All language subtitles for The.Vanishing.Of.Sidney.Hall

There was a brilliant way
about Velouria.

She had a virginal quality
that contrasted her ice-cold outer shell.

Looking back, I realize
I was the only one to notice.

Yeah, she was a bitch, for sure.

Her breasts, her cheekbones, her legs.

She saw it all in the mirror every morning

and was well aware
of the power held therein.

No one could touch her or intimidate her.

She rarely looked anyone in the eye.

I once saw Brad Dorsey,
captain of the soccer team,

crying by his locker.

She dumped him after one date
and took his balls with her.

From that day forward,
he never played sports again.

This was a prime example
of the witchery she casts.

But I wasn't attracted to her pale beauty.

I was more turned on
by the little girl within.

It was this thought
that I masturbated to, every afternoon.

And not her thighs or flat stomach.

I imagined her breaking down
and begging me never to leave her

because I was the only one
who truly understood the Velouria within.

And when I finished,

I looked at the small puddle of cum
I had generated and wondered...

"Why did I just waste this
on a table top?"

Um, how old
were you when this story took place?

I was, um...

sixth grade.

Ew.

Sidney, I asked the class
to write an essay on the meaning of life.

I thought this was appropriate
for that topic.

Well, it's not.

It was highly inappropriate.

Um... okay.

She's gonna fail you.

I just hate her, you know.

Hey, look,
I don't like her very much either,

but it doesn't mean she's a bad teacher.

- She had a book published.
- A romance novel.

But still, you're going
to have to figure out a way

to get a passing grade from her.

- Better rewrite those essays.
- You know what it is?

It's her...

it's her limited definition
of 20th century writers.

What about Hunter S. Thompson?

What about David Foster Wallace, you know?

William Gibson.

- You know, someone contemporary.
- Sidney.

I went to a meeting earlier today
and I fought for you.

But she thinks you've targeted her,
and let's face it, she's right.

- What if I wrote a novel?
- No one's questioning your ability.

It's your subject matter
that's getting you in trouble.

You know what they'd do to me
if I printed half the stories

you've submitted for the school paper?

Okay.

Let's say you did write a novel.

What would it be about?

It's about a suicide victim
from a small town.

Did you think
when you wrote it

that it would go on to have
this kind of success?

No, I mean... I didn't even know
I could make a living off of it, honestly.

I was just hoping
that one person would buy it,

one person would want to read it.

Millions of people
have bought it.

- Mmm-hmm.
- Millions.

Yeah.

To that point, how do you follow up a book
like Suburban Tragedy?

I can't think about it that way.
I just keep writing.

And when can we expect your next book?

Soon.

Okay! You have an 11:00 o'clock
at Sushi Dan with Porter House.

A 1:00 o'clock live interview with JNN.

Flight is at 5:00 and...

And?

Dr. Baum says you still haven't contacted
the therapist he recommended

and that he will reschedule the MRI again.

Thoughts, comments?

I'll do the MRI.
I'm not seeing a therapist.

I need a divorce attorney, not a shrink.

How'd you feel about the interview?

Oh, best one you've ever done.

You ready?

He didn't have a lot on him...

He did have a duffle bag.

I mean, he just had practically
everything he owned.

I asked him one time,
I asked him where he was headed.

And I won't forget it,
he looked at me...

And he just said, "May 25th."

That was it, it was, "May 25th."

He was a lunatic.

You could tell just by looking at him.
He was ranting, raving.

Next thing you know,
there's a fire in the corner.

What'd he look like?

I don't know, he was, uh...

Early mid-30s, white.

- Kinda filthy.
- Big beard.

Big beard. Yeah. Sunglasses.
Kinda... Yeah, he was obviously...

You could tell he was like mentally,
you know, slow.

What is your name?

Bauer, David Bauer.

Mr. Bauer.

Sit down.

Is this the man you're referring to?

Yeah. Yep, that's him.

- Are you sure?
- Yeah, I'm positive.

Mr. Bauer.

Tell me if this sounds familiar.

A man walks into a store.

He's a drifter. Modestly dressed.

He searches the establishment
for a certain section of books,

which contain a particular literature
that he deems unreadable.

He takes these books.

Takes out a can of lighter fluid.

Fire.

He's not alone
when he does this.

There's a hound dog.

An old hound dog, about this tall.

Did you happen to see this dog?

Well, it's against library policy
to allow pets into the building, so, no.

I wonder what he did with the dog.

I don't know, maybe he left it at home
like a normal person.

If he had a home,
that would be a wonderful option.

You'll have to excuse me
for not having a lot sympathy

for a guy who walks in here
and burns books in public places.

And neither do I.

However, there is something
I know that you don't.

Yeah, what's that?

I know why he burned the books.

Why?

Because he wrote them.

Good day, Mr. Bauer.

Can I help you with something?

Uh, yeah, I need to talk to you.

Uh, If you're looking for a book
on how to please your woman,

the card catalog is just over there.

Yeah.

I liked your essay the other day.

Oh yeah? Why?

'Cause it was honest.

All the rest were bullshit,
but yours was honest.

Right.

We wouldn't be caught dead
talking to each other in the halls.

Yet, here we are for the very first time,
and you want to talk about my homework?

It's a compliment, Hall.

And plus, that's not true.
We hung out once in the 5th grade.

I was running away from home,
you lent me an extra bicycle.

- You remember that?
- Yeah, I remember that, dipshit.

We rode up to that hill by the winery.

That, um...

It's actually what I'm here to talk
to you about.

I'm surprised you're bringing that up.

That was a really long time ago.

You remember what we did
when we got there?

You had a paper bag.

It was, uh, wrapped up in tape.

Right? It was kinda bulky.

We buried it.

On Farmer's Peak.

- You wouldn't tell me what was in it.
- Right. Well, I need it back.

What do you want me to do about it?

Look, I don't know that area,
man, all right?

All the hills look the same to me.

Never been back since.

Oh, you need my help.

Yeah.

Yeah, Hall. All right?
I need your help. There, I said it.

I don't know, man. I mean...

The day after we hung out,
you pretended like nothing ever happened.

I saw you in the halls,
you laughed in my face.

You were an asshole then.
You're an asshole now.

Tell me one good reason why I should care.

You're right, forget it.

Oh, come on.

Please, please,
don't throw away my comic books.

Haven't you outgrown those things?

Sorry, Dad. I got you.

What's next? You're gonna throw away
my CDs, my books, everything in my room?

Hey, Dad, you want something to read?
I got a comic...

You have any ideas about who
you're taking to prom?

Not this one. I'm not going to prom.

- How does that look?
- Why not?

Because it's a segregated ritual

wherein the unpopular people
are ostracized

- by the beautiful ones.
- Oh my God.

Are you Dr. Phil?

Your father and I
have great memories from prom night.

Yeah. Me.

Get over it.

All right.

Brandi. Okay.

Hi.

Brandi.

There you go.

Uh, it's a pleasure
to meet you, Mr. Hall.

Hey. Uh, what's your name?

My name's Henry Crowe.

I've read your book so many times.

Um, it's really affected
the way I think about things.

Is that Crowe with an "E"?

- Yeah.
- An "E," yeah.

I think I know
what I'm supposed to do now.

Sorry, what was that?

"The core of our nation
is etched inside these plastic smiles.

And endless rows of nowhere houses.

This is how we live.

It's also how we die."

Sidney?

Sorry for the wait.
Harold's ready for you.

Lawyers are only trouble.

Listen, I gotta go.

A great writer has just entered the room.

All right, love you.

Bye.

Sidney, my dear boy.

Don't take this the wrong way,
I say it as a friend.

You look like shit.

You look like one of those
lost children on milk cartons.

You've been number one
on The New York Times

best seller list for eight months.

And still, no smile.

Please, tell me.
What ails you? What can I do?

I'm having panic attacks, Harold.

That's good.
All of my clients have panic attacks.

Yeah, but you know,
none of your other clients

have my kind of pressures.

None of my other clients
have your kind of talent.

If you weren't having panic attacks,
I'd be very worried.

No, it's different this time.

I'm seeing things,
things that aren't there.

Right now, it looks like
you're not wearing pants.

I'm not wearing pants.

Sidney, do you know what I have
in this folder?

- No.
- It's starts with the letter "P."

- Protest letters?
- No. Not protest letters.

Christ, man! You've got to get optimistic.

Forget about Montana.
Everything that we have worked for.

Everything that we have talked about

has come down to this.

Open it.

The Pulitzer Prize.

You're a finalist.
We find out the winner later this month.

Pulitzer?

Good, you've heard of it.

Ugh.

Whatever you want, it's not as important
as what I'm doing right now.

Love you, bye-bye.

Ay, my mother.

So, can I get a fucking smile now,
or what?

This guy, Francis, uh, Bishop,
should I be worried about him?

Francis Bishop
is the literary equivalent of Valium.

Forget the other guys, you're a shoo-in.

Prologue to Paris.

- That's a good title.
- No.

No, that's a bad title. The worst title
since Gone With The Wind.

More importantly,
I'm throwing a big party tonight.

There's gonna be women.

Alcohol. Women drinking alcohol.

Promise me you'll come.

I don't do parties, Harold. You know that.

Well, that's a damn shame.

'Cause you're going to be
the guest of honor.

Even worse.

So, that's a yes?

It's late and I'm confused.

I'm confused about a boy
who writes the most beautiful stories

in his school newspaper.

I read each one carefully
and paste it in my journal when I'm done.

And then I think about approaching him.

But quickly realize
that I'm not very good at being social.

And he's clearly not good at being social.

I guess I'd tell him

that he's the most talented person
I've never met...

But I have met him.

Maybe that was a dream.

Love, Melody.

I don't think anyone named Melody
goes to this school.

You know, Melody
might not even be her real name.

Do you recognize the handwriting at all?

No, but it's nice. It's very elegant.

I should only be so lucky
with my students.

What do you think?

I mean, what should I do? Who is she?

Maybe you already met...
Have you met anyone recently?

Not really, I mean...

I have to find her, though.

Oh, I have a great idea.

So you walk up to every girl
that crosses your path,

both inside and outside of class...

- Yeah?
- And you shout...

"Melody!"

"Melody!"

See what happens.

That's it? That's... your advice?

Yup.

Seriously?

Melody?

Melody?

Hey, Melody?

Melody?

Melody.

Melody.

Uh, Melody? Melody? Melody?

Uh, Mel...

Melody? Melody? Melody? Melody?

Uh, excuse me.

Pardon the announcement. Um...

but would anyone named Melody

please report to the front office.

I repeat, anyone named Melody,

uh, please report
to the front office immediately.

This is an urgent matter.

Um...

Anybody who writes
under the pseudonym, Melody, just...

just come to the front...

Get outta here, you savages.
Go eat some hors d'oeuvres.

Feed on the blood of the young,
whatever it is you do.

Here, all the greats drink whiskey.
It's a fact.

How soon before I can go?

Do you believe this?

It's like throwing a party
for Sylvia Plath.

Come on, I have to talk
to you about something.

The Big P.

I need you to be encouraged by it.

I want you to embrace it.

It means a lot to a lot of people.

Not least of which, should be you.

- You deserve it.
- Yeah, and what about Bishop?

He's a hack.

Guy writes six mediocre books.

All of a sudden, he comes up with one
that people actually buy. It's bullshit.

You need to get
your head straight.

Take a vacation.

Finish your second novel.

Get inspired.

It's hard, I'm telling you.
It's hard to get inspired.

You want inspiration?
I'll give you inspiration.

- Ladies and gentlemen...
- No, don't...

...your attention, please.

Mr. Sidney Hall is a finalist
for the Pulitzer Prize.

Give it up for Mr. Sidney Hall.

You had to do that, huh?

- You just had to do...
- That wasn't so bad, was it?

Listen, Sidney. Whether you believe it
or not, I'm on your side.

I understand what you're going through.

I've had three of the ugliest divorces
in American history

and I survived them all.

They're like enemas.

They're uncomfortable and invasive,
but the next day you feel like a new man.

You need to find yourself a muse.

Loosen up, you know what I mean?

I'll round back to you in a bit.

Don't leave.
I want you to meet my daughter.

Hey, hey. Excuse me. Yeah, um...

Could you... could you send this drink,

while you're there, could you send it
over to that girl right there?

Black hair.

Thank you.

This is for you
from the gentleman in the corner.

Right there.

This from you?

You couldn't just walk 15 feet
and give it to me yourself?

You had to send it over
from a safe distance?

Is that part of the...

Sidney Hall mystique?

What's your name?

Alexandra.

If you don't wanna take the drink,
I'll gladly take it from...

you.

Okay.

You have to leave Lewis Chang alone.

I don't want
to even see you looking at him.

That goes for Greg and Pyatt
and all the other goons.

What do you care about him for?
Look at him, he's asking for it.

I don't see him asking for it.

Fine. Whatever, Hall... look.

You better shed some serious light
on the situation

if I'm gonna throw away
one of the few things

I have to look forward to
every day.

Does that mean you'll stop?

Yeah, I'll stop.

But if he ever grows balls
to start up with me, I swear to God...

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You'll shove his dick
up his ass or whatever.

He's not gonna start with you.

We have a deal?

I'll pick you up Saturday.

You live over on Cedar, right?

Yeah.

Across the tracks,

as my dad would say.

Dad?

Yeah.

Never mind.

No! No, no, wait!

Jameson.

Jameson.

Hello.

Hi. Hi, is this, uh, Melody?

Shit.

This guy is good.

This guy's really fucking good.

You, sir,
have been drinking since I met you.

It's a very bad habit.

And incidentally, I'm getting
kinda tired of pretending like

we don't know each other
every time we go out in public.

I'm sorta married.

Are you sorta divorced?

Sorta separated?

You're Harold's daughter.

I think he can handle it.
You're his meal ticket, so...

Maybe today.

Okay.

I think you should take
one of these and some of this.

Gonna get some sleep,
and then tomorrow's going to happen...

I'm tired of sleeping.

My entire life, I can't think of one

positive dreaming experience,
only nightmares.

Is there any particular nightmare
that I can help you with?

Well there's this one, recurring one.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Where I'm being followed.

Everywhere I go. He's with me.

And I get claustrophobic.

Like he's...

strangling me.

Like he knows all the bad things
that I've ever done.

And he's coming to judge me.

And when I wake up from this nightmare,
he's still there.

And I don't know what he wants.

But he knows everything about me.

That's what scares me the most.

Good morning.

Mr. Tidemand.

I wonder if you by chance know...

this man.

Have you seen him recently, Mr. Tidemand?

I'd like you to take a good,
long look at this mugshot

because it was taken very recently.

- Okay, so?
- So...

no one has claimed to see or hear
from Sidney Hall in over five years.

And yet here he is, posing

for New York City Police Department.
Now how is that possible?

He was booked under another name.

What do you want from me?

What I want to know, Mr. Tidemand,
is if there are things that you make,

other...

than these beautiful...

little trolls.

It's a trick.

What is?

I think you know what I'm talking about.

I'm not after you, Mr. Tidemand.
I'd like to offer you a trade.

You give me the information

about the documents
that you forged for Sidney Hall.

And I give you my word,

you will never see me again.

All right, but just so we're clear,

this conversation is being recorded
on both sides of the table.

Fair enough.

...was here a few months ago.

- And?
- I made him a couple ID's,

a passport and a driver's license.

And what else?

He didn't look good.

He said that he had
some loose ends to tie up.

Did he say where he was going?

No, that's all I know.

Hey! Hey!

No crossing the street.

Okay.

Okay.

I just, uh...

Is your name Melody?

Have we met before?

Yes.

We met.

When?

In the first grade.

You gave me a Valentine's Day card
on the wrong day.

And then on the actual Valentine's Day,
you kissed me.

And I told on you.

And I would have kissed you back,
the next day...

but we moved.

We went south for a little bit.

Now you've moved back?

Why do you keep running away from me?

I don't know.

Because it's fun.

Maybe I'm afraid.

- Afraid of what?
- Uh! No crossing the street.

All right. All right, I won't.

I just...

When can I cross the street?

What the fuck you doing, Hall?

I was having a moment.

Until you showed up.

Well, come on, let's go.

You wanna smoke?

No.

What's that, a journal?

- Yup.
- How long you kept one of those?

Since I was five.

You know, I wasn't lying to you before.

About the essay.

I loved that shit, man.

All that stuff
you rant about in the school paper,

shit makes me laugh.

You should write about me.

Oh, yeah?
What would that be about?

My father.

Your father? What about him?

You know what my father is.

Yeah, he's a judge.

So what, doesn't mean
I should write a book about him.

Doesn't make
you any more interesting either.

Whatever, man.

You'll be singing
a different tune tomorrow.

What happens tomorrow?

May I come in?

Yeah.

Your elevator's stuck again.

Oh, Duane,

it's 6:00 in the morning.

Not in Oklahoma.

Great.

"The night served as a tragic setting
in the town of Oklahoma City

where an aspiring writer, Henry Crowe,
committed suicide in front of his parents.

After a failed attempt to kill

his step-father
with a nine millimeter handgun,

he turned the gun on himself
and shot himself in the head."

I don't understand.

"The only thing found on his person
was a paperback copy of Suburban Tragedy

by renowned author, Sidney Hall.

He owned no less
than eight copies of the novel

and according to friends,
often quoted passages from the book.

Henry Crowe is one
of many in a growing allegiance

of Suburban Tragedy followers
who take the book so literally

that they will attempt
to mimic its message

and expose the underbelly
of Suburban America

no matter what the cost.

The book has already
been banned in school libraries

and teaching curriculums in Montana.

And this incident will undoubtedly
spiral its resistance upwards,

possibly at a national level."

How young was he?

- It doesn't make a difference.
- How young was he?

Twenty-two.

This book has inspired more people
than you can possibly...

Inspired people to do what?
Kill themselves?

Listen to me.

Whatever happens over the next few weeks,
this is not your fault.

They'll make it my fault.

Maybe. For a news cycle, but...

you don't read the internet anyway, okay,
so just continue that.

Continue that, all right?

Now, this book
is essentially feeding our youth

a dangerously blind idealism.

Promoting disrespect for our elders.

A generation bred on entitlement.

And the fact that it's being included
in our school curriculum

is a dangerous sign of the times.

How do you feel
about the book burnings in Oklahoma?

Well, you have to buy 'em
in order to burn 'em.

So, maybe sales will go up.

Next?

Any validity in the comparisons
between Henry Crowe

and the lead character in Mr. Hall's book?

No. No. No. The character in question
kills himself with a knife. Not a gun.

And any comparison between the two
is ridiculous horseshit.

- Next.
- Do you think this book

will become federally censored?

And might it have an effect
on the Pulitzer nomination?

I highly doubt
that it will be taken seriously.

And I couldn't care less about
Senator Dale's campaign for fascism.

If he doesn't like the book,
don't read it.

- Do you think he's read it?
- I really don't give a shit.

But don't quote me on that.

But enough about me, at this time,
Sidney would like to make a statement.

Please hold all of your questions
until after he's finished.

It saddens me that a life has been lost.

My heart goes out
to Henry Crowe's family and friends.

I empathize with them,

and hope that brighter days
will appear sooner

rather than later.

That said...

I apologize for nothing.

I cannot predict what...

reaction any particular individual

may or may not have
to something I have written.

Nor can I live in fear, or restraint

anytime I write a word on a page.

I can only hope

that in time, the books I write

will have a positive impact.

It is sickening

to see that some congressmen
are using this boy's family

during their time of grief
for political gain.

It's shameful.

Furthermore, um...

I'm sorry, uh...

Furthermore...

- I'm so sorry.
- Are you all right?

Uh, that will be it, ladies and gentlemen.

Thank you all for coming.

There is some evidence
of scar tissue on the side of your brain.

I think you're having partial seizures.

It could be from trauma. Could be
the result of a serious blow to the head.

Has anything like that
ever happened to you?

Last week,

you called me, you claimed to be

seeing things
"outside the realm of reality."

Hallucinations.

Are you still experiencing
these aberrations?

- I'm... I'm sorry, I have to go.
- Sidney there's medication you can take.

Hey, Hall, I don't have all day.

Look man, you don't have
to tell me whatever's in the box.

It's fine, it's your right.

I would like a little gratitude.

You want something else, Hall?
The Lewis Chang deal ain't enough for you?

No, no, that's not what I'm saying.
I just don't like being treated like shit.

You like Melody Jameson.

I saw you talking to her in the street.

You know her?

Yeah dude,
she's my little sister's friend.

What's she like? What's she interested in?

- Is she... is she cool? Does she read?
- Does she read?

Yeah, she's Hooked on Phonics.

Dude, I don't fucking know, Hall.

Jesus Christ,
I'm not into girls who like...

long walks on the beach and all that shit.

I mean, I could introduce you to her.

If you're having trouble.

I'm not having trouble.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, right. You really sealed
the deal in the street there.

God knows you're too pussy to ask her out,
I might as well do it for you.

All right, out of sheer curiosity,
what would you do?

Uh...

my sister's birthday
is this coming weekend.

I can take her to the fairgrounds
for ice cream or something.

Coax Melody to tag along.

And you can show up
out of the blue and boom.

Next weekend, right?

Yeah.

So? Think you can grow a dick
and a pair of balls by then?

Not that it'd matter anyway.
She's as prude as they come.

It'd take a crowbar
to get those legs open.

All right, thanks again, man.

Oh, shit. Um...

Here, hide this. Now. Go.

- Now.
- Yeah. Yeah, okay.

- What are you doing here?
- Your sister told me where you were.

- The question is, what are you doing here?
- Hanging out with a friend.

Your mother has been worried
about you all day.

She called the goddamn police.

Overreact much?

Get out of the car!
What the fuck do you think you're doing?

- Just hanging out with a friend.
- You are driving home with me.

Say goodbye to your friend.

Hey, I gotta go, man. I'll, uh...
I'll come back for the car later.

- Come on.
- Yeah, that's cool.

Remember, Hall, you hold the key.
All right? You hold the key.

You hold the key.

- You can hold this fucking key.
- Get off me!

Get in the car.

Oh.

Okay. All right.

You're a peeping Tom.

You're a stalker.

A peeping Tom-stalker.

Sidney, what are you doing?

Are you really going
to depend on Brett Newport?

"I'm riding the Limited Express.

One of the crack trains of the nation.

Hurtling across the prairie
into blue haze and dark air

go 15 all-steel coaches
holding a thousand people."

I read a story he did in the fifth grade
about his dying grandfather.

And it was raw, but articulate. It was...

Brilliant.

And I thought he plagiarized it.

And what did you do?

I had him stay after class
and I confronted him about it.

I told him, he couldn't possibly
have written that story.

And I wanted to know
where he copied it from.

And you know what he said?

He said, "I'll take that as a compliment."

And then, he ran out to catch the bus.

Now, that's the thing about Sidney.

You become a fan, first.

And then, you spend the rest of your life
trying to become a friend.

I have a theory...

that he's been burning copies of his books

in libraries and bookstores
across the country.

Why is that funny?

Sidney was a purist.

He never went online
or anything like that.

So, there's a world
where he may actually believe

that he could burn
all his books in existence.

Let me show you something.

He nearly burned down
the west wing of a library

a few weeks ago, in the city.

Someone fitting his description
was then seen in Harrisburg.

On a freight train.

Then West Virginia.

And then a similar store fire
in Oklahoma city.

Each time, moving further west.

Does that mean anything to you?

Homer, want some dinner?

It's for you.

No, no, not now.

It's a girl.

A girl?

Someone named Melanie.

Melody? Uh, give it to me. Give it to me.

- You know her?
- Yeah, I do.

- Do you go to school with her?
- Yeah. Out.

Hi.

How do I accidentally
meet you tonight

if you don't show up to the fair?

I thought it was too contrived.

Look, I know I've been stand-offish

but I'm the one who wrote you
in the first place.

So don't be such a wuss.

Okay, well.

Where should we meet?

Outside your front door.

Aren't I supposed to be
the one giving you the flower?

Normally, yes.

But since I wear the pants
in this relationship,

it's the other way round.

So, how we getting there?

We're talking your... your parents' car?

- Shh!
- What?

What? Why am I shh?
Why do you want me to shh?

- Push it.
- Push the car? Um...

Why don't we just start the ignition?

- That's what people do.
- Shh. Just do as you're told.

Oh. Oh, we're stealing it.
We're stealing it.

We're borrowing with the intent to return.

That's stealing. That's still stealing.

Hop in.

Hop in? What do you mean, hop in?

Okay.

It's okay...

Don't you think you should
turn on the lights?

Do you like it?

No, this is like the worst sundae
I think I've ever had.

It tastes like tape.

Tape. Yeah.

I used to chew on tape when I was little.

- Ew. Yeah.
- It's gross.

Let's just throw
the tape ice cream in the trash.

So, uh...

so, tell me... tell me, um...

how do you know about my short stories
if you don't even go to my school.

Is that like a thing you do?

Read all the school newspapers
in the county?

I get them from Darcy.

- I keep tabs on ya.
- Hmm.

Aspirations?

Inspirations?

Photography. I love Annie Leibovitz.

She's like my hero.

Um, I love Bob Dylan.

I love horror movies.

You sure you're girl?

Um, old Atari games
and traveling everywhere.

- You?
- Uh, that's a tough list to follow up.

I guess I've really just been writing
and reading, all my life.

I really wanna write a novel.

Something that's going to shake people up.

Well, if you wanna write
a book worthwhile,

you have to see the world.

Have experiences, right?

Yeah.

You should get on that, Sidney.

Be sure to take me with you too.

Okay.

Let's win something.

Hey, can we play?

- You ever played this before?
- No.

- I'm really competitive.
- Oh, oh!

Okay. All right.

Mine's not going. Mine's not going.

All right.

I win.

Thank you.

Could I actually have one of those?

It's not a prize, mind you.
But you're welcome to have a look.

Johan Tidemand.

It's kinda beautiful.

Hey, Melody.

Can I, um...

talk to you?

You make these yourself?

From time to time.

It's a little hobby of mine,
when I travel.

How much, uh...
how would you want for this?

Listen, I only have, uh...

Keep it.

Thanks.

You're welcome.

Hey, Hall.

Hey, man.

- Where you been all week?
- I was... I was sick, dude.

Hey, so, um...

You still... you still have that thing?

Yeah.

Yeah, I can bring it to the finals
on Monday if you want?

How's it going?

What do you mean?

You know what I mean.

Come on.

I'm gonna marry him.

So this is it?

Guess so.

Please, don't leave.

- There's no room for me here anymore.
- I don't know what that means.

It means when I'm with you,
I don't feel like a person.

I feel like Sidney Hall's wife.

That's not true, Mel.

It is true.

When I'm with you,
it's just all about you.

Either your sad or depressed
or jealous or angry.

Those aren't attractive qualities
in case you wanted to know.

Mel, you're leaving me.

I just lost the Pulitzer to Bishop,

a kid killed himself
because of something I wrote...

how am I supposed to feel right now? Huh?

- See?
- What?

- It's all about you again.
- How am I supposed to feel?

That kid didn't kill himself
because of you, or for you.

- He killed himself for the cause.
- You're not going to take the...

Which left
you a really long time ago.

Where are you staying?
Where are you staying?

There's nobody else,
if that's what you're asking.

Please, stay tonight.

Stay tomorrow?

- Yeah?
- Hey,

you weren't at the party last night.
I thought we were supposed to meet up.

Listen, Alexandra.

Sidney, I've been doing some thinking.
I think we should become more serious.

What does that mean?

It means that,
what we're doing is fun but...

but I know it's not really long-term.

I can't do that and you know it.

I want to fall in love with you, Sidney.

Please, don't.

I think I already am.

Well, when you are finished

falling in love with me,

you know where the door is.

Are you for fucking...

Melody?

No, Gina. Remember?

Personal assistant
who you haven't called in a week?

Melody.

Drink this.

Come on.

Well, looks like someone's been busy.

It's just words.

By the looks of it,
enough here for ten books.

Problem is,
there's only ten pages worth reading.

Okay. Which ten?

Doesn't matter which ten.

It's all just
first pages and first sentences.

There's no middle.

There's no end.

Characters keep
switching their identities.

I wish I could tell you there's life
and death and plot twists.

And three generations
of richly drawn characters...

and hope, and courage.

Regrets.

But it's just one long,

intoxicating masturbation session

with no climax.

When am I going to climax?

Okay, let's get you to bed, all right?

When was the last time you slept?

I need you to do me a favor.

All right? Burn 'em.

- Please just...
- What?

Burn 'em. Baby, just...

Sidney, I'm not burning your book.

Just burn 'em.

Okay, you're being drunk and pretentious
and I'm gonna slap you in the face.

People work their entire lives
in this industry,

just to get a taste
of your praise and accolades.

You just want to throw that away?

- I'm not doing it.
- Fine.

I'll just do it myself.

- Okay.
- Fire...

Fuck. Jesus.

Good morning, students.

This is the principal speaking.

I have very sad news.

A student here at Aubrey Field,

Brett Newport, passed away last night.

His cause of death
is unknown at this time.

but he was a good student
and a great athlete.

I would like to extend condolences

on behalf of myself
and the school faculty,

to his friends and family,

and I would like to ask everyone

if they could please rise
for a moment of silence.

I wish I could have been there.

Just five minutes before he did it.

I would have shaken him and just said,
"You have your whole life ahead of you."

The good things outweigh the bad.

That's just not true for some people.

I always felt like there was something
going on in Darcy's house.

There's just something a little off.

Secrets, you know?

I've got to get out of here.

I'll go with you.

No, no, I mean, like...

I gotta get out of here.

Yeah. Me too.

Really?

Yeah, really.

My parents said
they'd give me the old Pacer

so we can leave after the school year.

Where would we go?

We can just go west.

Just go west? I mean, just...

I found this thing the other day,
in a magazine.

Here, I tore it out.

It's really cool, though.
Don't you think?

- Yeah.
- It's in the middle of nowhere.

The sky is, like, really blue.
It's not all polluted.

Where is it?

I don't know.
It's somewhere in the Western Hemisphere.

Oh, that narrows it down.

No, but really,
seriously, we're gonna go here one day.

When we're old. Like, 30.

And it'll be on this date.

What's today?

May...

- May 25th.
- ...25th

- Okay, okay, so on May 25th...
- Mmm-hmm.

...when we're 30 years old,

we'll go to this house.

And sleep on the lay of the land
until the sun rises.

And we'll bathe in desert hot springs

before a tortoise attacks us.

What if we're not together anymore.

We'll be together. I mean, of course,
we're going to be together.

It doesn't matter.
Even if we're not together anymore.

Even if we have different families.

Other lives.

We just have this one night together.

It's our night.

And what happens in the desert
stays in the desert.

But we still don't know where it is.

That's just a small detail.

Anyways, it's all about beginnings.

You already have a beginning.

Yeah? What's that?

Well, you want to write a novel,
don't you?

Yeah.

Well, how about this?

A high-profile judge's son
kills himself in front of the fam.

And you might have been
one of the last people to see him alive.

If that's not a beginning to a great book,

I don't know what is.

No.

Stay.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit. Come on.

- Sir.
- Yeah, we're good.

- Sir.
- Thank you. I'm good.

Sir, I need you to stay right there.

Yeah.

I got it.

Step back to the car for me.

Is there any way
I can get a lift somewhere?

Sir, we're not a taxi.
We're arresting you.

Open container.

I was just laying down there,
that's not even mine.

Ow!

It's all right, Homer.

What are you going to do with my dog?

Animal control
is going to take care of him.

Please don't hurt my dog.

- Please.
- Step on in. Watch your head.

Please don't... Ow!
Please don't hurt my dog.

Roger that, were bringing him around now.

Haven't seen this one before.
His name is Brett Newport.

It's a New York ID. 953383406.

That's Brett Newport. 953383406.

Good evening, ma'am.

My name is Duane Jones.
I teach English at the high school.

Something wrong?

Oh, no. No, no.

Um, not at all. As a matter of fact,
Sidney's one of our brightest students.

I was wondering if I could speak with him.

Make it quick. He's grounded.

Well, I'm not getting any younger.

I almost got in an accident on Route 9
because my mind was so scattered.

And I was...

I was thinking about you and all
the trouble you get me in.

I hope you appreciate it.

Why didn't you tell me
you started writing a book?

Oh, I don't know.

It's just something I was working on.

I thought I'd ask you...

I was curious about your...
your thoughts on it.

Well, I've read what you have this far.

And I thought it was...

manipulative.

It manipulated me
through the first chapter.

It forced me through the second.

It dared me to reach the third.

It was honest.

Personal. Valid.

I loved it.

I wanna know what happens next.

- You do?
- Yeah.

Of course, your choice of subject matter
is... It's a bit controversial.

And as brilliant
as the pages are right now,

you're gonna get some heavy criticism
for it down the road.

Down the road? What do you mean?

Uh...

I took it upon myself
to send your pages out

to some friends of mine
who are in the publishing business.

Um, but did anyone respond?

Yes.

Uh, who?

Porter House.

Porter House?

Mmm-hmm.

What did they say?

They said it was strong.

They want to meet
with you as soon as possible.

There could be money involved.

- Really?
- Yeah, now, uh, in these situations

a professional writer
would call upon someone to, uh,

hold meetings,
negotiate and things like that.

And seeing as how
you're inexperienced in those...

Those sorta things, um...

I was just wondering if...

just wondering if, uh...

You wanna be my agent?

Yes.

Uh...

- If you'd have me...
- Please, please, yes.

- Of course.
- That's great.

This is great.

Blowing my mind.
I don't know what to say right now.

We'll meet with them tomorrow at 1:00.

1:00 o'clock? What about class?

Fuck it.

Brett Newport.

Newport.

You posted bail.

Mr. Hall?

You bailed me out?

Well, what do you want?

I'd like to...

ask you some questions.

Are you hungry?

There's a diner
just down the road and if...

if you're hungry,
I'd like to buy you a meal.

Look, man. You wanna take me
out on a date or something?

That's cool. I'm easy.

You're just gonna have to get
my dog out too,

otherwise I'm not going anywhere.

I've already taken care of that.

Okay, let's eat.

Hmm.

Mr. Hall, I've been searching
for you for the better half of a year.

I'm a big fan.

I've studied both of your novels,

Suburban Tragedy and Stay of Execution,
and I...

I find them to be
extraordinary forms of map work.

Map work, huh?

You're a psycho fan, aren't you?

No. No. Well, I mean, maybe a little.

Life isn't very interesting
if we're not a bit psychotic.

Look...

I'm not a writer anymore.

You understand what I'm saying?
I don't have any money.

I, uh... there's nothing I can give you.

That's not what interests me.

I've come here with the intention
of presenting you with a deal.

In return for me posting your bail,

I would like to ask you a favor.

However, I need you to say yes
to this favor

before I actually tell
you exactly what it is.

No. No way.
You have to tell me what it is first.

You're not really in a position
to bargain, Mr. Hall.

Your propensity for starting fires

in public places
has you at a disadvantage.

But don't worry, what I ask you,
it will not take long.

Oh, great, why'd you have to go
and say that...

First it was a favor,
and now it's a time-consuming favor.

There's nothing to be afraid of,
it may even be therapeutic.

Therapeutic?

Do you have any idea what kind of
fucked up things I'm imagining right now?

- Then I suggest you say yes.
- Yes! Sure! Jesus Christ.

Tell me what it is
before I have a heart attack already.

I want to write a book about you.

Say again?

I want to write your biography. Your life.

You want to write a book about me?

- I'd like to write a book about you.
- Absolutely not. No, no, no.

- Yes. Yes. Yes.
- Have you ever written anything before?

I know what you've written.
I happen to think

you're one of the best writers
of our time.

Don't get ahead of yourself, I'm not...
that would be Francis Bishop.

Have you ever read Francis Bishop?
Won the Pulitzer the year I was nominated.

Maybe he didn't deserve it.

No, he, uh... he deserved it all right.

His follow-up book
was proof enough of that.

My follow-up
was self-indulgent and pretentious

so if you want to write
about the greatest writer of our time,

I suggest you write
about Francis Bishop.

No, I'm no good at autobiographies...

Look, I don't know what to tell you then.

You're Francis Bishop?

Nah. The badge you flashed me.

The badge.

To tell you the truth,
I got this at a dollar store

and it must be a good replica
because I've never had a single person

ask me a question about it.

A dollar store?
You mean like Just-a-Buck?

Just-a-Buck.

- Hold on... do you mind if I see this?
- No, please.

Oh, my God. This is not real.

This is fake. You're not fucking lying.

No.

How many people have you shown that to?

Just about everyone from here
to New York City.

Wait. Wait, you impersonated
an officer of the law.

You know that's illegal, right?

I showed that to real police,
they didn't even flinch.

You're crazy. I thought I was
fuckin' nuts. You're fuckin' crazy.

I always wanted
to get into investigative journalism,

I never really did,
but I went full out on this.

And/or it could have something
to do with a mid-life crisis,

I'm not sure which.

However, nonetheless, here I am.

Wow.

- You have a family?
- A son.

Very handsome son.

What are you doing here?

Visiting my wife.

Well, she's busy.

What is that?

You found it?

I bought it.

For you.

And we can go there whenever you want.

We can go there right now.

It's yours.

You wanna go there right now?

- I can't do that.
- Why?

Because we're not kids anymore, Sidney.

What about...

I can't just get in a car
and go off forever.

What about being spontaneous. Going west?

Remember we used to talk about that?

New beginnings.

I have a career.

You're a photographer.
You can shoot from anywhere.

- I can write from anywhere.
- Sidney...

Don't do that, please,
if you don't want to go west,

we don't need to go west, we can
go north, south, east, Europe, Asia.

Wherever you want.
I just want to be with you.

I'm pregnant.

It's yours.

So no.

I can't just go west.

I don't get to be spontaneous anymore.

Do you even care?

Of course I care.
Don't... don't do that. Please. Please.

Because if you care,
things need to change.

I will change everything.
I'll change anything you want.

Are you cheating on me?

No.

- This is your only chance...
- I'm not cheating on you.

- This is the time to tell me.
- I'm not cheating on you.

- I get it, we haven't been together.
- I'm not...

This is your one
get-out-of-jail-free card.

I'm not... Listen, I'm done.

I'm done with that. I promise.

You're my best friend. I miss you so much.

Please. Just give us a chance.

I want to bring up this child with you.

Oh.

If we want this to work,
we need to get back to this moment.

The rest of our lives have to be
as true as this moment was.

Here.

Look, Francis, you know,
I'm a fan of yours.

I like your writing. I really do.

But I'm not exactly
the kind of guy that opens up.

You realize that both your books are still
on The New York Times bestseller list.

I had no involvement
in the release of that second novel.

I know it was a success.

I know that they hailed it
some sort of stream-of-conscious bible.

But it's just a bunch
of unfinished sentences.

- Unfinished sentences.
- Unfinished sentences.

Probably some of the most honest writing
that you have ever done.

That's why it's even
bigger than the first book.

I wrote a story, people bought it.

Mr. Hall, you have become the story.

- You are the story now.
- Bullshit.

You know what I think bullshit is?
I think bullshit is...

It's people who wander around the country
pretending to be other people.

You wake up in the morning,
you look in the mirror.

I don't care what you tell yourself,
you're going to be Sidney Hall, period.

I mean, some writers
they don't even find their voice

until they're I don't know what.

And here you are,
you're out wasting your time,

what are you, age 30?

But what do I know? What do I know...

You don't know anything about me.

I'd really like to.

Mr. Hall.

I understand your reservations
about the biography.

I respect your decision.

I do suspect, however,

that once I leave here,
you're not going to be contacting me.

So before I leave,
there's something I want you to know.

This has been
a very personal journey for me.

I want you to know that...

my son probably wouldn't alive today if...

if he hadn't randomly picked up a book
called Suburban Tragedy out of my study.

His mother passed away recently and he...

he didn't really speak to anyone

until he read your book.

So I guess you could say
that you brought my son back to me.

And he is everything to me.

He's all I've got.

If our paths never cross again,

it's been an honor meeting you.

Only for a brief moment.

Francis.

You deserved it.

The Pulitzer.

You really did, it's a great book.

You should really call your Dad.

Your mom walked out on him.

Just in case you wanted to know.

Okay, I'll change the subject.

- So I was thinking of names.
- Names?

For our baby.

- Baby names?
- Mmm-hmm.

- The little nugget.
- Mmm-hmm.

If it's a girl... Helen.

Which is really pretty.

And then if it's a boy, Homer.

- Homer. Homer. No...
- You don't like it?

Homer, no. He's going to get
his ass kicked with that name.

- You can't name a kid Homer.
- Why? I like it.

I don't know about that.

Is it like Homer in the Odyssey, Homer?
Or is it Homer like Homer Simpson?

No, it's neither, it's our Homer.

- It's his own thing.
- Doh.

Just think about it, I think it's nice.

Do you recognize him?

Um, no. I thought it was... someone...

- Are you okay?
- Yeah.

Uh...

- I saw a doctor few weeks ago.
- What for?

Nothing, it was just a checkup.

Uh, some, you know,
headaches I've been having.

Well, we know where those come from.

- Yeah, I'm fine.
- You're not fine.

You're obviously not fine
if you had to go see a doctor about it.

I promise. It's nothing.

All right.
Well, I have to go to the bathroom.

This conversation isn't over, okay?

Okay.

Sidney... Sidney... Sidney...
I'm still your friend, Sidney.

He writes about confrontation,
but in real life, he avoids it.

Sidney, we lost the Pulitzer to Bishop.

The core of our nation is etched
inside these of plastic smiles.

Endless rows of nowhere houses.

Are you fucking my daughter, Sidney?

- Are you fucking my daughter?
- Why can't you just be normal?

You have to talk to the press, Sidney.
You can't avoid them forever.

You hold the key.

You should be ashamed of yourself...

Are you fucking my daughter?

Hi, Sidney.

Are you married, are you not married?
What's going on?

'Cause I'm getting a little confused.
Where is she?

Hey, there was a long line.
Thanks for waiting.

Um, I think I've decided,
I'm just going to have the risotto.

She wants the risotto.

What's going on?

She's a hallucination.

Yeah, I'm a fucking hallucination, Sidney!

What's going on
is I've been fucking your husband.

In case you didn't already realize that.
Or I don't know, is he your husband?

Is he not your husband?
I can't really tell,

sometimes when he's fucking me so hard,
I assume that he's not your husband.

Then here you guys
are having a great dinner.

Wow, you're so surprised
because he's never done this before.

I fucked your husband
in case you didn't get that

across your little princess brain, baby!

Melody!

What is this? What are you doing?

I'm leaving.

- What do you mean you're leaving?
- I'm leaving, that's what I'm doing.

I'm leaving tomorrow, for good.

You're not leaving, the hell you are!

- I'm getting the rest of my things.
- Stop it, just let me explain myself!

Just talk to me. Talk to me...

Explain what?

That you're a fucking liar and a cheat?

With what money?
You can't even afford to get on a bus.

I sold a book.

- What do you mean you sold a book?
- I got an advance on a book I'm writing.

- For how much?
- That's none of your business, how much.

It is my business!

How many were there?

- How many were there?
- Please, don't do this.

Two! Four! Ten! How many?

It didn't mean anything to me!

You're the only one in my entire life
that means anything to me.

Don't give me that bullshit!

Everything is your business.
You go through my things.

You breathe down my neck!

I can't breathe when I'm around you!

I've put every dime I've ever earned,
I have put towards you!

That's Dad's money.
It's called disability.

It's not bullshit!

- Get the fuck away from me.
- All right.

You got to be fucking kidding me.

This can't be fucking happening.

You wanna hit me? You wanna slap your son?

Come on, do it again.

- Don't you disrespect me!
- Oh!

Maybe this
is a blessing in disguise.

Maybe we can finally talk about

the things we never get to talk about.

I'm feeling claustrophobic.

You don't get
to choose when you leave me!

You don't get to choose.
When I had you, I didn't have a choice!

I didn't get a choice when I had you!
You don't have a choice!

Stop.

Let go of me! Why are you defending him?

He's leaving me!

He can't... I won't...

Velouria...

Velouria...

- Let him go.
- No.

Lights will come on soon.

Hello!

Can anyone hear me?

Is it because of the journals?

It's not just one thing, Mom.

It's not just one thing.

Hello! Hello! Can anybody hear me?

Mel?

Mel, honey? Where's your inhaler?

Where's your inhaler?

It's not in here. It's not in your purse.

All right. Did you leave
it at the restaurant.

All right, just listen. Breathe.

We're gonna be out of here soon.

You'll be out of here real soon.
Just relax.

- Can anybody hear me?
- Yeah, you're down there?

Yeah. Hello! Hello!

My wife and I have been
trapped in the elevator

for quite some time now. She has asthma.

She can't breathe very well.
We don't have her medication.

I'll call 911,
but it might take a few, okay?

Just hurry. Please.

Honey...

just hang in there, it'll be all right.

It'll be all right. Please.

I'm sorry...

I'm so sorry.

Mel...

I failed...

You deserve so much better than this.

You deserve more than me.

I'm right here. Can you hear that?
Can you hear that?

Uh-huh.

They're... they're almost here,
just a few more minutes, okay?

All right?

I'm here. I'm right here with you.
Just calm down.

Breathe...

The entire Southwest remains on...

I'll be back, the day before.

We'll get some dinner,
I'll take you out with your buddies.

I look forward to meeting her.

Sidney Hall
who was recently declared deceased...

All right, I love you too...

- ...has reemerged an hour ago.
- All right, goodbye.

Renowned author was admitted
to Taos General Hospital,

in Taos, New Mexico.

This is the first time
that the notoriously reclusive Mr. Hall

has been heard from or seen
in public in over seven years.

Those at the hospital
say his condition is critical.

Hello?

When he gained consciousness,
we asked him who he wanted us to call.

You were the only one he mentioned.

You're the only person
he wants in the room.

What happened to him?

There are indications of scarring
on the right side of his brain.

His liver is barely functioning.

And he has a history of seizures.
Simply put...

He's been going for years
with no medication or treatment.

Is he going to be all right?

His body is failing him, Mr. Bishop.

But his mind still seems sharp.

He claims it's the comfiest bed
he's slept in, in years.

Well, I guess I'll go in then.

Hi, Homer.

This is the home
we've been waiting for, all right?

Haven't seen her in a long time.

Almost forgot.

I swore I'd never forget this.

Mr. Hall.

Call me Sidney, for fuck's sake.

Okay.

Where's Homer?

He's at the house.

I promise you I'll take care of him
until you get out of here.

You see that, right there?

There's a package...

It's just a bunch of my writings...

and scribblings.
Just stuff from over the years.

It's yours if you want it.

Use it.

Do what you want with it.

There are three reasons
why I called you here today.

One is that...

I want you to write
this little book of yours.

Two...

is that there's something
I never documented

that I need to get off my chest.

And the third is...

you're the only person I know.

Where do you want to start?

We'll start with the person
Suburban Tragedy is based on.

His name was Brett Newport.

And this is how I killed him.

What's in it?

None of your business.

Here, hide this. Now! Go...

Get out of the car!

Remember, Hall, you hold the key.
All right? You hold the key!

He wasn't in school on Monday.

He was probably grounded and beaten,

which would have explained the bruises
I saw on his face later that week.

Hey, so, um, you still have that thing?

Yeah. Yeah. I can bring it
to the finals on Monday if you want?

I stared at that lunch box
for over half an hour.

What was the best way to go about this?

Melody was still forefront on my mind.

Somehow I felt obligated to bring closure
to this current development.

Even now, deep down I knew
that once I opened that box,

it would ultimately not be the ending

or rather the beginning
of something very unfortunate.

Did you watch it?

Look man, it's, uh...

It's really none of my business.

Did you watch it?

There, documented on video

was Brett's Father,

Judge George Newport,
having sex with an underage girl.

And when it was finally over,

he would arrange for a car
to take her back to school,

middle-school by the looks of it.

And then just minutes
after the Judge left,

it all came together.

Smart kid.

Who would have known
underneath that football helmet

was such a damaged soul.

A soul that may well have been
on its way to greatness

had it not been stilted by an upbringing
I couldn't even begin to imagine.

I'm gonna kill him, I swear to God,
next time he tries to touch me,

I'm gonna take a knife and I'm gonna
stab him in his fucking neck.

Okay, look, man,

if you turn the tape to the authorities,
he won't be around anymore.

You know?

He rapes Darcy...

Okay. You're gonna have to turn in
the tape as soon as possible.

She doesn't say anything,
but I know he does it, man.

Because I can hear her cry,
some nights, through the walls.

Listen. Listen, this has to end.

All right. This has to end
and that's why we dug it up. Right?

That's why we dug it up. So this can end.

I'm gonna stab the fucking bastard.

Listen to me, man,
don't do anything stupid.

All right? Just wait until Monday,
we'll turn it in.

I'll go in with you.

Okay? I'll go with you.

I should
have turned that tape in.

I should have listened to his words
and taken them more seriously.

But I didn't.

- This is Melody.
- Hi.

Are those my notebooks?

What's going on?

I found this in your VCR.

- No... no, it's not what you think.
- I don't know what to think.

I mean, I don't know if it's porn
or some black market S&M shit

but it is much sicker
than I imagined you to have.

You know. And after watching this,
I thought I better read your journals,

because I better get some insight
into my son.

And all I read about was drugs
and masturbation

and black high school teachers,

and let's not forget
about the beautiful passages

about your mother, the whore!

The high school cheerleader
that got knocked up by the tight end.

You don't understand, all right?
Just give me...

Don't understand?

- Stop it.
- Fuck you!

- No! No! No!
- Maybe next time

you will have a little bit more respect
when you write about your mother!

Maybe next time you'll think twice!

- No! No! Stop it! Stop it!
- Oh, fucking...

No. No.

I screwed up.

Brett called me
to ask when we should meet up.

And I had to tell him the tape was gone.

And he hung up on me.

He died on an unusually cold Sunday.

Stabbed himself, in the stomach.

There were rumors
that he did it to avoid military school.

But I knew the truth.

I killed him...

You can't blame yourself for that.

I may not have been there
when the knife went in, but...

I was there ever since.

He's been with me.

Watching me.

I mean how the entire course
of a person's life

can change, in a millisecond.

Do something.

- Do something. Do something.
- I'm trying to.

I'm trying to, let me do something.

Just sing.

- Sing what?
- Sing...

- Sing?
- Sing.

What do you want me to sing?
I'll sing anything you want.

All right... I'll sing.

I will.

Um... yeah...

Stay with me. Stay with me.

Stay with me.

I only know the first verse.

I don't know the second verse.

You want me to keep singing,
I'll keep singing for you.

Breathe. Honey? Honey? Sweetheart...

Mel? Mel? Mel...

Wake up. Come on, breathe.

Oh, no.

Once Melody left me,

it dawned on me,

looking out
at all those wonderful city lights,

that I was just one of those
millions of city lights,

a tiny little pixel,

buried within the white noise of life,

blinking on
forjust a brief second in time.

I didn't want to be a martyr.

I wanted to be nobody.

And I walked out of that apartment...

with only the clothes on my back.

To become nobody.

I never returned again.

I just keep replaying that scene.

Hoping against hope
that the ending would change.

That she would just wake up...

And say, "Sidney...

I'm not leaving you just yet.

I'm still pregnant."

Sidney.