DR. ROBERT KLEIN (sighing): Listen, Arthur. I know you're perfectly capable of going to work, taking care of yourself and your family...but...you're just not well. I think it would be better for you to check in, just for a few days - just to make sure everything's ok.
ARTHUR WESTFALL: I've told you this more times than I can remember - it's never helped me.
KLEIN: Yes, I know you feel that way - but you have to trust us. We have your best interests at heart.
DR. GREGORY FOSTER: And it won't be for very long anyway. Just a few days to make the medication change, and you'll be out of there.
ARTHUR (sighing): But...what if I have a bad reaction? I could be stuck there for months - maybe years.
KLEIN: Oh, don't worry. Rezacor has never caused any serious reactions in anyone. The worst it's done is give a few patients the runs and an upset stomach for a few days. Nothing that could be used to keep you against your will.
ARTHUR: I wonder - how many unbiased studies have really been done? I mean, come on, you don't think politics and money might have something to do with these results?
FOSTER: No, I'm 100% positive that this drug is safe. Extensive testing has been performed not only in America, but all across Europe and Asia as well. There's no way all of the research could be wrong, is there? (laughs)
ARTHUR: What about Vioxx? That had been "thoroughly researched" as well - and don't even try to tell me they didn't know it was dangerous. They knew - they just didn't care. And every last one of those pieces of filth who made the decision to sell that drug and kill 50,000 people for the money - all of them walked away scott free.
KLEIN: That may be true - but the research was not nearly as extensive, and hadn't been verified by thirty eight...
ARTHUR (interrupting): So it's still possible, isn't it?
FOSTER: Absolutely not.
ARTHUR: How can you say that it's definitely not possible? I mean, this drug isn't exactly a cup of hot milk. It's an unnatural substance, and...
FOSTER (interrupting, looking at Dr. Klein): Dr. Klein, what do you think?
KLEIN (nods at Foster): Arthur, just stay calm and stay seated. I'm going to go to the bathroom, but I'll be right back.
ARTHUR: So you're going to call the police on me? I haven't even refused to go! How can you be so inhuman?
FOSTER: You're sick, and you need help. Once we find the proper medication for you, you'll be well - and that's all that everyone wants for you.
ARTHUR: I thought Dr. Klein just said I'm not a danger to myself or others!
FOSTER (looking at Dr. Klein): It's time.
(Dr. Klein rushes out of the room and can be heard frantically dialing on a cell phone).
OPERATOR: 911, what's your emergency?
KLEIN: We have a very sick patient here that needs a medication change. He's extremely unstable, and we're afraid that he'll refuse to get the help he needs.
OPERATOR: What's your location?
ARTHUR (shouting): He just said I was no danger to anyone!
KLEIN: Five eighty six, Steele Drive, room ten B. Please get here as quickly as you can, the patient has become psychotic.
FOSTER (loudly and firmly): Arthur, stay in your seat. Don't move.
ARTHUR: You people are monsters! I'm just sad. After all, my daughter was just killed in an accident two days ago! Is it now illegal to grieve for one's dead children??!
FOSTER: Arthur, we don't want to do anything we don't have to. Just stay in your seat, and everything will be ok.
ARTHUR (glaring at Foster): You know this isn't necessary, isn't right, and isn't human. You must love the power - the power to take a man's freedom.
FOSTER (closing his eyes for a second and smiling slightly): Arthur, I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing this for YOU. You need help. You're sick.
KLEIN: Hello, security? Could you send at least two guards down here? One of my patients has become psychotic.
SECURITY: Right away, doctor.
ARTHUR (still glaring at Foster): The power to fuck with a man's life as you please - it must be intoxicating. Especially for someone who used to be bullied back in grade school.
FOSTER (suppresses a chuckle, smiling arrogantly): Don't worry. You just need some new medication, a few days to pull yourself together, and you'll feel much better.
(The sound of an elevator opening can be heard along with the usual beep, and heavy footsteps can be heard moving toward the room from the hallway.)
ARTHUR: Well, you've won, of course. The law is on your side, at least, even if good isn't.
(The door to the room bursts open, and two extremely large, extremely mean-looking security guards grab Arthur from his chair, handcuff him brutally, pick him up, and throw him down forcefully onto a cot and strap him to the cot. Arthur gives Foster a look that could kill.)
KLEIN (handing one of the security guards a large while pill): Here, Bill, make him take this. It should calm him down. After he's calm, take him to Summerset Grove and stay with him until he's admitted.
BILL: Will do. Come on, Chuck, let's get him out of here.
CHUCK: Alright. Whatddaya say we get some brewskies when this is all over?
BILL (smiles): Sounds like a plan. (Shoves the pill into Arthur's mouth roughly.)
ARTHUR (swallows the pill): You know, I'm actually just fine, guys. Well, except for the fact that my daughter just died in an accident, and I'm being forced into the hospital cause I happen to be sad over my loss. Wouldn't you be sad if one of your children were killed?
BILL (very loudly): Shut up! And don't fuckin' move! Ya hear?
(Arthur glowers at him.)
BILL: Hey Chuck, I think this man is dangerous, don't you?
CHUCK: Absolutely. I think he needs to be restrained.
BILL: Then let's restrain him. (He suppresses a sadistic smile, but not entirely, and then punches Arthur in the stomach several times as hard as he can. Arthur's eyes shoot wide open and his face twists into a rictus of pain.
CHUCK: Huh? What's that? (He punches Arthur more than a dozen times in the stomach and chest as hard as he can. Arthur spits up some blood onto the front of his shirt.)
DR. KLEIN: Ok guys, I think you've successfully restrained him. (He hands Bill a bottle of large white pills.) If he becomes violent again, just have him take another one of these.
BILL: Whatever you say, doc.
CHUCK: Come on, let's get him admitted, and get the fuck outta here. We're missin' the Jets game, we gotta do this fast if we wanna see the end of it.
(They wheel Arthur out of the building, and throw him very roughly into the back of the van. Bill gets in the driver's seat while Chuck sits in the passenger's seat up front, and the van screeches into action, roaring along the road out into the distance.)
(The scene abruptly shifts to the admissions room at the hospital. Doctors and nurses can be seen scurrying about frantically. About two dozen patients are waiting to be admitted; a couple of them are also handcuffed and surrounded with police or security guards. The door to the Admissions Office opens, and a skinny young girl in her mid 20s stumbles out and down the hallway, her eyes slightly glazed and her gaze completely unfocused. The Admissions Doctor pops his head through the doorway and surveys the waiting room, his gaze falling on Arthur after about two seconds.)
ADMISSIONS DOCTOR (Looks at Arthur, Bill and Chuck): Ok, your turn.
(Bill and Chuck wheel Arthur into the office, and the doctor shuts the door.)
DOCTOR: Hi, I'm Dr. Whitaker. What seems to be the problem tonight?
BILL (handing some papers to Dr. Whitaker): Well doc, we got a call from this guy's psychiatrist today. He was totally freaking out - throwing stuff, shouting, threatening his doctors. He even assaulted Chuck and I before we were able to restrain him.
ARTHUR: Doctor...I did no such thing. Do I look like a guy who would be able to fight these...
BILL (his voice as hard as nails): Shut your mouth. Ya hear?
DR. WHITAKER: I see. Well, it looks like we'll have to keep him for a good while, then, until we're certain he's stable.
ARTHUR: Actually, doctor, I wasn't violent in the least. However, these two thugs punched me in the stomach about two dozen times - unnecessarily - why don't you lift up my shirt and see the bruises for yourself?
CHUCK: Doc, listen, this guy's out of his mind. All we did was take him here. He's been screaming at us the whole time that aliens abducted him and all this wild and crazy shit.
DR. WHITAKER (frowning): So he suffers from hallucinations. Thanks for letting me know. I guess we'll have to put him on something for that.
ARTHUR: Doctor, please, just examine my stomach and chest! You'll see the bruises! Please, just do me this one courtesy - you'll see I'm telling the truth!
DR. WHITAKER (to Bill): What's his name?
DR. WHITAKER: Arthur, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Those voices you hear, these things that you are seeing - they seem very real, but they are just hallucinations. They aren't really happening. You're very sick, and we need to find the right medication for you. I know it's hard to believe me now -
ARTHUR (interrupting): Doctor, PLEASE, just check my stomach! The bruises are probably black and blue by now! I swear it's true! If you just look, you'll see it's true!
(Dr. Whitaker presses a button on his telephone.)
NURSE: Hey doctor, what do you need?
DR. WHITAKER: I need you to send security to escort a patient here to a room immediately. He is psychotic and suffering from auditory and visual hallucinations, and very dangerous. After the patient has been confined to his room, he needs a tranquilizer.
NURSE: Right away.
(Bill and Chuck pin Arthur's legs and arms to the cot brutally).
CHUCK: Doc, we're real sorry about this. I know it's late, and you probably want to be at home right now, just like we do...
DR. WHITAKER (grimaces slightly): It's my job.
BILL: Hey, when's your shift over? Chuck and I are gonna get some brewskies after this psycho gets locked up. If you wanna come with us - we'd like that.
DR. WHITAKER: It's nice of you to offer, but I'm afraid I need to sleep. Gotta get up early tomorrow - I have a double shift...
CHUCK: Man, that sucks.
DR. WHITAKER: Tell me about it. But hey, it's what puts food on the table and keeps a roof over my head.
(The door to the office opens, and two security guards walk into the room and wheel Arthur out of the room and down the hallway.)
BILL: Alright, doc, we're outta here.
DR. WHITAKER: Just one question before you go. Did Arthur's psychiatrist say anything else I would want to know?
CHUCK: Well, there was one thing. (He takes out the bottle of large white pills, but Dr. Whitaker makes a dismissive motion with his hands).
DR. WHITAKER: We have much more powerful medication here than that - just return it to his psychiatrist.
CHUCK. Will do.
BILL: Alright Chuck, let's go.
DR. WHITAKER: Alright, you two have a good night.
BILL: Same to you.
(Bill and Chuck leave, and Dr. Whitaker closes his eyes and sighs, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead.)
(The scene changes to Bill pulling the van into a parking lot. A huge bar with a neon sign with "Nectar And Honey" and a neon icon of a naked woman with huge silicone breasts lies immediately ahead. Bill and Chuck get out of the van and head into the bar. A massively muscled bouncer stops them, a hostile look on his face.)
BOUNCER: If you wanna get in, it's thirty dollars per person. Understand?
(Bill takes out his wallet, counts three twenty dollar bills, and hands them to the bouncer.)
BOUNCER: You gentlemen have a good evening. (He steps aside.)
(Bill and Chuck sit at the front of the bar, where naked women are pole dancing.)
CHUCK: Common, let us see somma that pussy! (He whistles loudly).
BILL (softly): Hey Chuck...I know we were supposed to return these... (He takes out the bottle of pills.) ...whaddaya say we try a few? I mean, we shoved one down that psycho's throat, and he was just fine...
CHUCK (softly): Uh...Chuck...are you sure that's such a good idea? I mean, it's not like we exactly have a good idea of what these pills even ARE...ya know what I mean?
BILL: Come on, these things are sold at every pharmacy - how bad can they be?
CHUCK (eyeing the bottle): Well...if you wanna try 'em, that's your business...but I ain't tryin' 'em.
BILL: Suit yourself. I just think a few of these might go great with some brewskies. Sure you don't want a few?
CHUCK: Nah, it's alright, man. I ain't fuckin' around with crazy man shit.
BILL: I hear ya.
(A topless waitress in high heels walks over to the table where Bill and Chuck and sitting.)
WAITRESS (seductively): Hey boys. Can I get you anything tonight?
BILL: Yeah. How about your tits topped with whipped cream and chocolate sauce?
WAITRESS: You mean a hot fudge Sunday? (Laughs coquettishly and swivels sideways slightly, giving the men a very good view of her breasts.)
CHUCK: Come on, Bill, don't bust her chops. She ain't no dancer.
BILL: Aw, come on, man. (He smiles.) Live a little, have a little fun.
CHUCK: Ok, whatever man. I'll have a cheeseburger and fries.
BILL: And I'll have some whiskey on the rocks and some chicken wings.
WAITRESS: Will that be all?
CHUCK: That's it for me.
BILL: Me too.
WAITRESS (smiling seductively): Alright, boys - coming right up. (She winks, and leaves).
(The scene changes to Dr. Whitaker lying in bed with his wife. An alarm clock rests on the side table closest to him; it is 12:35 am. He tosses and turns restlessly, unable to sleep. His wife groans.)
MRS. WHITAKER (weakly and slowly): Justin...uhhhhn...what time is it?
JUSTIN (sighs): Sheila...I can't sleep...
SHEILA (groans again and sits up slowly, still speaking weakly and slowly): Why? What is it honey?
JUSTIN: Well...it happened at work...
SHEILA: Oh, come on honey, I've told you a thousand times, the people you treat are very sick. It's not your fault they hear voices; it's not your fault they tried to kill themselves;
JUSTIN (interrupting): I know, but today...it was different.
JUSTIN: Yeah. There was this guy...couldn't have been more than 30...when he arrived at the office, he was strapped down into a cot like someone in a mania. But he sure didn't seem manic to me...
SHEILA: Well, they probably tranquilized him before they took him to the ward.
JUSTIN: That may be. But... (he sighs again) ...that's not what worries me.
SHEILA: Then what is it?
JUSTIN: He told me the guys who took him to the ward beat the living shit out of him. Told me they punched him in the stomach and chest over and over. And these were big guys - not the kind of guys you'd want to be punched by.
SHEILA: Well, did you look and see if they did?
JUSTIN: That's the thing - I didn't. (He presses the palm of his hand to his forehead again.)
SHEILA (sighs): I see. (Pauses for a second.) Well if you're so worried about it, just give him a checkup tomorrow. If he really was beaten, the bruises will be even more visible tomorrow.
JUSTIN: I know. It's that - sometimes I wonder. I wonder what I'm doing there. Putting men behind bars like that. That's how animals live. No, not even most animals live like that. Imprisoning human being and drugging them against their will...
SHEILA: Honey, you're just doing what's best for them. Don't beat yourself up.
JUSTIN: Am I? I became a doctor in order to help people - at least, that's what I kept telling myself all those years during med school. (He looks at Sheila, his eyes glistening with sadness.) I...don't think I'm helping these people.
SHEILA: Of course you are. (She runs a hand through his hair.) Of course you're helping them. They eventually get the proper medication and are released, aren't they?
JUSTIN: Well, yes, they are released, just as sick as when they were admitted - or worse. I used to think that all those drugs really could treat mental illness. But the same people keep coming back every few years, with the same problems...and all of them just get worse over time...
SHEILA: Honey, you're just being hard on yourself. Think about all the lives you have saved, all the families you have healed through your work. You should he proud of what you've accomplished. Very few people are willing to work for the public good like you.
JUSTIN: Patients have died in my care! A few have even died right in my arms - after being given too much medication! What am I doing?! What have I done???!
SHEILA (her eyes grow wide): You...never told me about this.
JUSTIN (starts to cry): I know...I know...
SHEILA: Does this happen often?
JUSTIN: Once is too often. But it happens far more often than you'd think. And for every patient that dies, dozens are turned into zombies from these so-called medications...they can't think, can't speak, and some of them can barely walk. And I've been a willing participant in all of this. All for the public good.
SHEILA: I've never seen you like this. This is all cause of that one guy you think was beat up, isn't it?
JUSTIN: Well yes, but it's not just him. It's that I suddenly realized, after I admitted him, what I've been doing for years and years. What the whole so-called medical establishment has been doing since before either of us were born. We've been imprisoning people, ruining their lives, and all too often, killing them. We've been promising them cures and giving them nothing but dashed hopes. If this is the best we can do - then I don't want to be doing this anymore.
SHEILA (pauses for several seconds): Justin - I've always known you were a good man. If your heart tells you that this is wrong - listen to it. If you've realized that this is all wrong - and you really and truly believe it - then I trust you.
JUSTIN: It's very simple, really. When I started, we were all so optimistic about what the drugs could do for people. Drugs were a new thing back then - and we thought we had found the answers to everything. But... (He sighs)..
SHEILA: I know...it hasn't worked out the way you had hoped.
JUSTIN: So what now? Either I continue doing something I know is wrong...or I lose my job, sell my house, throw away our future and become a slave to...Walmart...or Starbucks...or some giant company. It's a lose lose situation, and there's no way out of it.
SHEILA (kisses his cheek): Justin...no matter what, whether you continue to be a doctor, or whether you decide to be a janitor, or a cashier, or a street sweeper - I will always love you. No matter what. Don't worry about whether we'll manage - somehow, we will - even if we have to move in with my sister. She'll understand. Just do what you know is right - the rest will work itself out.
JUSTIN (smiles a little briefly): Ok...ok...in that case, I'm quitting.
SHEILA: That's the man I love. (Smiles.)
JUSTIN (embraces her tightly): I love you...
(She embraces him tightly back.)
(The scene shifts back to the bar, where Chuck and Bill are holding out one dollar bills to a naked, pole dancing woman with surgically enhanced breasts. They whoop and holler loudly as sultry music blares from the loudspeakers).
BILL: Common, spread your legs, sweet cheeks!
CHUCK: Yeah! Spread 'em!
EXOTIC DANCER (spreads her legs a little): So you boys wanna have some fun?
BILL: Yeah, baby!
(Chuck whoops very loudly).
EXOTIC DANCER: Then come on...play with me...get dirty...
(Bill reaches out to touch the dancer.)
EXOTIC DANCER (quickly): No touchy, that's a no no. (She shakes her head, smiling, and winks seductively.)
BILL: Aw, come on!
EXOTIC DANCER: You're a naughty little boy, aren't you? (Giggles coquettishly.)
CHUCK: Say, uh...wanna go backstage, sugar?
EXOTIC DANCER (shakes her head, closing her eyes for a second, clicking the roof of her mouth in a "tisk, tisk" manner, still smiling seductively): You're a bad boy. Bad boys need to be taught a lesson. (She winks again.)
BILL (his eyes beginning to glaze over slightly): Come on, how about five hundred bucks? Come on, what are you, a fuckin' princess or something?
BOUNCER: Hey, she said no, so leave her the fuck alone or get the fuck outta here!
(Bill turns to face the bouncer, fear apparent on his face and in his eyes.)
BILL (stuttering slightly): Oh hey, uh, it was just an offer. (He flashes a smile born of fear.) But I won't ask again. You have my word.
BOUNCER: Alright. Enjoy your fuckin' food, but remember: keep your hands OFF THE LADIES!
CHUCK: Hey, you don't gotta worry about us. We're cool.
BOUNCER (sneering, eyeing Chuck): Yeah.
EXOTIC DANCER (with a slight trace of effort in her voice and body language): So...do you boys still wanna play?
BILL (His eyes a little more glazed over): Fuck yeah.
(Chuck whoops loudly).
EXOTIC DANCER: Ok then. Just sit back...relax...and enjoy the show. (She smiles and winks seductively and begins to pole dance again.)
(The scene switches back to Justin and Sheila's bedroom; Justin fumbles for the lightswitch frantically, turns it on, and then races over toward his desk, opening and closing the drawers quickly and frantically, searching for something.)
JUSTIN: Where is it? Where in the heck did I put it? Come on, help me!
SHEILA: Last I saw, it was on the fifth drawer to your right.
(Justin opens the drawer she mentioned, and quickly sighs with a combination of panic and relief.)
JUSTIN: Here it is. Now where's the number?
SHEILA: It should be under "Emergency."
JUSTIN: Okay...(he flips through to the section in the phonebook frantically)...okay, here, I got it.
(Justin quickly dials the number.)
OPERATOR: 911, what' your emergency?
JUSTIN: Alright, you have to listen to me. I'm a doctor, I work at Summerset Grove Hospital, and something terrible has happened.
OPERATOR: Ok, what's your emergency?
JUSTIN (stammering slightly): The last patient I admitted before my shift was over - I think his name was Arthur Weston, or Westmill, or Westfall - something like that - but his first name was Arthur -
OPERATOR: Just tell me what happened.
JUSTIN: Well, the guys who brought him to the hospital beat him up real bad...I mean, he had bruises all over his stomach and chest...I mean, these guys...they were big - the kind of guys who could do something like this...
OPERATOR: Okay, so where are the suspects?
JUSTIN (stammering more, breathing very quickly): They...they said they'd go out for brewskies after I admitted him...
OPERATOR: Okay, so they're probably at a bar right now. Do you have any idea which bar they might be at, sir?
JUSTIN: No...but you gotta do something. These guys are dangerous.
OPERATOR: Ok sir, I'll send a unit to investigate. You have yourself a good night. (She hangs up.)
JUSTIN: Wait! I...shit!
SHEILA: You did what you could.
JUSTIN: Oh have I? I'm the reason why those two scumbags aren't rotting in jail as we speak!
JUSTIN (breathing heavily and gasping slightly): No. It's my fault. And they're... (his eyes snap open suddenly)...wait. I've got it. (He begins frantically flipping through the telephone book again.)
SHEILA: Hey, what are you...
JUSTIN: If I can just find his number...here, I've got it.
(Justin dials another number very quickly.)
DR. KLEIN: Hello, who is this? It's 1:30 in the morning, what the hell are you doing calling my house?
JUSTIN (speaking in a calm and friendly manner): Oh, I know...this is very rude...but I just wanted to thank your security guards for what they did tonight...they were very helpful...they practically diagnosed my patient themselves!
DR. KLEIN: May I ask who you are?
JUSTIN: Oh, I'm Justin Whitaker. I'm Doctor Of Admissions at Summerset.
DR. KLEIN: Oh... *he laughs slightly*...I see...
JUSTIN: Yes...so if it's not too much of a problem...I'd like to personally thank them. I know it sounds strange...but...
DR. KLEIN: Indeed, it does sound strange. May I ask where you attended school, Mr....Whitaker?
JUSTIN: I studied at Columbia University in New York City.
DR. KLEIN (coughs a little): Ah...if you can believe this...I went there myself. Graduated in eighty one...
JUSTIN: Aha! Well, I graduated in ninety nine...
DR. KLEIN: Well alright...I'll give your compliments to them...thanks for...
JUSTIN (interrupting): Actually...I was hoping to...well, take them out for dinner. You know...a guys night out...
DR. KLEIN (laughs slightly): I see. Well, to be honest with you, I just know their first names...that's all. I certainly couldn't tell you how to get ahold of them.
JUSTIN: Ah, ok...well, uh, where's your office? I think I'll just drop by tomorrow...
DR. KLEIN: Say...why are you so desperate to see these guys?
JUSTIN (laughs nervously): Uh...well it's no big deal, really...I guess if I see them, great if not...well, you know...
DR. KLEIN: Yes. Well anyway, I'll give my regards to Bill and Chuck...(he coughs more)...and do me a favor...don't call here, ever again! Who the hell do you think you are calling me at this hour?
JUSTIN: I'm so sorry...
DR. KLEIN: Good. Goodbye.
(Dr. Klein hangs up).
JUSTIN (pounds his fist on the desk, shouting): Fuck!
SHEILA: Did you get their names?
JUSTIN (scowling): Just their first names...
SHEILA: How did you know who to call?
JUSTIN: The paperwork they handed me at the hospital.
SHEILA: So what do we do now?
JUSTIN: We call the police again. They'll be able to track these guys...Bill and Chuck...I mean, how many Bills and Chucks could be working for Dr. Klein with a shift that ends at midnight?
(He phones 911 again.)
OPERATOR: 911, what's your emergency?
JUSTIN: It's me again. I have the first names of the suspects...
OPERATOR: Sir, that's not enough to be helpful...
JUSTIN (interrupting): But I know where they work and what time their day ends.
OPERATOR: Ok, go ahead.
JUSTIN: Their first names are Bill and Chuck, and they work for Dr. Robert Klein. His work address is five eighty six Steele Drive.
OPERATOR: Ok, give me one moment to verify the names and address.
(A few very tense seconds pass, as Justin breathes heavily).
OPERATOR: Ok sir, I'll send over a unit...
JUSTIN (interrupting): They're not there anymore, their shift ended at midnight. You won't catch them...
OPERATOR (more loudly): Well do you have a better idea...sir? (Spitting the word "sir" out.)
JUSTIN: Shit...um...yes, yes I do.
OPERATOR: Well, say it. I ain't got all day.
JUSTIN: Send a unit over to the doctor's place of residence. His home. He'll be there, but those two scumbags that work for him that did this...they're out bar hopping. They told me...
OPERATOR: Yes, I remember, sir.
JUSTIN: The doctor will definitely be able to tell you who they are
OPERATOR: Okay...have a good night... (She hangs up.)
(Justin breathes out a huge sigh of relief.)
SHEILA: ...So how did it go?
JUSTIN: ...They're gonna do it.
SHEILA: Do what?
JUSTIN: Question the doctor.
SHEILA: Good. Honey...you've done all you can... (She ambles over to Justin and hugs him, kissing his lips.)...and it's time for you to go to bed.
JUSTIN (sighs): ...I just...I just wish I had...
SHEILA: I know...I know. But you did the right thing. No sense in worrying about it now...
JUSTIN: I know...
SHEILA: Come on... (She smiles sympathetically.) ...come to bed...
JUSTIN (manages to smile slightly): Alright... (He ambles sleepily over to the bed, and gets in under the covers, and then turns off the light.)
(The scene shifts to a sleeping Dr. Klein, and immediately, three police cars, sirens blaring, pull up to his house. Dr. Klein wakes up, sits up wearily, and peers out his window.)
DR. KLEIN: What...the...fuck...?
(A loud knock is heard downstairs.)
POLICEMAN: POLICE, OPEN UP!
DR. KLEIN (pauses for a moment, thinking, and then his eyes narrow): Son of a bitch!
POLICEMAN: I SAID OPEN THE DOOR! NOW!
DR. KLEIN (yelling downstairs): Coming!
(He puts on his bathrobe and slippers, and races downstairs as fast as he can. He opens the door and eyes the police, some fear visible on his face and in his eyes.)
POLICEMAN: Sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir, but we need to talk to you about something urgent.
DR. KLEIN: Oh?
POLICEMAN: Sir, we have reason to believe that two of your employees have committed a violent felony tonight. We only have their first names, so we'd be grateful if you could help us identify them.
DR. KLEIN: Anything I can do to help.
POLICEMAN (nodding): Their names are Bill and Chuck. Do you happen to know anybody who works in your office building by the names of Bill or Chuck?
DR. KLEIN: You mean the security guards? Bill Dogson and Chuck Hill? Yeah, they work there. What did they do?
POLICEMAN: Sir, we need to know their current whereabouts. So if you know where they are, or where they might be now, you need to tell us immediately.
DR. KLEIN: Well, on Friday nights like tonight, they usually head over to Nectar And Honey. Do you...
POLICEMAN: Yes, we're familiar with it. Thank you for your cooperation, sir, and again, sorry to disturb you at this hour.
DR. KLEIN: Hey, it happens. (He manages to smile a little.)
POLICEMAN. Goodnight. (The policemen leave, the sirens blaring into the night sky. Dr. Klein shuts the door.)
DR. KLEIN (under his breath): Fuck!
(The scene switches to the bar, where Bill and Chuck are salivating and whooping at the same exotic dancer, who is now dancing very dirty right in front of them.)
BILL: Come on, show us the good stuff!
EXOTIC DANCER (mock reprimanding them with a wagging pointer): You boys are so naughty...you need to be punished...(She smiles seductively.)
BILL (his eyes very glazed over): Aw...come...(He staggers onto one knee, gasping for air and breathing very heavily. Chuck's eyes grow wide, and he starts shouting and panicking.)
CHUCK: BILL! (He shouts to the whole room.) SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE! (He turns back to Bill, tears in his eyes, and starts crying.) Bill, you stupid son a bitch! I fuckin' told you not to take that shit!
(Bill collapses onto the ground, and his breathing starts to slow.)
CHUCK (shouting to the whole room, tears streaming down his face): DOES ANYONE KNOW CPR?
(An elderly man runs over to him.)
ELDERLY MAN: I do.
CHUCK (panicking and shaking ever so slightly): He swallowed some pills with his whiskey...
ELDERLY MAN: He needs to vomit. CPR won't help him.
CHUCK (shouting to the whole room again): SOMEBODY CALL THE FUCKIN' AMBULANCE!!!
(A sheepish-looking man with glasses from the back of the bar raises his hand and dials 911 on his cellphone.) I'll do it. (He can be heard talking to a 911 operator quietly but clearly for a few moments as the commotion continues to unfold.)
CHUCK (turning to BIll, tears streaming down his face): Aw Bill...why??? Why did you have to be so fuckin' stupid????
BILL (lifting his arm weakly, his arm trembling with effort, struggling to reach out and grasp Chuck's hand): Buddy...(he coughs loudly) ...I ain't gonna...(he starts having serious trouble talking)...make it...
CHUCK (starts bawling): BILL!! YOU SON OF A BITCH, DON'T YOU FUCKIN' DIE ON ME!!! YA HEAR???
BILL (coughs again): You were right...the (his voice trails off for a couple seconds)...
BILL (more weakly): Tell Nancy...I love her...(he coughs more weakly, his eyes glazing over more and more)...
CHUCK (shouting to the whole room and bawling): CAN'T ANYBODY DO SOMETHING??? HE SWALLOWED SOME PILLS!!
BILL (very faintly, barely able to speak): Tell...Dylan...(his mucles suddenly all relax, and he stops moving completely, not breathing)...
CHUCK (shouting at the elderly man): DO SOMETHING! GIVE HIM CPR!!!!
ELDERLY MAN (sighing): Alright... (He crouches over Bill and begins to give him CPR.)
CHUCK (shouting at nobody in particular but at everybody at the sametime) FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!
(The blaring siren of an ambulance can be heard approaching the bar. Chuck runs out to meet the paramedics. The scene switches to outside the bar. Chuck runs up to one of the paramedics as he gets out of the ambulance.)
CHUCK (breathing rapidly and heavily): You gotta help him!!!!
: Where is he?
CHUCK: I'll show you! (He grab's the paramedic's arm and they run into the bar.)
(The scene switches to inside the bar. The paramedics burst through the door with Chuck, running over to Bill, who is now showing no signs of life at all.)
(to another paramedic who is holding a large kit): Give him ipecac.
(squats down over Bill, lifts up his head, opens up his kit, and pours syrup of ipecac down his throat): We need an injection.
(opens his kit and takes out a large syringe, squatting over Bill) Right. (He injects bill with a large volume of liquid).
(turning to Chuck): Do you know what he took?
CHUCK (frantically): He had a bottle of white pills...
: Are they still on his person?
CHUCK: Yeah, I think so.
searches Bill, and takes out the bottle of pills from one of his jacket pockets.)
: Patient unresponsive to ipecac.
: Injection appears to be ineffective...
: Give him a double dose of each!
(The other two paramedics do exactly as they are told.)
(turning to Chuck): When did he take the pills, and how many did he take?
CHUCK (searching his memory frantically): About twenty minutes ago...he took four of 'em...with some whiskey.
. Shit, shit, SHIT! Johnny, any response from patient?
: Not yet.
(sighs): Don...I don't think he's gonna make it...
CHUCK (still bawling): DON'T YOU FUCKING SAY THAT!!!! YA HEAR???
(to the other paramedics): Ok, give him another injection!
: Will do.
CHUCK: How is he???? Is he...
(turning to face Chuck, his expression apologetic, his eyes moist, his voice quiet and apologetic) ...He's...
CHUCK (shaking PARAMEDIC #1
by the cuff of his collar and bawling): WHAT??? FUCKING TELL ME!!!
(very quietly): ...He's not gonna make it.
CHUCK (releasing PARAMEDIC #1
from his grasp, shouting as loud as he can, at everybody and nobody at the same time): FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! (He picks up a wineglass and throws it at a part of one of the walls where nobody is standing.)
(Chuck kneels by Bill and shakes him.) COME ON, BUDDY! YOU GOTTA WAKE UP! YOU GOTTA... (he collapses, his head sinking and almost touching Bill, crying more weakly his voice breaking)...you gotta...
: (putting his hand on Chuck's shoulder, his expression sad and sympathetic): ...We did all we could...
(Chuck looks back at him, his expression full of terror.)
(his voice quiet, almost a whisper): ...he's gone...
CHUCK (lifting his head, pointing it toward the roof of the bar, his hands clenched): FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!
(As he screams, the scene shifts to the outside of the bar, Chuck's screaming more muffled but still loud.)