how. We know what happens when they don't do those things. The monument gets dirty, the crimes happen. Those people are protecting us from a real threat. What happens when you don't do your job?

Smith and Cpt. Glass share a look. Neither one speaks for a few moments.

MS. DOUGHTY

Well?

CPT. GLASS

In this case, we don't get to ask that question.

MS. DOUGHTY

I see. And doesn't that strike you as a little convenient?

CPT. GLASS

Frankly, yes. But do you want to be the one to take your finger out of the dike?

MS. DOUGHTY

What do you mean?

CPT. GLASS

We can't know exactly what'll happen, but the guys with the computer models have a pretty good idea. If we don't do what history says we did, then it all starts unravelling.

MS. DOUGHTY

What starts unravelling?

CPT. GLASS

History.

MS. DOUGHTY

A city gets a different mayor?

SMITH

A prison gets a new inmate.

CPT. GLASS

...that other mayor builds a ballpark instead of a library. A kid chooses to play baseball instead of curing cancer. A cancer patient dies instead of leading the UN. Who knows what all would change?

MS. DOUGHTY

But who gave you the right to choose?

SMITH

We don't choose! We do what history says we've done.

MS. DOUGHTY

And if history says you bombed Pearl Harbor, or shot JFK?

Smith looks down at the floor. Cpt. Glass stands up suddenly.

CPT. GLASS

Then we make sure we send someone who'll do the job, and not second-guess.

Smith looks up at Cpt. Glass again. Ms. Doughty looks back and forth between the two, making the connection.

MS. DOUGHTY

Are you telling me--

CPT. GLASS

I think we're done here. Smith, thanks. Get that suit back to costumes. I'll stop by your office in half an hour.

Smith stands up and walks out of the office.

INT. SMITH'S OFFICE - NIGHT

Smith sits at his desk, reading a file by the light of an old-fashioned banker's lamp. He's back in his usual clothes, a short-sleeve button-down shirt and jeans.

His office is a bit smaller than the Captain's, and a whole lot tidier. A few files are stacked neatly on his desk, alongside a couple of books, a pair of 50s-era sunglasses, and a current-year cell phone. The PENDANT hangs from the lamp and sparkles a little. The walls of the office have a few small posters of films and events from 50s and 60s, including one of "Rebel Without a Cause". A photo of a pre-Marilyn Norma Jean sits on a battered filing cabinet.

There's a knock on the door, and Smith looks up. Cpt. Glass stands in the doorway with a kindly expression.

CPT. GLASS

It took longer than half an hour.

SMITH

How'd it go?

The Captain walks in and takes a seat. She's obviously exhausted. In a hackneyed script, she'd say something like, "I'm getting too old for this."

CPT. GLASS

I'm getting too old for this.

SMITH

Fast friends?

CPT. GLASS

Oh, the best.

(laughs)

I think I got her to stop talking about shutting us down immediately. Still, I doubt she'll give us a glowing review.

SMITH

Sorry about that.

CPT. GLASS

Not your fault. We'll just have to trust that history will take care of us.

SMITH

As usual.

CPT. GLASS

As usual.

(pauses)

How are you?

SMITH

Fine. Why?

CPT. GLASS

I saw your next assignment.

Look, Smith, I can't say I know why you're always the one to get those...

SMITH

deathwatch cases?

CPT. GLASS

Yes, the deathwatch cases. But I have to say I wouldn't choose any differently.

Really, Smith, you do this job better than anyone I've ever seen. Better than I ever did.

SMITH

Thanks. You know it isn't necessary.

CPT. GLASS

Oh, I think it is. History may say you've done all these things before, but I know what can happen when an agent screws it up.

SMITH

What?

CPT. GLASS

Oh, not enough to do any harm. But I remember a few people who came back after some real close shaves. I had one myself, early on.

SMITH

Really?

CPT. GLASS

Don't look so shocked. Not everyone has your perfect record. It wasn't anything crucial, I just bumped into the wrong man on what was supposed to be a five-minute assignment. Took me three days to steal the wallet he was supposed to drop. Just barely got it to the girl who was supposed to find it before the lottery numbers were announced.

SMITH

I had no idea.

CPT. GLASS

I was saving it up to tell you after your first close call. I just didn't think it would take ten years.

SMITH

Close call? I didn't...

CPT. GLASS

I'm not talking about the mayor, Smith.

SMITH

(looks down at the desk)

That one went off without a hitch.

CPT. GLASS

Oh, you got the job done. We all know that. But don't pretend you haven't been changed by it.

SMITH

It was no different from any other assignment--

CPT. GLASS

--except this time you pulled the trigger.

SMITH pauses, his face darkening.

SMITH

Not the only trigger.

CPT. GLASS

No, but the one that mattered. Otherwise you wouldn't have been there. Even though we don't know why.

SMITH

I don't ask why.

CPT. GLASS

No. I guess you don't. But you'll tell me if you start, right?

Smith says nothing. He just stares at the Captain.

CPT. GLASS

Smith, I want to you take that vacation.

SMITH

But... There's just one more to do before then.

CPT. GLASS

It'll keep. Billy says he has a nice trip lined up for you.

SMITH

Yeah, it'll be great. I just...

CPT. GLASS

I just need to know you'll be all here when you get back. Take your two weeks, and deal with something other than death. Go be innocent for a while.

SMITH

All right.

INT. RESEARCH OFFICE - DAY

The research office is a bit less busy than the changing room, but it makes up for it in sheer piled-up mess. The place looks like an archive collided with a fashion retrospective and a natural history museum, then the combined mess was attacked by space aliens. Computers from different eras sit here and there, the largest against the walls and the most advanced-looking ones on desks. A set of still images from the Zapruder film hang off a string, drying-photograph style. Filing cabinets are topped with historical artifacts, more files, office toys, and a model of the TARDIS.

Among the half-dozen desks in the room, Billy's desk is the most prominent, piled high with paper files overflowing onto a current-year Macintosh. A futuristic machine the size of a filing cabinet sits next to his desk. A sheet of paper has been taped to the front with the words "OUT OF ORDER, SEE BILLY" scrawled on it in Sharpie.

Smith stands next to Billy, who is seated at his desk. Billy hands him a fat folder.

BILLY

I don't even think you'll need a costume, Mister Vintage.

SMITH

Nope. It's like going home for spring break.

BILLY

Except you're supposed to have fun on spring break. You are going to have fun, right?

SMITH

(opening the folder)

You should know, Billy. Isn't there a high statistical correlation between me staying on a college campus and the simultaneous occurrence of fun?

BILLY

Are you accusing me of forcing co-eds on you?

SMITH

BILLY

Come on, Smith. You know better than that. I can't plan what history doesn't record, and this is as blank as spot as you can get around that time. What happens at Berkeley stays at Berkeley.

Smith picks up a photocopied leaflet from the folder. It's the kind of thing you'd see at a college campus advertising a poetry reading.

SMITH

(indicating the leaflet)

Ginsberg?

Billy smiles broadly.

BILLY

I'm particularly proud of that. Found that in an obscure archive, but there's no mention of what happened at the reading or who might have been there. Happy birthday.

SMITH

Thanks. That's... Are you sure it'll be okay?

BILLY

It's fine. Like I said, no record. No matter what you do, it doesn't affect him one bit. So enjoy it.

SMITH

I will.

EXT. Berkeley Campus - DAY

University of California campus, very early 1960s, before the San Francisco Renaissance. Students lounge in pairs and groups on the grounds, or walk together or alone. It's late afternoon, and the feel of the place is relaxation and recreation.

Smith walks along, dressed in his usual shirt, jeans, with the addition of sunglasses and a leather jacket, both appropriate to the period (if only just). His hair is still unfashionably unkempt, and the TIME PENDANT is visible around his neck.

Smith stops in front of the entrance to a building. He takes a copy of the poetry reading flyer out of his jacket and consults it, then looks up at the building facade before deciding to go in.

INT. Student Union - Day

The chairs of the well-lit student union building (figure out a better venue) have been arranged loosely around a small table and barstool. Sitting on the barstool is Allen Ginsberg, beat poet. He is chatting happily with the Reading Organizer and a Student, both of whom find what he is saying fascinating. Perhaps half of the chairs are occupied by other students, including Heather O'Reilly and her friends Janet and Meg, all chatting animatedly.

Smith hangs back for a few moments, looking over the scene with a frown. He's uneasy about being here, steeling himself for something that is supposed to be enjoyable. Finally, the organizer claps his hands for attention and smiles at the assembled group.

Organizer

If we could all get started... Everyone take your seats.

JANET

(to Heather)

Really?!? Oh, wow!

MEG

(to Heather)

I don't believe it!

The organizer claps again. The room quiets a little, and Smith takes a seat in the back row behind Heather. Janet and Meg shift to animated whispers and lean in closer to her, who has shifted her attention to Ginsberg.

GINSBERG

Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on...

JANET

(V.O. whisper)

Don't be coy with us, Heather. I want details!

MEG

(V.O. whisper)

Yeah, Heather, you can't just tell us that and leave it there.

JANET

Yeah, we have a right to know.

MEG

We wouldn't keep it from you!

JANET

Let's go over to the skeller anyway.

MEG

Yeah, I--

Smith leans forward suddenly, his lips inches from Heather's ear.

SMITH

I hate to have a poetry reading in the middle of your conversation, but I've come a long way to hear this.

All three women jump in their seats and turn around. Heather's eyes meet Smith's for a moment.

Heather

(whispering)

Sorry.

Her friends smile sweetly at Smith. He nods to the three of them and sits back in his chair as they turn around.

GINSBERG

the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.

Smith sits up straighter, his eyes bright as he concentrates on what Ginsberg is saying. In front of him, Heather has a similar expression on her face, while Janet looks sullen and Meg stares off into space.

GINSBERG

(V.O.)

Is he that good and kind? Am I that
great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.

EXT. BERKELEY CAMPUS - NIGHT

Smith walks away from the student union building. Heather appears at the doorway, looks around for him, and waves to get his attention.

HEATHER

Wait!

Smith doesn't hear, so she runs after him, continuing to shout.

HEATHER

Wait! You in the jacket... Hey!

Smith turns around, finally hearing her calls. He frowns as she walks up to him, a little out of breath.

HEATHER

I just wanted to say... I'm sorry.

SMITH

To me?

HEATHER

Well, I already apologized to him. He's a really nice man.

The two look back at the doorway of the student union, where Ginsberg still stands talking with a crowd of students. Janet and Meg stand a bit apart from the group, looking dolefully at Heather.

SMITH

He's a great poet.

Heather

I'll say! I hadn't read much of his before tonight. But that one about death being "that remedy all singers dream of." Wow!

(shakes her head)

"Dreaming back thru life, Your time--"

SMITH

"Your time-- and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse, the final moment..."

HEATHER

Yeah.

And "T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me." That cut deep.

She looks in his eyes.

That's why I had to apologize. To you, not just to him. I was... ashamed.

SMITH

It's alright.

HEATHER

If it helps, I didn't ask them to come. Well, I did originally, but they weren't going to. The only reason they came at all was to...

She trails off as she looks at Smith's face again. He's obviously paying attention, but she looks as though she's decided not to share so much right away.

HEATHER

Well anyway, I'm sorry.

SMITH

That's alright.

HEATHER

And I'm Heather.

SMITH

That's alright, Heather.

Heather looks at the ground uncomfortably while Smith just stares at her.

HEATHER

Anyway, would you, um...

I should...

A light finally dawns in Smith's face. He smiles.

SMITH

Would you like to get a... a pizza or something?

Heather smiles widely and nods.

HEATHER

That would be great! I'd love to talk some more.

SMITH

Great.

HEATHER

Let me just get Meg and Janet.

Smith looks a bit at a loss.

Heather

My friends! Just a second.

Heather runs off to tell Janet and Meg, who shrug and look at Smith suspiciously.

INT. PIZZA PARLOR - NIGHT

Smith and Heather sit across from each other, barely-touched slices of pizza and glasses of beer between them. Janet sits next to Smith, her head drooping as she stares blankly at Meg over their empty plates.

The pizza parlor is nearly empty, indicating that it's really late at night (even for college students). A couple exits out the front doors, leaving the four alone with the wait staff.

HEATHER

I don't know, it's like there's this giant gulf between what I'm learning in class and what's happening out there--

(waving hand at doors)

like the professors can't even catch up to what's really going on.

SMITH

That's because they can't! You can't expect them to be teaching Ginsberg in an American Lit class only a few years after his seminal work is published.

HEATHER

But why?!?

SMITH

He's counterculture! He's practically the embodiment of counterculture. Everything he stands for, everything he says flies in the face of what your teachers are telling you right now.

HEATHER

What good are they, then?

SMITH

They give you everything else you need to learn in order to get what he's saying at all. He didn't write in a vacuum, he's a product of his times, just like you are. Just reading Ginsberg is like skipping to the end of a mystery novel.

In this case it's more like skipping to the middle, but...

Smith looks up and realizes where (and when) he is. He stops talking abruptly.

Heather

I don't see how the one is connected to the other at all. I think he's a genius. I think--

JANET

I think they want us to go.

MEG

Yeah, can we go now?

Smith stands up, a little stiffly.

SMITH

You're right. I didn't realize how late it was getting.

Heather

Oh. All right.

(to Meg)

Yeah, we can go.

(to Smith)

Do you mind walking us back? It isn't that far...

Janet and Meg both sigh loudly, but Heather just shoots them a look.

SMITH

No-- I have to get back too.

HEATHER

Oh, okay.

SMITH

Look, it was nice... really nice to talk to you.

HEATHER

Yeah, likewise.

Smith starts to leave, but Heather grabs a pen and notepad from the counter, runs after him and catches up in the doorway.

HEATHER

Hey!

Smith stops and turns around. Heather scribbles on the pad, tears off the top sheet and gives it to him.

HEATHER

Call me sometime. Heather O'Reilly. Just ask anyone who answers to get me.

Okay?

SMITH

Okay.

EXT. Berkeley Campus - DAY

It's the part we've been waiting for, the montage of LURVE. It's the cinematic equivalent of hand-waving, that sequence of scenes with no dialogue and only the vaguest hints of specific actions.

At the same time, it's seriously effective. A bit of laughter here, an animated conversation there, a walk in the park, a late-night dinner where nothing actually gets eaten. It's a summary of the long, generally boring process SMITH and HEATHER go through as they slowly but surely fall in love.

Well, not that slowly. He's only there for a couple of weeks, so it's not like they've had months to get to know each other. Still.

INT. Pizza Parlor - DAY

Smith sits across from Heather at the same table they shared earlier. This time they're alone, or as alone as one gets in a busy college restaurant. Students continually file in and out of the place, and a continuous murmur of conversation goes on in the background.

None of this seems to touch these two. They sit grinning at each other, oblivious to their surroundings.

HEATHER

Who are you, anyway?

SMITH

What? Do I have to introduce myself again?

HEATHER

No, I mean... You know everything about me, not that there's a lot to tell. We've been friends for a week and all I know about you is that you don't go to Berkeley and you like beat poetry.

SMITH

It's been a week?

Smith looks thoughtful for a second.

HEATHER

Don't try to dodge the question, Charles Smith. I really want to know.

SMITH

Okay. What do you want to know? I can't promise it'll be interesting.

HEATHER

Do you go to college?

SMITH

No. I work.

HEATHER

Where do you work?

SMITH

I work for the government.

HEATHER

Oh! Anything exciting?

SMITH

Not really. I'm a field agent.

HEATHER

That does sound exciting!

SMITH

You haven't been in a field lately.

HEATHER

You're teasing. Anyway, I grew up on a farm. I know all about fields.

SMITH

Really? I didn't know that. What kind of farm?

HEATHER

Don't change the subject. We were talking about you.

SMITH

Just making the point that I don't know everything about you.

HEATHER

You know everything about me that it's fantastically boring. Here I'm just finding out you're a government spy.

SMITH

I'm not a spy!

HEATHER

Oh really?

(ticks off on her fingers)

A mysterious stranger, in town for no reason, wears dark glasses, works for the government as a "field agent"...

Sounds like a G-man to me.

SMITH

No, can't be. G-men wear suits.

HEATHER

Ah, but you're a spy. Have to blend in with your...

(waves at the room)

whoever you're spying on.

SMITH

I could pick someone better to spy on than beat poets.

HEATHER

Even spies have interests.

They laugh.

SMITH

Seriously, not a spy. I'd be lousy at it. I always lost at hide and seek.

They laugh again, letting it go until they've run out.

HEATHER

What do you do for the government, then?

SMITH

I'm just an observer, really. Kind of an... applied historian.

HEATHER

Hm. Who do you work for?

SMITH

The Bureau of Historical Affairs and Management.

Heather pauses at this, looking skeptically at Smith as though to test whether he's kidding.

HEATHER

Okay, you're right. That is boring.

SMITH

Thanks.

Smith laughs. Heather blushes a little.

HEATHER

I'm sorry, it's just...

(laughing along with Smith)

you should have gone with spy.

SMITH

Yeah, I'll just go with that next time.

HEATHER

Really. Yes. Wow.

How do you even get into something like that?

SMITH

I was recruited.

HEATHER

Really?

SMITH

Yeah, right out of high school.

HEATHER

Wow. Like a football team.

SMITH

Yeah.

Except boring.

HEATHER

Right. Well, when I get my degree, I'll have to look them up. Do they hire English majors?

They laugh again.

SMITH

They only recruit. I don't think they accept applications.

HEATHER

Oh, now you're just trying to be mysterious.

SMITH

No, really! The way it works...

DIRK (O.S)

Hi, Heather!

Heather startles and looks up at Dirk, who stands at the end of the table. He's a student Heather's age, taller than Smith and athletic in a kind of gawky way. He looks at Heather with warm admiration, but shoots a sidelong glance at Smith as well.

HEATHER

Uh, Dirk!

There's an awkward pause. Smith raises his eyebrows at Heather, Dirk continues to look back and forth between Heather and Smith, and Heather is at a total loss.

HEATHER

I...

DIRK

I haven't seen you around much lately. Been busy?

Dirk gives Smith another pointed look.

HEATHER

I...

Heather looks helplessly at Smith, who sticks his hand out at Dirk.

SMITH

Charles Smith. And you are...

HEATHER

Dirk! This is Charles, my... friend. From. Charles, this is my... friend... Dirk.

SMITH

Nice to finally meet you, Dirk.

DIRK

Finally? Have you been... How long have...

SMITH

I've actually just been visiting for a few days. Heather's been nice enough to show me around.

HEATHER

Yes. Charles is a spy.

Heather looks surprised at her own words. Smith smirks a little as Dirk's head whips around in amazement.

DIRK

Really?

SMITH

No, not really. I'm on vacation. My real job is too dull to be believed, so I pretend to be a spy.

DIRK

Oh. Yeah. Well.

Smith offers Dirk a seat next to Heather.

SMITH

Care to join us? We were just talking about what Heather's going to do after she graduates.

DIRK

Thanks.

Dirk sits down eagerly, but Heather frowns at him. Smith continues, a little bit of forced joviality in his voice.

SMITH

So Heather mentioned she's an English major. What's your major, Dirk?

DIRK

Uh, political science.

SMITH

Aha. Going into law, or international relations?

DIRK

I don't know, really. I thought about being a lawyer, but I might want to go into business. My dad's an accountant, and he's always after me to join his firm. You know, father and son.

SMITH

Uh-huh. How about you, Heather?

Heather frowns again, this time at Smith.

HEATHER

What? I... I haven't really thought about it.

DIRK

Probably depends on if you get married first.

Heather looks sharply at Dirk.

HEATHER

What do you mean by that?

DIRK

I just... You said... When we talked about... You said you'd probably end up married before you even had to choose.

HEATHER

Yes, but I wasn't happy about it!

Dirk frowns, confused. Smith smiles at him.

SMITH

That's all right, I'm sure you just got confused.

(turning to Heather)

Besides, you can do a lot with an English degree. Teaching, law, politics...

DIRK

Politics?

HEATHER

(simultaneously)

Politics?

SMITH

... activism, that kind of thing. And there's always writing. Poetry, manifestoes, rabble-rousing. Even songs.

They both just stare ate him, mouths agape.

SMITH

It's not the kind of thing you'd do right now, granted, but you're getting into some interesting times. Civil rights, labor unions, communes, sending men to the moon... It's heady stuff. Someone has to write about it all. Why not you?

DIRK

What do you do again?

SMITH

I write a little history myself sometimes. Most people get bored, but there's something to be said for knowing your history.

EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS - DAY

Smith walks away from the pizza parlor, a pained look on his face. Heather runs after him and calls to him.

HEATHER

Charles!

Smith stops and turns around. His face is calm and cheerful again by the time she sees it.

HEATHER

I'm sorry about that. God, I always seem to be chasing after you to apologize for my friends.

She shows him a happy smile, but he barely returns it. Heather's smile fades.

HEATHER

I should have told you about Dirk. I'm sorry. It's just... he really is just my friend. I know he'd like it to be more than that, but we really are just friends.

SMITH

It's all right. He's a good guy. You could do worse than be with him.

HEATHER

Just. Friends.

(looking him in the eye)

Really.

SMITH

Okay.

Heather moves closer to Smith and touches the front of his shirt.

HEATHER

You, on the other hand, Mr. Mysterious Spy from the Department of Dull...

She takes his collar between her fingers and pulls him gently toward herself. Despite his mild astonishment, she kisses him quickly on the mouth.

A moment passes, and his face melts into an honestly happy smile. Hers does as well, and they kiss for a bit longer.

EXT. SOMEWHERE PRETTY - DAY

Smith and Heather sit, holding hands and gazing out at the sunset over {some kinda landmark or sight}. Heather's expression is content and happy, but Smith stares straight ahead with a troubled look.

SMITH

It's beautiful.

This causes Heather to look up at his face. For some unseen reason, her face falls and she stares out with the same melancholy expression as Smith.

HEATHER

You leave tomorrow, don't you.

SMITH

Yes. First thing.

They continue to stare.

HEATHER

Will you write?

Smith pauses, as though considering the possibility. His expression becomes resolute.

SMITH

No.

Tears form in Heather's eyes, and she grips his hand tighter.

HEATHER

Can you at least tell me why?

His expression becomes pained at the sound of her sadness, but he continues to stare.

SMITH

No.

They watch as the sun sets.

INT. Changing Room - DAY

Smith sits on a bench amid the hubbub of the changing room, looking a little forlorn. It's that "first day back on the job" look; it's obvious that he'd rather be on vacation still. He's half-dressed in a terrible business suit from the early 1970s, but the jacket and tie are still hanging from a hanger on the hook in front of him. A file folder sits next to him, the same "deathwatch job" file folder he was given before he left on vacation.

BILLY

It's another one, isn't it?

SMITH

What?

(glances at the file)

Oh, right.

Billy picks up the file, opens it, and reads down the first page.

BILLY

At least you don't have to actually witness anything. Just check into the hotel, wait till 10:48, and call the police with this script.

SMITH

Yup.

BILLY

Police show up, they find the body in 303, you give a statement, you're out of there.

SMITH

I know, Billy.

Smith still sits on the bench, staring at the suit on its hanger.

BILLY

You know we don't choose to give you these, right?

SMITH

No, I understand.

BILLY

--'cause it's not something anyone chooses. The hotel registry says Charles Smith was there, so we send Smith.

(shrugs)

Hey, if it was my name we found, I'd go.

Smith gives Billy a rueful smirk.

SMITH

Is it ever your name?

BILLY

No.

Billy sighs as he looks toward the Door end of the room.

BILLY

They don't let me go at all. "He who learns from history is doomed not to repeat it." Stupid timeline.

Smith laughs, visibly cheered from his earlier funk. He picks up the suit jacket, then makes a face at it.

SMITH

Ugh. I don't mind a deathwatch job nearly as much as I mind this suit.

Billy laughs.

BILLY

I'm sorry, man. I know it feels like you're being singled out. To tell the truth, though, I can see why you're always the one to go.

SMITH

Why?

BILLY

Because you always come back. I totally can't imagine anyone doing these jobs as well as you do.

Smith gives Billy a puzzled look, then shakes his head and gets back to tying his tie.

SMITH

Look, it's simple. I do the job because I did the job. There's not really anything to mess up.

Smith finishes tying the tie. Billy grins at him.

BILLY

That's the Smith I know. Go get 'em.

EXT. CITY - DAY

Washington, DC. The nation's capital. Land of politics, seat of government, and all that jazz. This is Washington in the early 70s, a much grittier and pragmatic place than Berkeley was.

Smith walks down the street in the terrible suit, carrying a small black soft-sided overnight bag. He turns and walks through the revolving doors of an upscale but middle-class hotel.

INT. HOTEL LOBBY - DAY

The lobby of this hotel is buzzing with business types of both sexes and all descriptions. It looks like a convention is in town, but it's just as likely they're all part of the political machine.

Most of these people are either going in and out of the hotel, or milling about and chatting with each other, so Smith easily weaves his way through them and goes up to the check-in counter. A Clerk looks up from her paperwork and addresses him.

CLERK

Can I help you, sir?

SMITH

I'd like a room for tonight. Third floor preferred.

CLERK

Do you have a reservation?

SMITH

No, I don't.

CLERK

I'm sorry, sir, we're all full for tonight. You might try the Hyatt.

SMITH

Are you sure? Nothing available at all? I'll just need it for the one night.

CLERK

I'm sorry, sir. We've been booked for weeks due to the convention.

SMITH

I understand. Can you just check, though? Humor me.

Smith gives the Clerk a big grin and she relents.

CLERK

Just one second, then. I'll take a look.

The Clerk goes over to a wall full of cubbyholes for keys, and Smith turns around to survey the lobby. His face shows no trepidation at all, no doubt that he'll get what he asked for. The Clerk returns a moment later.

CLERK

Well, aren't you the lucky one? There was just a cancellation.

SMITH

It never hurts to ask.

CLERK

Room 301. It's a suite; will that be OK?

SMITH

That'll be just fine.

CLERK

All right then.

The Clerk starts filling in a guestbook.

CLERK

Your name?

SMITH

Charles Smith.

She writes the name in the book with a bit of a smirk.

CLERK

Okay, Mr... Smith, if you'll just sign here...

INT. Hotel Room 301 - Day

Room 301 is an ordinary hotel room of the time, loud curtains and other fabrics in colors that never should have been approved for human use. This one has a sitting room off the bedroom, the two separated by a louvered set of folding doors. A CLOCK sits prominently on the dresser. (The clock could be one of those with flip-down numbers, which would provide a clear readout and a way to audibly "click" to emphasize what time it was.)

Smith drops his bag on the bed, then looks at himself in the room's mirror. He winces once again at the terrible suit and tie. He checks the time on the clock. It's 4:48.

He sits on the edge of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. It's obvious he has nothing to do.

INT. Hotel Bathroom - Day

Smith, jacket and tie removed again, splashes water over his face. He looks in the bathroom mirror for a few moments, then sighs.

INT. Hotel Room 301 - Day

Smith sits down in one of the sitting room's armchairs, a careworn copy of HOWL in his hand. He starts reading the book at a bookmarked spot in the middle, but then looks up at the clock almost immediately. It's 5:11.

Smith sighs, puts the book down, and jumps out of the chair.

INT. Hotel Lobby - DAY

The lobby seems to have cleared out a little since we last saw it. Smith walks out of the elevator, jacket and tie back in place. He strides up to the same Clerk at the front desk and catches her attention.

SMITH

Do you have any recommendations for where I might get a bite to eat?

CLERK

I could, yes. What are you in the mood for?

Smith pauses, thinking about it.

SMITH

I don't know. Italian? Is there good Italian around here?

CLERK

Absolutely. It's right down the street.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Smith walks out of the hotel and steps up to the curb. He cranes his neck and peers down the street, looking for a taxi. Standing next to him and doing almost the exact same thing is Heather, now a decade older and considerably more worldly. She's wearing a casual, stylish outfit, the kind of thing that wouldn't look out of place on an upwardly-mobile feminist of the era.

Heather does a double-take. Her jaw drops as she recognizes Smith.

HEATHER

Is that... Charles Smith?

Smith's head whips around at the sound of her voice. He's floored, completely surprised to see her. He says nothing, just stares at her for a few seconds with a look of utter astonishment. Heather's expression grows more dubious.

HEATHER

Aren't you going to say something? It's Heather. Heather O'Reilly.

SMITH

I know. Heather... I'm just... surprised. What are you...

Heather frowns, and Smith snaps out of it long enough to catch himself.

SMITH

...doing for dinner?

Now it's her turn to be taken aback.

HEATHER

Oh! I was... just going to meet a friend for dinner.

SMITH

Oh.

A cab pulls up in front of them. Heather opens the door, then pauses and turns around to Smith again.

HEATHER

Would you like to come along?

SMITH

(simultaneously)

Yes.

INT. RESTAURANT - DAY

Heather and Smith walk into the restaurant, a classic Americanized Italian place with dribbly candles, checkered tablecloths, photos of famous visitors on the walls, the works.

Heather peers into the gloom, then spots someone and waves.

HEATHER

Dirk!

(to Smith)

Actually, you might remember him. We went to school together.

They walk together to the table where Dirk is standing. On the way, Smith leans in toward Heather.

SMITH

So are you two...

HEATHER

No! Not that it's any business of yours.

Dirk and Heather embrace warmly. Dirk is also a decade older, dressed in an expensive, stylish business suit and tie, with hair that's a bit long (but probably fashionably so). Dirk turns to Smith and holds out his hand.

DIRK

Hi, I'm Dirk. Heather didn't mention she was bringing company.

HEATHER

It's Charles Smith, Dirk. I ran into him outside the hotel.

Dirk's expression is blank. He doesn't seem to be placing the name. He peers at Smith's face more closely.

DIRK

Charles...

SMITH

Smith. We met briefly at Berkeley. Back in '62.

Dirk's eyes widen with surprise.

DIRK

That is a blast from the past. Well, well. What brings you to Washington? Or do you live here?

SMITH

Just passing through, actually. I leave tomorrow morning.

Relief shows through the magnanimous facade on Dirk's face. He waves a hand at the table.

DIRK

Well, you're more than welcome to join us. Unless...

He looks critically at Heather, as though weighing options.

HEATHER

What?

DIRK

I was just thinking we might do this another night. You and I, that is. I don't want to get in the way of you two catching up.

HEATHER

(simultaneous)

No, really, that's not--

SMITH

(simultaneous)

No, I don't--

DIRK

It's all right, Heather. I insist. You're here for a week, so we'll have plenty of time to get together. Smith's here for one night. Take advantage of it.

He embraces Heather again.

HEATHER

Thanks, Dirk.

DIRK

Not at all.

(to Smith)

Take good care of her.

Dirk leaves. Smith indicates a seat to Heather, and she sits down. He sits down across from her and picks up a menu. He's regained his composure a bit, and he smiles at her over the top of the menu.

SMITH

Should we share a pizza?

HEATHER

No, I'd rather...

She looks up at him sharply, picking up on his reference. Her eyes narrow and she looks more closely at his face in the dribble candlelight. She looks puzzled for a moment, then frowns.

HEATHER

You haven't changed a bit.

SMITH

Thanks.

HEATHER

No, it wasn't a compliment.

Heather puts down her menu and stares at him angrily.

HEATHER

You really haven't changed. Swooping in like not a day has passed since--

SMITH

Swooping? There was no swooping! You invited me to come along, I was just--

HEATHER

Ten years, Charles! I've moved on! In fact, I've moved on so many times I'm ready to move back!

Heather and Smith both pause for a second.

SMITH

What?

HEATHER

Not to you, I... I don't know what that means. I just mean it's been a really long time... I hurt for a very long time, and I looked all over for...

She looks into his eyes. He shows surprise.

SMITH

For me?

HEather

No! Not for you. For me. That woman you told me about back in college, the one who had a life full of promise and opportunity ahead of her. The places I looked... Berkeley, San Francisco, India, Cambodia, Mexico...

(she sighs)

Washington...

SMITH

And did you find her?

HEATHER

No. I found a world, a real world. Corruption, and heartache, and death. And I found there wasn't some special place in it for me, no shining path for me to follow to adventure and enlightenment.

SMITH

So is that why you're here?

HEATHER

Dirk works at a firm that handles some really big government contracts. He's been asking me to visit him for years, writing me all about his climb up the corporate ladder.

(shakes her head)

He's been moving forward while I've just been... moving.

SMITH

Wow.

HEATHER

So forgive me if I'm not excited about going back to the good old days.

The Waiter arrives. Smith continues to stare at Heather, even while she orders.

WAITER

What can I get you tonight?

HEATHER

I'll have the spinach lasagna and a side salad, thanks.

WAITER

And you, sir?

SMITH

What? Oh. The eggplant.

WAITER

Would you like any wine?

HEATHER

Yes.

SMITH

Yes, please.

The Waiter leaves and they sit awkwardly for a moment.

HEATHER

So what brings you to Washington? Business?

SMITH

Yes.

HEATHER

What do you do these days? Still working for the government?

SMITH

Yes.

HEATHER

That same department? Historical...

SMITH

Office of Historical Affairs, right. Just a quick assignment here, then I'm headed back home.

Heather gives him an incredulous look.

HEATHER

You really are a spy, aren't you.

SMITH

I'm not, no. I'm just--

HEATHER

No, don't bother. I remember the lines. I actually convinced myself you were when you left; it made it easier to think you had gone because you had to, because your mysterious and important job had to come first.

Smith just stares in response.

HEATHER

Then I figured you were just a jerk on vacation, telling me a pack of lies so I wouldn't question it when you up and left after two weeks. I figured you must have really been a head case to come up with something so detailed and consistent, but when I thought back on it you really didn't tell me much of anything, did you?

SMITH

It wasn't either one of those things.

The Waiter arrives with food, and Heather gives Smith an appraising look. She smirks.

HEATHER

No, I guess you weren't.

SMITH

You believe me?

HEATHER

Well...

(she smiles)

No real spy would have wear such a terrible suit.

Smith goggles, then bursts out laughing. Heather laughs even harder.

SMITH

I could be under cover...

Heather

No, not even under cover.

INT. ITALIAN REstaurant - Night

Smith and Heather chat amiably, empty dessert plates and wine glasses between them on the table.

SMITH

So you were there? The People's Park protests?

HEATHER

Yup. It wasn't really as exciting as the news made it out to be.

SMITH

Oh, come on.

Heather

No, mostly we just sat there until someone agreed to pay attention to what we were saying. We held firm. Stuck together.

Heather gets a wistful look in her eye, but it's quickly replaced by something hard and unhappy.

HEATHER

Of course, that all had to end.

SMITH

Did it?

HEATHER

I still remember where I was when Kennedy was shot. Do you?

SMITH

Yes. I do.

HEATHER

After that, the color seemed to drain out of everything. Oh, my friends just picked up the pace and continued, like being frantic was the same as being invincible.

But I just couldn't. I had to go.

Smith nods, then looks down. His head jerks back up.

SMITH

Ah... what time is it?

HEATHER

Just about nine.

SMITH

I have to get back. There are some... things I have to do before the morning.

They both stand up.

HEATHER

Okay. Back to the hotel?

SMITH

Yes. Are you...?

HEATHER

Let's share a cab.

EXT. HOTEL - NIGHT

Smith and Heather stand face-to-face as the cab drives away.

SMITH

I'm glad we could see each other again.

HEATHER

Yes, me too. Even if it wasn't for very long.

SMITH

I know.

They pause awkwardly.

HEATHER

We're both going in, aren't we?

SMITH

Yes, I suppose so.

They turn to enter the hotel.

INT. HOTEL lobby - night

The hotel lobby is almost deserted at this hour. The friendly clerk at the front desk has been replaced by a bored-looking young man in a bellhop outfit.

Smith and Heather stand next to the elevator. Smith presses the up button.

HEATHER

Which floor are you on?

SMITH

The third.

HEATHER

Really? Me too.

SMITH

Really? Oh.

The elevator arrives and the doors open.

INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Smith and Heather walk away from the elevators, down to the end of the hallway. Smith slows about halfway down and turns to Heather. His look is puzzled.

SMITH

Which...?

HEATHER

Which room are you in?

SMITH

(holds up key)

301, at the end.

HEATHER

Huh.

Heather stops and rummages in her purse. She pulls out a key like Smith's.

HEATHER

303. Now there's a coincidence.

Smith's face turns pale. He almost staggers for a moment, then regains his composure.

SMITH

Room 303?

HEATHER

Yeah, what are the odds?

He looks at her with blank shock, and she returns it with a dubious look of her own.

HEATHER

What?

SMITH

No, nothing.

He still doesn't move, though.

HEATHER

Okay, then, I guess...

Heather starts down the hall again. Smith follows, but like his feet are leaden or he's walking through molasses. It's taking obvious effort to continue on.

Eventually he catches up to Heather, standing in front of Room 303. The door to Room 301 is just beyond her. Heather stands between Smith and the door to 303, as though blocking it, and speaks a bit too brightly and quickly.

HEATHER

Well, thanks for dinner. It was good to catch up. Good luck with your work.

SMITH

Okay. It was...

HEather

Yes. I suppose it was. Good night.

SMITH

Good night.

Neither one moves toward their rooms, but then Heather looks pointedly at Smith's door. He lurches toward it and opens the door, then turns to Heather again.

SMITH

Look, I...

Heather

Good night, Charles.

SMITH

Right. Good night.

He goes inside and closes the door. Heather shakes her head as she opens the door to Room 303, then goes inside her room as well.

Int. Hotel Room - Night

Smith stands just inside the door of his room, which is still dark because he hasn't yet turned on the light. He's in shock, dejected. His suit jacket slumps to the floor beside him, but he doesn't notice it at all.

He stumbles forward stiffly and looks at himself in the sitting room mirror. His face is completely blank, but there is horror his eyes. He stares at his reflection for a few moments, transfixed.

Finally, he looks down at the clock under the mirror. It's 9:25.

This begins the MONTAGE OF PAIN, shots of him in places around the room, waiting for the appointed time. He's tense, but he doesn't do anything like read or watch television. He just stares. Sits in a chair and stares, stands by the window and stares, looks in the mirror and stares.

As this progresses, his appearance (and the room's) change slightly with each step. A light is turned on, his over-shirt is off, the bedcovers get straightened, more lights are turned on, curtains are drawn, the telephone gets moved to the table. The clock creeps toward the appointed time.

Eventually he's dressed in his usual outfit, t-shirt and jeans with the pendant around his neck, standing next to that mirror and staring at his reflection. The clock clicks, and he looks down. It's 10:29.

Smith puts an ear up to the door between his room and 303. His face shows the first signs of life since he came into the room. He hears nothing for a moment, then the clock clicks again. He looks. It's 10:30.

He walks over and stares at the clock itself, as though searching it's numbers for an answer. It clicks again. 10:31.

Smith stands up suddenly and runs for the door.

INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Smith pounds on the door to 303, a desperate expression on his face. No sound comes from the room, so he pounds harder.

SMITH

Heather!

No response. Smith pounds again, looking around a bit frantically.

SMITH

Heather! Wake up! It's me, Smi--. It's Charles.

The door opens a crack, the chain visible in front of Heather's face. In the sliver of light, one eye and her tousled hair are visible.

Heather

Charles? What's going on?

SMITH

Heather, we need to talk. It's important.

Heather pauses, looking at Smith through the door.

SMITH

Can I come in?

HEATHER

Look, it's really--

SMITH

I have to tell you what I do.

Heather just stares.

SMITH

Thing is, I have to tell you right now. I won't get another chance.

HEATHER

Okay.

Heather's face disappears from the door, and it closes and reopens wider. In the light from the open door, we see she's wearing oversized men's pajamas. The room behind her is dark, but the television is on.

She flicks on the light switch near the door and gestures sleepily for Smith to enter. He looks furtively up and down the hall, then rushes in, checking reflexively behind himself as though he's being chased.

Int. Heather's Hotel Room - Night

The room is smaller than Smith's, a simple hotel room with bed, nightstand, telephone. A dresser sits next to the door that connects this room to Room 301. A clock like in Smith's room sits on the dresser. The bed is turned down but a bit disheveled.

The clock reads 10:33. Smith walks past it and stands anxiously in front of the television, paying it no mind. On the TV, a black-and-white film is playing with the sound down low, almost inaudible. Heather follows him in and picks up a dressing gown from the end of the bed.

SMITH

You're in danger.

HEATHER

What? Hey, you said...

SMITH

Listen to me. Your life is in danger, right here and right now.

HEATHER

Wait, you said you were going to tell me what you really do.

SMITH

I will, but we don't have time for that. We need to go now.

HEATHER

Go? Go where? In case you haven't noticed, it's the middle of the night, Charles.

SMITH

Oh, I know exactly what time it is. That's why we need to leave now.

Heather puts on the dressing gown and ties it tightly around herself, looking defiantly at Smith all the while.

Heather

No.

Smith

What?

Heather

I'm not going anywhere. Either you tell me what this is all about, starting from the beginning, or I'm going to throw you out.

And don't think I can't.

Smith looks at the clock. It's 10:34.

Smith

Can't you just trust me? Just long enough to get out of danger?

Heather

No.

Smith

Heather...

Heather

I said no. The mysterious stranger bit worked when I was nineteen, but I've been through enough bad relationships to know when someone is putting me on. I don't know what you think you're up to, but I do know you'll need a damn good reason for me to walk out of here with you in the middle of the night.

Smith starts to speak, but Heather cuts him off.

Heather

Something better than "trust me".

Smith looks at the clock again, then

You know that agency that I work for? They sent me here tonight to be a witness to murder. I'm in the room next door so that I can call the police when the person in this room is murdered.

Heather

What!?!

Smith

I didn't know it was you or I would have said something earlier.

Hell, I never would have let you come back here.

Heather

But you did.

Smith

Because I didn't know. All I was told was to watch Room 303. How was I supposed to know it was you? I didn't even know you'd be here.

Heather

This is insane. Who would want to kill me? It doesn't make any sense.

Smith is visibly shaken. He casts around as though hoping a convincing argument will appear from thin air, but instead he only sees the clock. It's 10:35.

Smith

I don't know. Honestly, I don't. All I know is that in a few minutes someone's going to walk through that door and kill the woman I love, and this time I'm not going to let it happen.

Heather

(sharply)

This time? How many times have you done this?

Smith

No, it's not like that...

Heather backs away from him, crouching and casting around as though he might lunge at her.

Heather

Oh, it's actually starting to make sense. Charles, I'm only going to tell you this once. Get out of my room.

Smith

No, no, it's--

There's a hard knock at the door.

Heather

What the... Who?

Smith stands staring at the door, his arms useless at his side.

SMITH

There's no time. I don't... I don't know what to do.

Heather

Do? Nothing. I'll see who it is.

Heather moves toward the door, but Smith suddenly grabs her wrist and stops her.

Heather

Hey! Let go!

Smith looks at the hand holding Heather's wrist with shock, like it's someone else's. The knocking starts again, spurring him to action and causing him to tug harder against the struggling Heather. With his other hand, he takes off the PENDANT from his neck and throws it around the handle of the door leading to Room 301.

Heather

Help!

Her cry fades quickly as she notices the bright light shining around the door.

Heather

What...

Smith pulls her toward the door, jerks open the deadbolt and throws the door open. The room is filled with blinding light.

Heather

Hey, no...

Smith pulls hard, practically throwing Heather through the DOOR. He pushes her through and follows himself. The door slams behind them and the light goes out.

INT. CHANGING ROOM - DAY

The changing room is in even more chaos than usual, even though the place looks a lot more empty than it has. Files are literally strewn across the floor in some cases, and a few costumes are haphazardly draped over benches and chairs.

Heather and Smith burst in from the DOOR, and Heather finally breaks free of his grip. He slips on a file folder and loses his footing, ending up against a cubby.

Heather starts to run away from him, but stops abruptly as she realizes where she is. Instead she looks around the room, her eyes getting wide.

Smith looks up from where he sits. He sees her expression, and breaks into an exhausted smile.

Smith

You wanted to know where I work.

Heather looks between Smith and the room. The sound of footsteps comes near.

Heather

This?

Smith

Yes.

She sees the DOOR and points to it.

Heather

What's that thing, then?

Smith laughs hollowly and answers her in a defeated tone.

Smith

Time portal.

Heather just stares at him.

Smith

It lets us travel into the past.

Heather

You're from the future?!? Aw, why didn't you say that? Now it all makes sense!

Smith

Huh?

Heather

I watch Star Trek! I know how these things go. You were visiting the past, so you weren't supposed to get involved.

(impersonating Smith)

"I work for the History Department."

(snorts)

What a load of crap that was.

Heather walks to him, leans down and helps him back up. Smith is flabbergasted.

Smith

You're relieved?

Heather

Of course I'm relieved! I thought you were some kind of psycho, out to kill his old girlfriends or something. This...

(indicating the time portal)

...is much better.

She pauses and looks appraisingly around the rest of the room, then wrinkles her nose.

Heather

Does the future always smell like this?

Smith finally looks around as well, which causes him to frown. The changing room looks even emptier than when they arrived. Only one or two agents sit within view, and they appear confused.

Smith

No, this isn't right...

The footsteps get much nearer, and raised voices are heard.

Billy (O.S.)

I heard the Door open. That has to be them.

CPT. Glass (O.S.)

It better be. I--

Cpt. Glass and Billy turn a corner at the end of the row of cubbies, then catch sight of Smith and Heather. The Captain hurries over to Smith as soon as they see him, but Billy moves towards Heather.

Billy

(to Heather)

Oh, you're not supposed to be here.

Cpt. Glass

(to Smith)

What the hell is going on here? My department is a shambles.

Smith

I was just about to ask the same thing, Captain. What happened?

Billy

It's more like "Who happened."

Billy gestures toward Heather, and Cpt. Glass finally registers that this isn't someone she knows.

Cpt. Glass

What... Where did you come from?

Heather clouds up at this treatment.

Heather

Lovely to meet you, too.

Billy

I'm sorry, bad manners.

(offers his hand to Heather)

I'm Billy MacDougall. This is Captain Lizet Glass.

Cpt. Glass

Charmed, I'm sure, but that doesn't answer my question.

Smith

I think I can answer that. She came from Washington D.C., 1972.

Cpt. Glass

But why? And how, for that matter? Billy, you said this kind of thing couldn't happen.

Billy

It's not supposed to. I'm as lost as you are, Captain. Sending someone to the future isn't supposed to work.

Heather

Why? Excuse me, I don't know anything about time travel, but didn't he just do the same thing?

Billy

That's different. He came from here. You can return from the past, but you can't go to a future you've never visited the, ah, hard way.

(frowning)

At least I thought you couldn't.

SMITH

What happened? Where is everyone?

Cpt. Glass

I was hoping you could tell me. We've been losing people like you wouldn't believe, and it all started when you went out that Door.

Smith

What do you mean, "losing?" Where are they?

Billy

Oh, they're somewhere. They just aren't working for us all of a sudden.

Smith

What, they all quit?

Billy

No, they just stopped ever having worked here. I can remember them being here, but history disagrees.

Cpt. Glass

History books aren't the most reliable sources now, either.

SMITH

What? How can that be?

Billy

As far as I can tell, it started happening around the time you went on vacation.

At first it was a few odd occurrences, agents not showing up for work, research going missing when we thought it was complete. It wasn't until today that we noticed how bad it really was, and by then the files were so screwed up it took us hours to even figure out a pattern.

Heather

And what was the pattern?

Smith, Billy, and Cpt. Glass look momentarily startled by Heather's voice, but Billy recovers.

Billy

Date of inception.

Heather

What's that?

Smith

It's the day each of us first started on the job.

(to Billy)

So you're saying they're being wiped out in the order they first went through the Door. But that doesn't make sense. The Captain has been here longer than any of us.

CPT. Glass and Billy exchange an embarrassed look. Smith sees it, but continues.

Smith

Besides, you've never even been through the Door, Billy. You've said that a million times.

Billy

Not... exactly.

Cpt. Glass

Billy and the other researchers went through the Door exactly once, when they first came to this time.

Smith is shocked. He looks accusingly at Billy.

Smith

You're from the future?

Billy nods.

Smith

You're my best friend, and you didn't tell me?

Billy

I couldn't. Besides, would you have believed me?

Smith

Billy, I travel through time for my job.

Cpt. Glass

It's not his fault, Smith. All researchers are assigned to agencies in the past. We're told it provides... protection.

Smith

Protection? From what?

Billy

(indicating the room)

From this, I hope. At least it might give us enough time to figure out what happened.

Glass turns to look straight at Heather.

Glass

Oh, I think I can figure out what happened. I just want to know why it's happening to us.

Billy

I wonder...

Cpt. Glass

What do you wonder?

Billy

This deathwatch mission. The point was to catch a serial killer. What if he went on to kill someone important not just to the timeline, but to this project itself?

All three stand quietly, taking this in.

SMITH

How's the Door?

Billy

Stable, as far as I can tell. I certainly wouldn't want to send anyone through now. Who knows what would happen?

Heather

I'm sorry, but I still don't get it. If something changed in the past, why doesn't everything in the future change right away?

Billy

That I can explain. Nothing in the universe is truly simultaneous, even temporal causality. Changing a state doesn't propagate immediately to all related states, even though those states are directly causally related. Even time takes time.

Heather looks at him blankly.

Billy

Think of it in terms of a beheading. The victim is dead as soon as their head hits the basket, but the rest of the body doesn't know that for seconds or minutes afterwards. It's because death isn't some magical state, it's the cessation of something that was going on over a whole range of times and places.

Heather

So we're still here because we haven't realized we're dead yet.

Billy sighs, then nods glumly.

Billy

Yes, that's pretty much it.

Heather

Lovely.

(to Smith)

I'm so glad you brought me here.

Smith

I saved your life.

Heather

Not for long, you haven't. Nice try, though, thanks.

Heather and Smith glare at each other, but Cpt. Glass interrupts before they can start.

Cpt. Glass

Billy, let's get back over to research and see if you can confirm even a little bit of this idea.

Billy

It's a mess, Captain...

Cpt. Glass

So are we, Billy, but we're the best we have right now. Let's do what we can.

(to Smith)

The two of you need to talk about what just happened, and what you might do to help set things right.

Heather and Smith watch as Billy and Cpt. Glass quickly walk away again.

SMITH

I'm sorry.

Heather

For what?

Smith

Like you said, I had no business bringing you here.

Heather

Are you kidding me? Look, I was angry. Hell, I'm still angry. But you understand this isn't your fault, right? You didn't ask to watch me die.

Okay, so tearing the universe apart in order to save me isn't the brightest idea ever, but it's actually kinda sweet.

Smith

Still, I don't know what happened. I've never messed up a job before.

Heather

There's a first time for everything.

Smith

I just wish it wasn't our last.

Heather

I don't even know what that means. Let's just concentrate on fixing it.

Smith

How?

Heather

I don't know. Can you send me back?

Smith

No!

Heather pauses, taken aback.

Heather

Charles, I love you...

Smith

I love you too.

Heather

...but I have to tell you I'd much rather go back there and face a serial killer than let myself be the cause of this much destruction. Do you understand that?

Smith nods.

heather

Then I need your help. I don't know the right thing to do, but I do know we're never going to figure it out if you keep playing the hero.

Smith nods again.

Heather

All right, then. Can you send me back?

Smith

Billy said it wouldn't be wise.

Heather

No, Billy said he didn't know what would happen. Do you know anything more than that?

Smith

Well...

heather

Yes?

Smith

I don't, no. But I think I trust the Door a lot more than Billy does, anyway. I've been through a dozen times now, and it's the most reliable thing in this whole place.

Heather

So that's a yes?

Smith

Yes.

Heather

Okay, then. Do you think it would help?

Smith

I can't see how it would. I mean, what are you supposed to do once you're there? Anything you try is going to change history again. From what Billy said it's not about what happens to you, but what doesn't happen because the killer gets caught. Hell, just me not being there to make that call changes history.

Heather

Okay. What if you go and make the call?

Smith looks at the ceiling for a moment, thoughtful. It's awfully quiet in the changing room.

Smith

That's a good idea. I don't know that it would help, though.

heather

Yeah. The police would arrive to find no murder, and therefore no murderer. Bad idea.

Smith

No, it's a good one. He must be wanted for the other murders, so maybe even just catching him would be enough to get things back to normal.

Heather

I don't know... It just doesn't sound right. There's no way he'd do as much time for just showing up as he would for murder. Who knows what that would change?

Smith

If that's the case, we're sunk anyway. The only way any of these are going to work is if history has some leeway. I think it does, and so does the captain.

Heather

So how much do we need, then?

Smith looks thoughtful again, as composed as he's been since coming back from his vacation.

Smith

Well, I'm guessing there are two crucial parts. One, that the killer gets caught and put away so he doesn't kill the time travel whatever person.

Heather

Okay.

Smith

Two...

...that you die.

Heather

Huh. Can't say I like that part.

Smith

No, me either.

Heather

Would I have to die? I mean, not to sound like I'm trying to get out of it, which I am, but would it be the same for me to disappear?

Smith

Disappear? Where?

Heather

I dunno. Here sounds good.

They look at each other and smile for a moment.

Smith

Yeah, I wouldn't mind that.

What am I saying? I have no idea if that would work at all.

Heather

It's the best alternative we have.

Smith

I suppose. it isn't much of an alternative, though. How do we actually manage it?

Heather

I don't know. Maybe you could knock him over the head as soon as I open the door. Then we call the police and I split.

Heather is smiling, but Smith considers this.

Heather

I wasn't serious.

Smith

I know. There's something there, though. What if--

They hear a shout from the other room.

Smith

Billy!

Both Heather and Smith turn and run toward the sound.

Int. Research Office - Day

Billy stands in the middle of an office near-empty of furniture, no computers or equipment in sight. File folders and their contents are all over the floor, all except for a single sheet he holds in his hand.

His eyes are open wide, as though he just saw something terrifying.

Billy

She just vanished! She was there, and then poof!

Smith runs over to Billy and takes his arm to steady him.

Smith

The Captain?

Billy

Just... gone. Into thin air.

Heather

But I thought...

Smith motions to Heather to be quiet. He speaks slowly and calmly to Billy.

Smith

What happened, Billy? I thought she would be around longer than we were.

Billy

No, I was wrong about that, I think. Well, partially right. The instability is inverse to the disturbance, growing backwards toward it.

Smith

English, Billy?

Billy

You two are at the center of it all, so you'll be wiped last.

Smith

Oh.

Heather

I'm sorry.

Billy suddenly perks up, remembering to tell them something important.

Billy

Still, that's good news. It means the Door should be safe to get you back there.

Smith and Heather share a glance.

Smith

Do you think that'll help.

Billy

Absolutely. That's where it all started, so that's where it can be fixed. Nowhere else. The rest of history is flapping in the wind, but that point should be stable for as long as you need to set things right.

heather

We came to the same conclusion.

Smith turns to face Heather, letting Billy stoop to pick up a file from the floor.

Smith

We still don't know what to do, though.

Heather

We know enough to get back there and do something. It doesn't have to be perfect, we just need to--

Heather gasps and holds a hand to her mouth. Her eyes scan around the floor, and Smith realizes what she's seeing.

SMITH

Billy!

They look around, but it's too late. The floor is empty, only a few files remaining. Even those look ancient, as though this room hasn't been used for years. The lights dim and go out, leaving the now-filthy windows as the only source of light.

Smith

Dammit.

Heather

Charles, we have to go now! No more time to decide!

She grabs his hand and tugs toward the door to the changing room. He starts to follow.

Int. Changing Room - Day

The changing room is in a similar state, practically empty aside from old, moldy fixtures and an overturned bench. The DOOR is the main source of light in the room, casting a glow that shows it's still fully functional.

Smith and Heather run into the room and up to the door, stopping right in front of it.

Heather

Okay, let's do it.

Smith just stares at the door.

Heather

Charles, the time is now. We can't just wait here to be wiped from existence.

Come on!

Smith fumbles with the PENDANT around his neck, then holds it out in front of him. The DOOR opens automatically, blinding light pouring forth and filling the room.

INt. Hotel Room 303 - Night

Heather wakes up with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. She's illuminated dimly by the television, still dressed in her pajamas.

She looks wildly around, slowly realizing where she is.

There's a loud knock on the door, which startles Heather. She looks nervously at the clock. It's 10:36.

Heather jumps out of bed. She casts around frantically, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon. In this process she knocks over a lamp on the bedside table. It hits the floor with a clunk, not a crash, so she picks it up just as the knocking starts again, louder this time. A muffled, unintelligible shouting is heard through the door.

Heather unplugs the lamp and hefts it like a club. She steels herself, then strides over to the door with the club-lamp held high. She pauses again at the door, staring at it. She's startled by another round of pounding, so she raises the lamp, grabs the doorknob, and jerks the door open with all her might.

The door catches on the chain and stops suddenly, pulling Heather forward with the recoil and bumping her head on the edge of the door. Light spills through the crack, not as bright as the Door but still much brighter than the room.

Heather winces with the pain, then quickly peers around the door, through the crack. Her shoulders sag, and an unsteady voice is heard around the door.

DIRK (O.S.)

Heather?

Heather

Dirk.

She drops the lamp. It hits the floor with another clunk. Her voice is tired, but relieved.

Heather

What are you doing here?

Heather unhooks the chain and swings the door open wide, showing the hallway and a puzzled-looking Dirk. He's still dressed in the same stylish outfit we saw before, but his eyes are a bit unfocused. He's carrying a bottle of champagne.

Dirk

Is someone in there? I thought I heard something.

Heather

Uh, no. It's just me. You just startled me.

Heather steps aside for him, and he peers into the gloom, rocking forward a bit. Heather waves him in.

Heather

It's just me, I swear. Come in.

Dirk walks forward, but almost immediately stumbles over the lamp. He overcompensates, swinging the champagne bottle wildly. Heather has to catch his arm to steady him.

Dirk

Shit! What the hell was that?

Heather

I, uh, knocked over the lamp. Are you okay?

Dirk shrugs off her hand and stands upright again.

Dirk

I'm fine.

He walks carefully and deliberately over to the dresser and sets down the champagne bottle next to a couple of water glasses. She picks up the lamp and walks back to the night stand with it.

Heather

You don't look fine.

Dirk

Yeah, well, maybe I didn't like the way you treated me tonight. So I went out and partied a little.

He pops open the bottle and pours champagne into the water glasses, slopping some on the dresser. Heather sets the lamp down on the night stand and picks up the cord, leaning down to plug it back in.

Heather

What? You said you were fine about me having dinner with Charles.

Dirk

Charles? Who's Charles? Is he the real reason why you turned me down?

Heather stops what she's doing, stands up and looks around at him, still holding the lamp cord in one hand and the lamp in the other.

Heather

Huh?

Dirk

I mean, just because you're not taking the job doesn't mean we can't have a good time.

Heather

What?!?

Dirk

Look, I know what you told me at dinner, but you didn't hear me out. Besides, I know you don't have any other job prospects, in D.C. or anywhere else.

Heather notices that Dirk is standing between her and the glasses. Her eyes narrow, and she looks in the mirror to see what he's doing behind his back. She catches a glimpse of him adding some white powder to one of the glasses and her eyes widen.

Heather

So, uh, maybe you're right. But what does that have to do anything?

Dirk, grinning magnanimously, stands aside from the drinks and displays them to Heather.

Dirk

So I figured you might want another chance. There are benefits to being a kept woman.

Heather stares for a split second, rooted to the spot, still holding the lamp, before speaking in a cold, quiet voice.

Heather

You figured wrong. Get out.

Dirk's smug smile fades, replaced by a red-faced fury.

Dirk

Bitch. Don't tell me what to do. You'll drink this and like it.

Heather

I said. Get. OUT!

Dirk lunges toward Heather, but she yells and immediately swings the lamp, catching him on the side of the head and sending him sprawling. She stands over him and raises the lamp to strike again, but Dirk is out cold on the floor.

Just then, more loud knocking is heard at the door. Heather startles and looks up at the door, a wild glint in her eye.

Officer 1 (o.s.)

(Muffled) Open up! Police!

Heather's shoulders sag as she drops the lamp alongside Dirk. She lets out a quiet sob, but when she raises her face again we see she's smiling underneath teary eyes.

She walks to the door and opens it. Two Police Officers are standing just outside, looking as though they were just about ready to break down the door. One officer looks at Heather with a worried expression.

Officer 1

Is everything all right, miss? We heard a scream...

The other officer looks past Heather and sees Dirk on the floor. He whistles low and steps in. The first officer looks around Heather as well.

Officer 1

Whoa. What happened to him?

Heather

He attacked me. I was able to grab a lamp and fend him off.

The second officer bends over Dirk's motionless body.

Officer 2

Looks like you did more than fend him off, lady. Is he still alive?

Heather

I... I don't know. I didn't hit him that hard...

Dirk groans and the second officer jumps back. The first officer takes Heather's arm.

Officer 1

We'd better handle this, miss.

He leads her out into the hallway. She follows easily, glancing back at Dirk once.

The second officer helps Dirk to his feet, keeping a secure grip on one of his wrists. Dirk puts his other hand to his head and scowls.

Dirk

Crazy bitch hit me! I'll kill her!

Officer 2

Cool it, pal. You won't be doing anything like that tonight.

Int. Hotel Corridor - Night

The first officer stands with a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other, getting ready to write down notes as he listens to Heather. She leans up against the wall opposite the door to Room 303, visibly shaken and tired.

Officer 1

So you say you know the assailant?

Heather

Yes, his name is Dirk Calloway. We were friends back in college.

Officer 1

And now?

Heather

I saw him today, we had dinner. Before that I hadn't seen him in years.

Officer 1

(writing)

Uh-huh.

(to Heather)

And why today?

Heather

What?

Officer 1

Why did you see him today, after so long?

The door to Room 303 opens and the second officer steps out. He has a triumphant look on his face. He holds up a small bag of white powder so that the first officer can see it.

Officer 2

Our guy is just full of surprises. Looks like he got all coked up and decided he wanted someone to beat up on.

Officer 1

Good work. Take him down to the car and call it in. I'll get the rest of her statement.

The second officer goes back inside, grabs a handcuffed Dirk and roughly walks him out of the room and down the hall.

Officer 1

You were saying. Why today?

Heather

(watching Dirk down the hall)

He had asked me to come visit him in D.C. for a week. I live in San Francisco. He said he knew of a job I might want.

Officer 1

Oh? What do you do?

Heather

I'm a paralegal.

Officer 1

Okay. So what happened earlier today?

Heather

We were supposed to meet for dinner, but I ran into an old friend from college...

The officer stops writing for a moment and looks askance at Heather.

Officer 1

Another old friend?

Heather

Yeah. I guess it sounds stupid. It was the oddest coincidence...

Heather looks thoughtfully at the door to Room 301. Her eyes narrow and she looks back at the officer.

Heather

How did you know to come here?

Officer

Excuse me?

Heather

I didn't have a chance to call the police, but there you were. Why?

Officer 1

We were called by one of the other guests, reporting a disturbance in your room.

Heather looks at him with excited interest.

Heather

Another guest? Who?

Officer 1

I can't say, miss, sorry.

(holding up notepad again)

Just a few more questions.

Heather

Of course.

Heather looks back at the door to room 301 and smiles.

Int. Smith's Hotel Room - Night

Smith stands in front of his almost-packed overnight bag, placing the terrible suit jacket within. He's dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt, with the TIME PENDANT around his neck. His leather jacket is draped over a chair nearby; he looks just about ready to go.

There is a knock on the door. He looks up, puzzled, and looks at the time. It's 11:29. He walks over to the door and opens it. Heather stands outside, fully dressed and holding a suitcase. She smiles at Smith.

Heather

Hi.

Smith

Hello.

There's a long pause, which becomes awkward.

Smith

I'm sorry, did you want something?

Heather's smile fades.

Heather

You don't know me at all, do you.

Smith

No, I'm sorry. Should I?

Heather thinks about this for a moment, then smiles again.

Heather

Yes. Yes, you should. You absolutely should.

Smith

I don't think I do, though.

Undeterred, Heather strides past Smith and sets her suitcase down in front of the connecting door.

Heather

That's all right. It'll come back to you. For now, it's best to know that I'm coming with you.

Smith

Coming with me?

Heather

Yes, through that door of yours.

She indicates the pendant around his neck.

Smith

I'm sorry, I just don't understand.

Heather

No matter. Let's just go. I'll explain it all to you, it's not that bad. We have all the time in the world to catch up.

The END