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[dramatic orchestral music]

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX

[solemn music]

The house was empty.

[door opens]

[whimsical music]

His friends, Jack and Diane Restau,

were going to be gone until the end of the year.

If Martin felt like getting out of New York for a while,

Jack said he could camp out at their place

any time he wanted.

Martin had just spent three years writing a novel

and his brain was tired,

in need of a rest.

[whimsical music]

He had no plans.

All he wanted was to spend a couple of weeks

in the country and do nothing.

To live the life of a stone.

[birds chirping]

[soft orchestral music]

[soft scuttling]

[soft orchestral music]

But what did he know?

A few hours of silence,

a few gulps of fresh air,

and all of a sudden, an idea for a story

was turning around in his head.

That's how it always seems to work with stories.

One minute, there's nothing,

and the next minute, it's there,

already sitting inside you.

[leaves rustling in wind]

[soft orchestral music]

[clattering thud]

[thunking]

[rustling, clicking]

It might not have been the newest equipment

in the world,

but it worked.

[keys clacking]

[ding]

[clicking]

It wasn't going to be a long story,

25 or 30 pages,

40 at the most.

Martin didn't know how much time he would need

to write it,

but he decided to stay in the house

until it was finished.

That was the new plan.

He would write the story

and he wouldn't leave until it was finished.

[soft orchestral music]

[crickets chirring]

[birds and insects chittering]

[birds chirping]

[yawns]

[woman groaning]

[gasping, exclaiming]

Who are you?

-What are you doin' here? -No, who are you?

And what are you doing here?

Me?

Hey, hey, hey.

That's close enough.

I'm Martin Frost.

Not that that's any of your business.

Now, unless you tell me who you are right now,

I'm gonna have to call the police.

You're Martin Frost?

The real Martin Frost?

That's what I just said. Do I have to say it again?

It's just that I know you, that's all.

Not that I really know you,

but I know who you are.

You're Martin Frost, the writer.

Jack and Diane's friend.

You know Jack and Diane?

I'm Diane's niece.

-What's your name? -Claire.

Claire what?

Claire...Martin.

[scoffs]

What is this, some kind of joke?

I can't help it, that's my name.

And what are you doing here, Claire Martin?

Diane invited me.

Look, if you don't believe me, you see?

Diane gave it to me, it's the key to the front door.

And why would Jack give me this one?

Because...

because he's Jack, that's why. I mean, you know them.

He and Diane are always doing things like that.

[sighs]

Well...I don't like it.

I came here to be alone.

I have work to do. Now having you here is...

well, it's not being alone, is it?

Don't worry, I won't get in your way.

I'm here to work on my thesis.

I have a lot of reading to do.

Reading's bad for your health.

Only high cholesterol books.

I read low-fat, vegetarian stuff.

What's your field, the history of the boiled turnip?

[she laughs]

-Philosophy. -Philosophy.

Chewy, but not much taste.

This week, I'll be reading Bishop Berkeley.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it,

does it make a sound or not?

More like, is the tree really there?

Berkeley is the one who said that matter doesn't exist,

that everything is in our head.

Yes.

But you're not in my head, are you?

You exist and I have to share this house with you.

I'll be very quiet, I promise.

I'll move my things into another bedroom

and you won't even know I'm here.

Okay.

You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours.

Deal?

If that's what you want,

that's how it will be.

Good.

I'm going to work now.

I'll see ya later.

But you just said you didn't want to see me.

A figure of speech.

It means goodbye.

Goodbye.

[door opens]

[door closes]

Goodbye, Martin.

[clacking, dinging]

[soft orchestral music]

"And it seems to me no less evident

that the various sensations or ideas

imprinted on the sense,

however blended or combined together,

cannot exist otherwise than in a mind perceiving them."

[clacking, dinging]

[clicking]

[rustling, crinkling]

"Secondly, it will be objected

that there is a great difference

betwixt real fire and the idea of fire,

between dreaming or imagining one's self burnt

and actually being so."

[soft orchestral music]

[pencil scratching]

[drawer opens]

[drawer closes]

Hello.

I'm sorry I wasn't very nice to you this morning.

I shouldn't have acted that way.

What time is it?

Uh, it's a little after six.

I have one more section to go.

Why don't we meet up in the living room

in about half an hour and have a drink?

Good idea.

I mean, as long as we're stuck with each other,

we may as well behave like civilized people.

[wind blowing]

[bottle clinking]

[wine pouring]

So, are you wearing that shirt

because you're reading Berkeley this week?

Do you have another one for next week that says "Hume"?

[she laughs]

No, no, this Berkeley.

The philosopher I'm reading is Berkeley.

The words are pronounced differently.

Right, the spelling's the same

therefore it's the same word.

Yes, the same spelling but it's two different words.

Are you trying to confuse me?

You should talk, Mr. Frost.

You once wrote a story about two characters

with the same name.

So, you read that story?

Mm-hm.

You must be one of six people

in the universe who knows about it.

It was published in a little magazine

more than...15 years ago.

I've read everything you've written.

All four novels and the two plays.

But I've only published three novels.

You've just finished a new one, haven't you?

You gave a copy of the manuscript to Diane and Jack.

Diane lent it to me and I read it last week.

I think it's the best thing you've done.

[he laughs]

[wine pouring]

[he sighs]

In other words...

Miss Martin approves.

Oh yes.

Most definitely.

Miss Martin approves of Martin.

Yes, Martin.

Miss Martin approves of Martin.

And reads Berkeley at Berkeley--

or is it Berkeley at Berkeley?

What does that shirt say again? Is that the man or the college?

It's both.

It says whatever you want it to say.

Or...

it doesn't mean anything at all.

Well, that's one way of eliminating the confusion.

Simple logic.

And yet, by eliminating one kind of confusion,

you only create another.

Don't be confused, Martin.

I'm trying to be as clear as I can.

Well, Claire is clear.

And Claire is cute.

You think so?

[he chuckles]

Oh yes.

Most definitely.

[door slams open]

[crickets chirring]

[panting]

[sighing]

[tender orchestral music]

Every story has a shape.

And the shape of every story is different...

...from the shape of every other story.

Some stories move in straight lines,

others make circles or zig-zags

or pirouettes.

[tender orchestral music]

[pencil scratching]

[tender orchestral music]

Rather than go in one general direction,

Martin's story seemed to be looping back around itself

or veering off in a series of sharp right-angle turns

or spiraling in towards some invisible point

at the center.

[tender orchestral music]

Like this, maybe.

[pencil scratching]

Or this.

[pencil scratching]

[laughing]

Whatever the story looked like, Martin was doing it,

and every day, he was getting a little farther with it,

understanding it a little better.

And every day, he added a few more pages to the pile.

[soft moaning]

[tender orchestral music]

[birds chirping]

[laughter, chatter]

And then I said to him,

"If you don't believe me, I'll show you."

And then I reached into my pocket and--

[cell phone ringing]

What's that?

-What's what? -That noise, don't you hear it?

[ringing continues]

Oh, that.

Yes, I hear it.

It's a kind of ringing, wouldn't you say?

A ringing, mm-hm.

Or maybe a kind of tinkling.

It sounds to me like the outside world.

You mean there are other people besides us?

I don't think so.

It must be an illusion.

Hello.

Jack!

How are you?

Jack and Diane.

Calcutta!

They're in Calcutta.

The boiler?

Diane's worried about the boiler.

Okay.

Something goes wrong, call Jim Fortunato.

Fortunato Plumbing and Heat.

I got it, okay.

Anyway, it's a good thing you called,

Claire and I were just discussing

whether you were real or not.

What should I tell her?

What do you mean who's Claire?

Claire Martin, Diane's niece.

What?

Claire!

Claire!

[birds chirping]

[panting]

What's going on, Claire?

Tell me what's going on.

You have to tell me!

I can hear, you don't have to shout, Martin.

I've just been told

that Diane has one sister.

Now, she has two children,

both of them happen to be boys.

So that makes two nephews, Claire,

but no niece.

I didn't know what else to do.

I had to find a way to make you trust me.

After a day or two, I thought you'd figure it out on your own

and then it wouldn't matter anymore.

Figure out what?

Don't you get it, Martin?

We've been together for almost a week

and you're telling me you still don't get it?

Who are you?

What the hell are you doing here?

Oh, Martin.

It doesn't matter who I am.

Of course it does, it matters very much.

No, my darling, it doesn't.

How can you say that?

It doesn't matter because you love me.

Because you want me, that's what matters, hm?

All the rest is nothing.

[birds chittering]

[solemn music]

Unfortunately, Claire was right.

Martin did love her and he did want her.

But how can you love someone you don't trust?

[solemn music]

[dramatic orchestral music]

[perfume spritzing]

[soft moan]

[zipping]

[soft orchestral music]

[knocking]

The food is ready, Martin.

I'll be waiting for you in the dining room.

[soft orchestral music]

[music slows, softens, fades]

[crickets chirring]

[crack, thud]

Are you okay?

[she giggles]

[he sighs]

[wine pouring]

[she giggles]

[clink]

Looks good.

And so, Martin, how is your story going?

Who are you, Claire? What are you doing here?

No, you answer my question first.

How's your story going?

Please, Martin.

It's very important.

You really want to know?

Yes, I really want to know.

All right.

I'll tell you how it's going.

It's, uh...

it's...

actually, it's going quite well.

Quite well?

Or very well?

Um...

very well, I'd say it's going very well.

You see?

See what?

Oh, Martin, of course you do.

No, Claire, I don't.

I don't see anything.

If you want to know the truth,

I'm completely lost.

Poor Martin, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself.

[crickets chirring]

[dishes clinking]

Mm.

Not bad. What do you think, Martin?

Mm!

Mm.

Mm!

[laughs]

Christ!

[she laughs]

I've done it again.

[laughing]

[laughing]

[soft ambient music]

That night, Martin made

one of the most important decisions of his life.

He decided that he wasn't going to raise any more questions.

Claire was asking him to make a leap of faith

and rather than go on pressing her,

he decided to close his eyes and jump.

He had no idea what was waiting for him at the bottom

but that didn't mean it wasn't worth the risk.

And so, he kept on falling,

and a week later,

just when he was beginning to think

nothing could ever go wrong,

Claire went out for a walk.

[tender orchestral music]

[tender orchestral music]

She seemed to be all right,

just a little fainting spell, they thought.

But the next morning, Claire woke up with a high fever.

[tender orchestral music]

[pills rattling]

She didn't complain.

Her skin was hot to the touch

but she seemed to be in good spirits.

[clacking, dinging]

After a while, she pushed him out of the room,

insisting that he go back to his story.

[keys clacking]

[tender orchestral music]

The next morning, the fever was worse.

Martin told her he was taking the day off

whether she liked it or not.

He sat beside her for several hours

and by the middle of the afternoon,

she seemed to take a turn for the better.

The fever broke, and suddenly,

she was back to her old self.

"Things which we see are not by themselves what we see,

so that if we drop our subject

or the subjective form of our senses,

all qualities, all relations of objects

in space and time,

nay, space and time themselves,

would vanish."

[tender orchestral music]

[fire crackling]

Martin felt encouraged.

And the next day, he returned to his story.

[typewriter dings]

He worked steadily for three or four hours,

and then he went back to the bedroom

to check on Claire.

It was cold that day,

much colder than the day before.

Diane had been right to worry about the boiler.

Martin was supposed to have called Fortunato,

but so many things had been happening

that it slipped his mind.

[fire crackling]

[thudding]

[groaning]

I didn't mean to wake you.

I'm sorry.

Hello, Martin.

How's my beautiful man?

[birds chirping]

You're burning up.

I'm all right, I feel fine.

This is the third day, Claire.

I think we should call a doctor.

No need for that.

Just give me some more of those aspirins.

Half an hour, I'll be as good as new.

This is not good, Claire.

I really think a doctor should take a look at you.

[clacking]

Tell me what's happening in the story.

That will make me feel better.

You should rest.

Please, Martin.

Just a little bit.

It's dark now.

Nordstrom has left the house.

Anna is on her way, but he doesn't know that.

If she doesn't get there soon,

he's going to walk into the trap.

Will she make it?

It doesn't matter.

The important thing is that she's going to him.

She's fallen in love with him, hasn't she?

In her own way, yes.

She's putting her life in danger for him.

That's a form of love, isn't it?

How much more to go?

Two or three pages.

I'm almost at the end.

-Write them now. -They can wait.

I'll do them tomorrow.

No, Martin, do them now.

You must do them now.

[somber music]

[tapping of typewriter keys]

[gasping]

[crying]

[typewriter dings]

[crackling]

[clicking]

[raspy breathing]

[tapping of typewriter keys]

[typewriter dings]

[crackling]

[typewriter dings]

[groaning]

[gasping]

[sighing]

[gasping]

[croaking]

[groaning]

[music stopping]

[heavy breathing]

[papers crinkling]

[crinkling continues]

What are you doing?

My God, Martin, what are you doing?

I'm buying you back, Claire.

Thirty-seven pages for your life.

It's the best bargain I've ever made.

But you can't do that!

-It's not allowed! -Maybe not,

but I'm doing it, aren't I?

-I've changed the rules. -Oh, Martin!

Oh, Martin.

You don't know what you've done.

[paper crinkling]

You see, Claire, it's only words.

Thirty-seven pages and nothing but words.

[cello music]

What are we going to do?

Tell me, Martin.

What on earth are we going to do?

[melancholy music]

[music stopping]

[birds chirping]

You'll see.

Everything is going to be just fine.

How can you be so sure?

Because I'm the one who's telling the story

and I can make it turn out any way I like.

This one definitely has a happy ending.

Believe it or not, I've never been to New York.

We should be there about 11:00 tonight,

assuming the plane leaves on time

and assuming we don't have a flat tire.

Oh?

I had a flat on the way up,

so now we're driving with the spare.

Another puncture and we'll be out of luck.

Tell me about New York, Martin.

What do you want to know?

Where you live, for one thing.

What your apartment is like,

whether it's really big enough for the two of us.

We might have to rearrange some of the furniture,

but there's enough room for two people

to breathe in there.

And if you don't like it, we'll find another place.

I'm scared, Martin.

Of course you're scared.

I'm scared, too.

That's the beauty of it.

We're going to a place where no one's ever been before.

And I don't mean New York.

[gasping, heavy breathing]

You all right?

[heavy breathing]

Yes, yes, I'm fine.

I still have a lot to learn about you, don't I?

I have a lot to learn about myself.

I hope I don't disappoint you, Martin.

[thumping]

[tires screeching]

[sighing]

I can't believe it. I talk about having a flat tire

and a minute later, it happens!

I'm sorry, Martin.

Maybe I'm bad luck after all.

Sorry? Why should you be sorry?

It wasn't your fault.

[beeping]

[sighing]

Oh, well.

Those are the brakes.

Not the brakes, Martin.

That's a tire.

[chuckling]

What are you going to do?

There's a gas station a mile or two down the road.

I could walk there in about half an hour,

buy a new tire and have someone from the garage

-give me a lift back. -What about me?

Don't you want me to go with you?

Of course I do,

but there's no point in you wearing yourself out.

I'll be back before you know it.

All right, Martin.

You do what you think is best.

[birds chirping]

You can take a nap in the car while I'm gone.

It'll make the time go faster.

Be 45 minutes, an hour at the most.

Kiss me again, Martin.

[strings music]

You love me, don't you?

What do you think?

[birds chirping]

[cellphone ringing]

Hello?

Yes, I understand.

Goodbye.

[cellphone beeps]

[birds chirping]

[spirited violin music]

There was only one person at the garage that day,

which meant there was no one to drive Martin

back to the car.

[grunting]

[violin music slows]

Nice work, Martin.

[music stopping]

He didn't know what to do.

If he went home to New York, he felt it would close

the book on them forever.

Maybe Claire had panicked

and would eventually change her mind.

If she showed up again,

it would have to be in Jack and Diane's house.

It was the only place she knew,

and it was Martin's only hope.

[engine puttering]

Need any help?

Thanks, I think I can handle it.

Suit yourself.

Just trying to lighten your load, brother.

Oh!

Fortunato Plumbing and Heat.

You wouldn't be, uh, Jim Fortunato?

The man himself.

I've been meaning to call you.

The boiler in my house is on the blink.

-It needs to be checked out. -What house would that be?

Can't say I've seen you around here before.

No, I'm just visiting the house,

it belongs to Jack Restau.

You must know him,

he's the one who told me to call you.

Sure, I know Jack.

Why didn't he call me himself?

Um, him and Diane are out of the country.

-They're in Calcutta. -Calcutta?

Wow!

I once read somewhere that the rain in India

can come down so hard, the drops are like bullets.

If you're not careful, you could get killed

if you go outside.

So what are you, some kind of house sitter or something?

Just a friend, I'm--I'm staying in the house

-while they're gone. -Just a friend?

And where do you hail from, friend?

-New York. -New York City?

New York City.

That kind of makes you a foreigner, doesn't it?

-How do you mean? -I once read somewhere

that New York is just an island

off the coast of Europe,

it's not really part of America.

You do a lot of reading, don't you?

All the time.

Of all the things in the world,

reading is what I like best.

I hope you like fixing boilers.

I don't mind it, but it's not what I'd call a passion,

you know what I mean?

Could you come out to the house this afternoon?

Sorry, I'm all booked today.

Tomorrow is good, though.

Sometime after three.

Okay.

Tomorrow, sometime after three.

Cheerio, pal.

See ya then.

[engine puttering]

[birds chirping]

[piano music]

So he went back to the house...

Claire!

...and the second part of the story began.

Claire!

Where are you, Claire?

[music stopping]

[tapping]

Martin?

Martin.

Are you awake?

Claire.

[knob squeaking]

I can't open it, I'm locked in.

Don't worry about the door, Martin.

I just want to make sure you're all right.

All right?

No, I'm not all right.

What happened to you, Claire?

Why did you run away?

You shouldn't have left me alone, Martin.

What was I supposed to do?

We couldn't go to the airport without the car,

and the car needed a new tire.

They called me back.

I didn't have any choice.

As long as you were there,

they'd lost their hold over me,

but then you walked away

and, suddenly, I was powerless again.

But we broke the spell.

I brought you back to life.

Once that happened, then I thought

you'd be free of them forever.

That's what I thought, too.

I was wrong.

So what happens now?

I'm being punished.

-For how long? -I don't know.

Everything is in chaos.

I've never been faced with a situation like this,

and no one knows what to do.

They've been arguing about it

ever since you burned your story.

Good.

Let them suffer too.

Just because I'm a puny, good-for-nothing schmuck

with a typewriter doesn't mean that I can't fight them.

Why do you want me so much, Martin?

There are other women in the world, you know?

I've been with other women, Claire.

I was even married once.

You're the first person I've ever cared about

more than I care about myself.

It's that simple.

[birds chirping]

[gasping]

[heavy breathing]

[somber music]

[sighing]

The next morning, Martin decided to write down

everything he could remember

about the time he'd spent with Claire.

If he concentrated hard enough on the past,

maybe it would teach him what to do in the present.

[music stopping]

[birds chirping]

[knocking]

Am I too early?

Am I too late?

No, no, the timing is perfect.

No need to show me the way.

I've been here dozens of times.

-Do you want some help? -Don't worry.

I know that boiler better than my own mother.

That's because I was an orphan.

[laughing]

Here's your money.

You're a writer.

Published novelist.

So it would seem.

Martin Frost and Martin Frost.

I thought there was something familiar about your face.

I just couldn't remember where I'd seen it.

You're not gonna tell me you've read my work.

I could lie to you and say I have,

but I've heard of you.

Well, at least that's something.

More than something.

Forgive me if I gape, but I'm a little in awe.

Get a grip on yourself, Mr. Fortunato, it'll pass.

No, I mean it. You see, I'm a writer myself.

Not a published one, but a scribbler just the same.

Oh.

What kinds of things do you write?

Stories mostly, short stories.

All kinds of stories.

Science fiction, horror, whodunits,

political thrillers, erotica.

How can you be so prolific and run a business

at the same time?

Energy, Mr. Frost.

Days, I grapple with pipes, toilets, boilers,

but at night, I withdraw into my imagination.

You'd be amazed what a man can accomplish

when he sleeps only two or three hours a night.

Gives him enough time to live two lives,

to be two men in a single body.

What's the secret? If I slept that little,

I'd pass out on my feet.

Passion, ambition, desire.

I don't mean to impose, Mr. Frost...

Call me Martin.

Not Marty?

Martin.

All right. Martin.

Then call me Jim.

No more of that Mr. Fortunato stuff.

Okay. Jim.

You were saying?

Yes.

I don't mean to impose myself on you, Martin,

but I was wondering if you had the time

to take a look, just a little peek really,

at some of my...

some of my output.

I don't know if my opinion is worth that much,

but sure, why not?

I might be in for a pleasant surprise.

[crickets chirring]

[soft music]

How long has it been going on?

Years, Martin. Many, many years.

But you were my first writer.

I always used to be sent to painters and musicians,

but then, there was a bad incident

and I was reassigned.

-What happened? -Last year in Paris,

a painter named Phillip Merpange

hanged himself in his studio.

I remember reading about that.

He did it because of you?

It wasn't my fault.

I was his model, not his lover.

When the painting was finished, I had to leave.

I always leave after the work is finished.

He couldn't handle it.

And a month later, he killed himself.

I know just how he felt.

Don't get any foolish ideas, Martin.

I'm fighting for us every day.

The story isn't over yet.

What if I broke down the door?

What if I grabbed hold of your hand

and pulled you into the room?

It wouldn't do any good.

The moment you stepped into the hall,

I wouldn't be there anymore.

The dream would be over.

I don't know how much longer I can take this, Claire.

They're still squabbling over what to do with me.

There's so much confusion.

They're starting to make mistakes,

matching up women with the wrong men,

men with the wrong women.

Or men with the wrong men.

Not to speak of women with the wrong women.

As a matter of fact, yes.

And?

I don't know.

But if we manage to help them fix the mess,

maybe we can make a bargain with them.

Why?

How can I do anything?

I don't know, Martin.

Time will tell.

[somber music]

Martin sensed that things were changing.

The more he wrote about Claire,

the more he felt her presence in the house.

He was not someone who believed in ghosts.

He had always been a rational person.

But there were times when he could have sworn

he felt her breathing beside him.

Were the words he was writing about her

actually bringing her back?

Martin was afraid to think such a thought.

He couldn't allow himself to hope anymore.

But without hope, why was he still in the house?

Why was he still writing the story?

[sentimental music]

[birds chirping]

[door opens]

Is this a good time?

Is this a bad time?

I didn't want to overwhelm you,

so I decided to bring just three,

what you might call a representative sampling

of my work.

This one's called The Little People of Lastmania.

Lastmania's a fictitious republic in Central Europe,

hidden away in the Carpathian Mountains.

Population, three and a half million.

Principal crop, the potato.

One year, the harvest fails

and famine spreads throughout the country.

Dr. Anatole Karpak, Lastmania's leading scientist,

goes to the president with a plan to save the country.

Now, the problem is,

too little food, too many people, right?

Not enough resources.

Karpak has analyzed the situation

and his conclusion is the Lastmanians are too big.

Talking about their bodies.

Their bodies are too big.

They need too much food to sustain them,

and since there isn't enough food to go around,

he's invented a pill that can shrink people

down to one-third their original size.

Swallow the pill,

and a six-foot man becomes a two-foot man.

Now, if a six-foot man

can survive on nine potatoes a day,

then a two-foot man needs only three, get it?

There are enough resources.

Incredible.

It's actually an allegory about the environmental crisis

in the world today.

We're destroying the planet because of greed.

Because everybody wants too damn much.

Too many cars, too many power plants,

too many washing machines.

The only way we can save the earth

is if we start thinking small.

What are the other stories about?

This one's called Kiss My Ass, Sucker.

And the hero's a private dick named Don Sharp.

It's classic hard-boiled gumshoe,

lots of fast talk, lots of fisticuffs.

And the third one?

This one's my latest.

I just finished it last night,

and it's probably the best thing I've ever done.

Bushwhacked, that's the title.

How do you like this for a first sentence?

"It was the morning of George W. Bush's third inauguration."

It's promising.

Bushwhacked, get it?

Bushwhacked.

The story's about a conspiracy

to assassinate the son of a bitch

who calls himself our president.

You don't like old George, eh?

I despise the bastard.

He's a dangerous liar,

and he's done more to hurt America

than any man in our history.

I didn't know there were any democrats

up in this neck of the woods.

Democrat?

Who's a democrat?

I hate those cruds too.

Ah?

I vote socialist labor.

I'm a 100% dyed-in-the-wool Trotskyite.

One of the last of a dying breed.

Permanent revolution, Martin.

It's the only answer to the world's problems.

What about thinking small?

I was talking about natural resources.

When it comes to politics, you have to think big.

I'm boring you.

No, no, no, no, not in the least.

I'm just a little tired, that's all.

If you want my opinion, you look kind of down.

There's this sad look in your eyes, Martin.

I just finished a new novel a few weeks ago.

It always takes me a couple of months to recover.

So you're not writing anything now?

A little.

I'm taking notes,

getting ready for the next thing.

And other than that, you just hang around

this big old house all alone, no one to talk to?

No wonder you're depressed.

What you need's a little diversion.

Maybe.

Have you ever heard of screwdriver darts?

Screwdriver darts?

It's a game Jack and I invented.

It's great fun, Martin.

Maybe I'll come around sometime and teach you, you know,

as a way of thanking you for reading my stuff.

[soft music]

[soft, somber music]

[soft music]

[panting]

[door opens]

[birds chirping]

Hi, Martin.

Ready for some fun?

That's some getup.

The official uniform for screwdriver darts.

You mean Jack has one of those too?

You bet, but his is white.

I hope you don't mind if I forego the pleasure

and stick to my own clothes.

No problem.

Whatever you want.

These are Jack's.

I'm sure he won't mind if you use 'em.

Let me guess.

The object is to hit that target.

Exactly.

40 points for the red, the bullseye,

20 points for the blue ring,

10 points for the white ring,

five points for the yellow ring.

First one to get to a hundred wins.

We play for $50 a game.

$50?

You and Jack take this thing seriously, don't ya?

If there's no risk, there's no enjoyment.

-Where do you stand? -Right here behind this line.

Well, that's pretty far back, don't you think?

This isn't regular darts, Martin.

It's screwdriver darts.

And to get a screwdriver to stick in that wooden target,

you have throw it with incredible force.

[screwdriver thuds]

That's pretty impressive.

Just warmin' up.

Why don't you give it a try?

How do I hold it, by the blade or the handle?

The blade, you get better balance that way.

Single half-turn between the line and the target.

[screwdriver thuds]

A star is born.

You're a natural, Martin.

Really satisfying.

Think you're ready for a game?

Yeah, why not?

[screwdriver thuds]

[mellow music]

[screwdrivers thudding]

I'm really sorry, Martin.

After that first throw,

I thought you were gonna be a lot better at it.

Beginner's luck.

Then reality set in.

I hate to take your money.

Forget it. You won, I lost.

Fair's fair.

But $500, it's too much,

especially after all you've done for me.

I haven't done anything for you.

I know you haven't read my stories yet,

but you will.

You're a man of your word

and you're not gonna let me down.

Come into the house, I'll write you out a check.

[birds chirping]

I got it.

I'll let you have my niece, Anna.

Your niece?

What are you talking about?

I just don't feel right taking all that money

without giving you something back.

But I still don't understand

what this has to do with your niece.

She's 18 years old, she has no job.

She can cook for you, clean the house, do the laundry.

I'd like to offer you that in exchange for the money.

That's very kind of you, Jim, but I'd rather not.

With Anna around, you won't be alone

in that big old house anymore.

But I like being alone.

I want to be alone.

[soft music]

[papers hit the floor]

[somber music]

There was nothing more to write,

nothing more to think.

All he could do now was wait or else give up,

pack his bags, and leave.

[somber music]

[birds chirping]

[screwdriver thuds]

[screwdriver thuds]

[screwdriver thuds]

[sighs]

[screwdriver thuds]

[water running]

[knocking]

You again.

Going to a banquet at the Governor's Mansion

and I wanted you to see my duds before I left.

Pretty spiffy, huh?

The Governor's Mansion?

A few months ago, I saved a little girl from drowning,

Maggie Fitzimmons.

Maybe you heard about it on the news.

Now I'm getting the official State Medal

for Heroism and Bravery.

Who is that?

Not that way, stupid, come into the house.

My niece, Anna.

[sighs]

I thought I told you I--

I know, I know,

but when I mentioned coming over here yesterday,

she said she wanted to meet you.

She wouldn't take no for an answer.

Say hello to Martin.

Hello, Martin.

Hello, Anna.

Shake his hand, dummy.

Now go sit down on the sofa.

What's wrong with her? She looks half dead.

It's a sad story, Martin.

She showed up on my doorstep abut nine months ago

with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Homeless, penniless.

I had to take her in, didn't I?

What happened, did she run away from her parents?

That's the problem. She has no parents.

My sister and her husband, Al James,

were killed in a car crash in Oregon last year.

Are you saying that her last name

is the same as your first name?

Yeah, so what?

It's just a coincidence.

When was the last time you saw Anna

before she showed up at your house?

Way back.

She couldn't have been more than two or three.

My sister and I weren't very close.

How do you know Anna is your niece?

Well, of course she's my niece,

why else would she have come to me?

I don't think she's a real person, Jim.

What are you talking about?

She's, um, a spirit.

A phantom being.

[laughing]

You're nuts, Martin.

That's the craziest thing I've ever heard.

When did you first start writing your stories?

I don't know, about a year ago, I guess.

But you didn't take them seriously

until Anna started living with you,

isn't that right?

[sighs]

I thought you were a smart person, Martin.

I looked up to you, I wanted to be your friend,

but what you're saying now is just plain stupid.

Look at her.

You call that a spirit.

She's a flesh and blood human being.

And a royal pain in the ass to boot.

When she started living with me,

she weighed 160 pounds.

Now look at her.

She's as skinny as a stick.

She barely eats anything,

she barely talks to me,

and she's never shown me the slightest bit

of gratitude for taking her in,

not one word of thanks.

Stand up, birdbrain.

Now slap me across the face.

You see what I mean?

She enjoys it, she likes to hurt me.

If you don't want to get slapped,

then don't ask her to do it.

I'm just showing you what she's like, that's all.

The girl's an idiot.

She barely knows how to read and write.

And you can see how beautifully she takes care of herself.

But, believe it or not,

she has the voice of an angel.

[laughs]

Take the hair out of your face.

Now sing one of your songs.

I'm the girl you can't see

I'm the girl who isn't me

I sail the seven seas of my heart

And where love ends is where I start

To China, to London, to Rio, to France

I'll live the life and dance the dance

And even if you climbed aboard, my friend

I wouldn't give you another chance

'Cause I'm the girl you couldn't see

'Cause I'm the girl who wasn't me

How did you learn to sing like that?

I don't know, I just woke up one morning and I could do it.

She can sing, she can also act.

Do one of your monologues for Martin.

You see me, Lord Bassanio,

where I stand, such as I am.

Though for myself alone

I would not be ambitious in my wish

to wish myself better, yet for you.

I would be trebled twenty times myself,

a thousand times more fair,

ten thousand times more rich,

that only to stand high in your account

I might in virtues, beauties, livings,

friends, exceed account.

Portia from The Merchant of Venice, right?

Excellent.

Christ, I have to get movin'.

The reception starts at six.

I have a long drive ahead of me.

Come on, Anna, let's go.

I'll take you home.

I want to stay with Martin.

I'll cook and clean for him just the way you said I could.

But Martin doesn't want a cook, I already told you that.

I don't care.

I like it here.

And I like Martin.

Come on, dumbbell, enough's enough.

I've changed my mind, Jim.

She can stay if she wants to, at least for now.

We'll give it a couple of days,

see how things work out.

Where did you come from, Anna?

From Jim's house.

Before that, I mean before you went to Fortunato's.

I can't remember.

It rained a lot.

Oregon?

Maybe.

They never told me.

They? Who do you mean by they?

The people I lived with.

It's funny, I can't see them anymore.

How old are you, Anna?

I'm not sure.

Sometimes I think I was just born,

like about 10 minutes ago.

Do you know what I mean?

[sighs]

Do you promise to eat when I give you food?

Yes, I promise.

All right.

What I want you to do now is go down the hall

and take a bath.

Go to the master bedroom.

There are women's clothes in the closet.

Put on anything you like, okay?

Do you think you can handle it?

I think so.

If something goes wrong, just give a shout.

Like this?

Help! Help!

Exactly.

Just like that.

[soft music]

Hello, Anna.

Would you like me to help you?

Who are you?

My name is Claire.

I'm here because of Martin.

I don't understand.

Don't worry, I'll explain everything.

[soft music]

[footsteps]

Look at you.

[laughs]

Now that's what I call an improvement.

Thank you.

I couldn't have done it myself.

What do you mean?

Claire helped me.

She's a very nice person, you know.

Where is she?

Do you want to see her?

Of course I want to see her.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.

What I meant was, do you want to talk to her?

Is there a difference?

You're not allowed to look at her.

If you do, she'll disappear and never come back.

I've really screwed things up, haven't I?

What you have to do is blindfold yourself

with this scarf.

Then you can talk to her as long as you want.

Can I touch her?

I think so, but I'm not sure.

Of course you can touch me, Martin.

You can even kiss me if you want to.

-Where are you? -Right here, Martin.

[birds chirping]

It was the best I could do.

No one has ever wanted to stay before.

There's no precedent

and they didn't know how to handle it.

I still don't understand why I can't look at you.

Because I belong to you, Martin.

To you and no one else.

For the time being, I'm trapped between here and there.

They said it would go on like this for a year.

And what happens after the year is up?

If all goes well, you'll be able to look at me again.

That was the implication, in any case.

They're not always as clear as they could be.

And how do you define going well?

For one thing, you have to take care of Anna.

That's how I managed to talk them into it.

She was sent here by mistake, she wasn't ready,

and now she needs an education,

she needs to be taught how to become a person.

Well, Anna lives with Fortunato.

He thinks she's his niece.

I don't think Mr. Fortunato will have any objections.

No?

No.

He's a terrible writer, isn't he?

[sighs]

I'm afraid so.

That poor girl.

That's why we have to do everything for her we can.

We have to undo the damage and then she can go back

and start again.

Hm.

This is getting complicated.

What else?

No sex.

No sex for a year.

Not even with the blindfold?

No, Martin.

Only in your dreams.

Well, those aren't dreams.

They're real.

I think you're all set.

Mm.

I wish you were going with us now.

It doesn't make any sense for you to stay behind.

I can't go now.

But I'll join you in New York later.

-When? -Soon.

I promise.

I don't want to let go of you again.

You have to.

I wish I could go now, too, but I can't.

-Bye, Anna. -Bye.

One more kiss.

Drive safely, Martin.

Claire, is that you sitting in the back?

Yes, Martin.

How can I drive to the airport with this scarf around my eyes?

Take it off.

But if I do, then I'll see you in the rearview mirror

and then I'll lose you.

No, you won't.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

Mirrors don't count.

Are you sure?

Positive.

Hello, Claire.

Hello, Martin.

[typing on typewriter]

[birds chirping]

Why don't you sing us a song, Anna?

What would you like to hear?

Something slow and sad or fast and funny?

Anything you like.

Fast and funny.

Oh, I went down south for to see my Sal

Singing Polly Wolly Doodle all the day

Oh my Sal she am a spunky gal

Singing Polly Wolly Doodle all day

Fare thee well, fare thee well

Fare thee well my fairy fay

For I'm goin' to Louisiana for to see my Susi-anna

Sing Polly Wolly Doodle all day

[bright music]

[soft music]

[energetic music]