by Greg Bear
We see that Trevor is very organized, very neat, the room is neat as a pin. But there’s something about his expression … distant. And very ALONE.
CONTROL VOICE
Some are unlikely pioneers. In the invisible reaches they explore new frontiers … A new kind of jungle, filled with terrible dangers … Tigers from which they cannot flee.
ANGLE ON TREVOR’S DRAWING.
A KLEIN BOTTLE (SKETCH 1). It also resembles the FUSION REACTOR VESSEL we’ve already seen. It’s surrounded by MATHEMATICAL EQUATIONS, really high-level, complex … And all in thick crayon.
We tour the room. Shelves of high-level math texts: TENSOR CALCULUS, ANALYTICAL GEOMETRY, etc.. Cartoon books, too. Strange young fellow, but not out of our range of sympathies. Trevor will grow on us; he’s a bit of an alien, but with an indefinable something that makes him a little bigger than the people around him.
Trevor looks up, scans the corners of the room. He SEES SOMETHING, leaps to his feet, and hides the drawing behind his back. We HOPE that the room is empty, but then …
OFF HIS SHIFTING EYES … The corners fill with POOLS of shadow. The shadows creep down the walls. They take on shapes suggestive of fingers, claws, tentacles .
Trevor averts his eyes, shakes his head, as if in answer to some query. And again. He removes the drawing from behind his back, holds it up, for approval, tense, afraid. His hair LUFFS in a breeze, and he squints. A loop of DARKNESS slices the drawing down the middle, sharp as a razor.
A BLACK, SERPENTINE SHADOW pythons around the walls, wrapping Trevor in coils of darkness. Books, models, FLY OFF THE SHELVES, Legos DISINTEGRATE, hitting Trevor. The coils release him, playing with him. He hides behind raised arms.
A SPIKE-COVERED TENTACLE drops from out of empty air in front of him, rotates, twists, begins to SPIN at blinding speed, then JERKS around the room like a TWISTER, scattering everything! He tries vainly to strike out with his fists.
Trevor CRIES OUT, his voice odd, strangled, as if he is not used to talking.
TREVOR
No more!
He tries to grab at his prized paper models as they fly past him, but they are TORN UP, scattered. Two spiked tentacles lift the pieces of his bottle drawing and finish shredding them, then SHOVE him back onto his bed. DEBRIS drifts through the air.
ANGLE ON THE DOOR.
It’s PADDED. As the door OPENS suddenly, all the shadows and the tentacles WHIP AWAY and VANISH, and JANINE KALB stands there, dismayed. She’s in her thirties, formally pretty, tied-back hair, wearing a white doctor’s coat. From her POV, we see Trevor standing in the middle of the mess, papers falling, books cascading off the shelves. Trevor refuses to meet her eyes.
JANINE
Oh, my God, Trevor. Not again.
She’s not very surprised. Trevor goes to a corner, squatting on his haunches.
We PULL BACK, through the open door, past MICHAEL, a burly male nurse leaning on the jamb, and see the door is made of steel. Beyond is a sterile white brick hallway, institutional tile: A HOSPITAL. Trevor is in a LOCKDOWN ROOM.
WE SWING BACK, FLY AROUND JANINE, ZOOM IN ON HER FACE. SHE AND ALL AROUND HER MORPH INTO A CUBIST PERSPECTIVE, as if from several angles at once, Picasso-style.
END OF TEASER
ACT ONE
INT. LAB OFFICE - MORNING
Alone in the office, Dan is pulling up sheet after sheet of reactor design sketches, referring them to the schematic on the laptop. Frantic.
DAN
Why can’t I see it? It’s got to be simple. Genius is always simple, really.
The phone rings. Dan swears under his breath and picks it up.
DAN (CONT’D)
Shaeffer. Oh. Hello …
The expression on his face changes to astonishment as he listens.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. OLIVE GROVE RESTAURANT - DAY
It’s middle-class university town dining, clean, with a few potted plants and faux stone paint. Janine Kalb sits at a two-person table near the window, looking over her menu. Given more time with her, we see a pretty but discontented woman in her thirties, almost as formal without her doctor’s coat. She LOOKS UP.
Dan is standing by the window, looking in. He meets her eyes, gives a small, cautious smile—very small, very cautious—and pushes through the door. He drops his coat on the back of the chair and sits across from Janine. They’re like two teenagers, stiff and uncertain.
DAN
Janine. You look wonderful.
JANINE
Dan … Thank you for coming. I know you’re busy.
DAN
Very. And you … How’s the clinic?
JANINE
We’re managing. Where are you working now?
DAN
At the university. Consulting. Design work, actually.
JANINE
Sounds important.
DAN
You could say that.
She hands him a menu. He opens it quickly, biting a nail self-consciously, catches himself, drops his hand.
DAN (CONT’D)
I still chew my nails.
JANINE
I see.
TOGETHER:
DAN
What’s good?
JANINE
I’m having the salad.
Her steady, appraising look makes him feel guilty.
DAN
There’s nothing more to talk about, is there? It’s settled. Been a year.
JANINE
A lot of broken crockery.
DAN
You invited me, remember?
JANINE
I’m sorry. My work is tough on manners.
(Beat)
I could use some advice. .
DAN
From me? That’s a switch.
Why does he stay? This hurts. But it’s apparent he still has a little hope that they might have something to give each other … to mean to each other.
JANINE
Where to begin! Burlington is a small town. I don’t know any mathematicians but you, Dan. There’s a boy in my care. Trevor Bourne is his name. He’s twelve years old. Autistic. Do you know what that means?
DAN
Out of touch.
JANINE
Untouchable is more like it. And violent at times, self-destructive. But so very, very intelligent. We have so few resources in the clinic. He deserves better care than I can give.
DAN
I’m sorry.
JANINE
Trevor is withdrawn around people, but when he’s alone, he sketches and writes all the time, geometry, math … diagrams. Equations. Ideas I can’t begin to understand. He has his father’s books, high-level math texts. He treasures them. His father is dead.
Dan raises his eyebrows, still not clear on why he’s here.
JANINE (CONT’D)
His mother abandoned him six months ago. The state put him into a foster home, but they couldn’t deal with him. When he came to the clinic, I used reward conditioning, and he’s made progress, but lately he’s become extremely reactive. Violent, self-destructive—and quite the little escape artist. I’m at my wit’s end, Dan. I can’t even talk with him now.
DAN
You think I can?
The waitress arrives for their drinks order. Dan orders coffee, Janine iced tea.
JANINE
I’d like you to meet him, see what he does. I think he could be brilliant. A genius.
There’s that word again. Dan scowls as if at a bad memory.
DAN
He sounds like a hard case, and I’m not trained. I’m extremely busy—
JANINE
Call it instinct. You could talk to the boy, draw him out. Ask him what he’s really doing, d
eep inside that very, very lonely mind.
Dan smiles. He’s aware of the manipulation.
DAN
You still know how to pull my strings.
JANINE
It might do you good.
DAN
Kill two birds with one stone? Help your patient, and humanize your self-serving schmuck of an ex-husband.
ON JANINE. Tight-lipped.
DAN (CONT’D)
What’s the boy’s name again?
JANINE
Trevor.
DAN
So … he’s the dysfunctional son we never had?
This stings. Janine pulls her napkin out of her lap, twisted into knots, and flops it on the table.
JANINE
I should have known. My instincts have always been bad.
Off this last line, the waitress delivers their drinks and looks at Dan. He glances back, What? The waitress departs. Then Dan leans forward, intimate, intense.
DAN
How brilliant?
Janine stares at him, non-plussed.
DAN (CONT’D)
How brilliant is he?
She has him. She plays him.
JANINE
Exceptionally.
DAN
Will this reduce my bastard quotient … in your eyes?
JANINE
It’ll be a mitzvah.
DAN
I’m not Jewish.
JANINE
Neither am I. If you don’t help, I don’t know anyone who can.
We hold ON DAN, he’s skeptical, but she’s shot home her point, and then
CUT TO:
INT. THE GLORIA P. DUNHAM CLINIC - LATER
Janine signs them in at the station at one end of the clinic’s lockdown wing. There’s an attempt here to go beyond the institutional—pastel colors, flowered wallpaper, palms—but it’s not a success. Efficient rather than homelike. But it’s no dump, either. Here, people care, but it’s painful to care too much..
Dan stares at a cork board with drawings attached: PUPPIES, SCARY TREES, SMILING FACES, etc., and an UNFOLDED HYPERCUBE, like a cross with four bars. (Sketch 1)
DAN
Trevor did this?
JANINE
Dozens of them. Is it religious?
He plucks the drawing off the board and carries it with him. She takes an electronic key from the guard behind the counter and Dan follows her down a long hall.
DAN
No. It’s a tesseract. The three-dimensional unfolding of a four-dimensional hypercube. Well, actually, Salvador Dali thought it could be religious. A cube is made up of six sides, each side a two-dimensional square. Unfold it and you get a kind of cross made of squares. A four-dimensional cube—a hypercube—has sides made up of three-d cubes. Unfold it, and you get this.
JANINE
(Not her thing, really)
Oh.
DAN
As Barbie once said, ‘Math is hard.’
Janine gives him a “spare me” look.
DAN (CONT’D)
Seeing any one?
JANINE
(Prim)
My patients.
At Trevor’s door. She applies the key.
JANINE (CONT’D)
I have boxes of drawings we’ve removed from Trevor’s room. Stacks. He always makes more. I think, inside, he’s a very sweet little boy.
This seems to be a kind of warning. She opens the door as Michael, the burly attending male nurse, joins them, a precaution.
JANINE (CONT’D)
Michael, we’ll go in alone this time.
Michael stays outside.
INT. TREVOR’S ROOM
All the lights are on. There are no windows, no doors. There’s a sound, a hint of motion, and we PAN to catch Trevor in his corner, squatting down, arms up across his chest like a mummy, staring at nothing. A sheet of construction paper completes its FALL, and a crayon ROLLS OFF the thick-legged desk, which is bolted to the floor AND COVERED WITH RUBBER PADDING.
And—was that a shadow retreating into the upper corner? How could Trevor have knocked these objects off the table and made it to the corner in time?
Dan reluctantly follows Janine into the room.
JANINE
Hello, Trevor. I’d like to introduce you to a friend. Trevor, this is Dan. Dan, this is Trevor.
The boy doesn’t acknowledge them. He rocks, squeezing his fingers into fists, then unsqueezing them, over and over. He is covered with bruises and scratches. Some bandages hang loose from his arms, showing scabs. Dan is unprepared for this.
JANINE (CONT’D)
Trevor, would you like to say hello to Dan? It’s worth a Jolly Rancher.
She dangles a wrapped hard candy. Trevor pays no attention.
JANINE (CONT’D)
(To Dan)
Reward therapy. Could you just stay with Trevor, here, for a while? Keep him company? I’ll be back.
Janine smiles and backs out, closing the door behind her. Dan is stunned.
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
Janine glances at the startled Michael, holds her finger to her lips. They both listen at the door.
INT. TREVOR’S ROOM
Dan gapes like a fish, glancing between the padded door and Trevor, and then looks around the room.
DAN
Hello, Trevor.
Fist, no-fist. Fist, no-fist.
Dan moves around the room, avoiding the boy’s corner. He examines the models, the sketches, and the equations on the desk, bends to pick up the paper on the floor, reaches up to touch a cut-and-paste DODECAHEDRON—a twelve-sided polygon.
DAN (CONT’D)
Great stuff. Made these yourself? They let you have scissors?
Makes a wry face; that wasn’t cool. He pulls out a random sheet of paper packed with equations, then looks up at the shelf of books, all battered, but neatly arranged once again. He turns the paper around, TRACING the spiral of equations with his finger. (Will provide). Now he’s very impressed.
DAN (CONT’D)
You did this? Very cool.
Goes to the shelf and takes down a thick book: ADVANCED n-SPATIAL GEOMETRY.
DAN (CONT’D)
Your dad was a mathematician?
Trevor looks at the shelf, then back into the corner.
DAN (CONT’D)
You do hear me. I’ll bet he was a good one, Trevor.
He kneels a long pace away from Trevor, uneasy.
DAN (CONT’D)
I’m a mathematician, too.
(Beat)
Mind if I just sit on this chair … woops!
The chair is bolted to the floor.
DAN (CONT’D)
It doesn’t move. I’ll sit and wait for Janine. For Dr. Kalb. May I borrow some paper?
No answer. Dan pulls out a sheet of paper and takes up a crayon.
DAN (CONT’D)
Getting nowhere at work. Might as well be here, with you, right? … Talking. Shooting the breeze, as they say. But enough about me.
He jabs at the equations on Trevor’s paper.
DAN (CONT’D)
You’ve made an error. This … does not lead to this. Let me write out what I think the solution is, OK?
He writes quickly on his sheet. Holds it up. Trevor does not look.
CU ON DAN. This is really getting to him. He swallows and looks around the room, then stands and goes to the door. Trevor gets up and sidles over to the desk, take his sheet, RIPS IT IN TWO, then THROWS it away and returns to his corner.
DAN (CONT’D)
It wasn’t that bad. It was mostly right.
He stoops and picks up the halves of the sheet.
DAN (CONT’
D)
Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll see the answer more clearly if you graph it. Visual aids are always good, at least for me.
Dan blinks. Just as he’s about to pound on the padded door, it opens, and Janine returns.
JANINE
So how’s it going? Trevor?
Fist, no-fist, rocking. Janine gestures to Dan, leans over to drop the Jolly Rancher candy on the table, then escorts him from the room. They walk down the hall.
JANINE (CONT’D)
Did he react?
DAN
He doesn’t like criticism.
JANINE
He reacted! That’s wonderful. Maybe you have the touch.
DAN
How do you stand it?
JANINE
He’s a charmer, really. Compared to others.
She smiles at Dan with new respect.
JANINE (CONT’D)
So—you’ll come back? Trevor needs time to get to know you. Persistence is the key.
ON DAN. This does not appeal to him. He shakes his head.
JANINE (CONT’D)
I understand.
DAN
I have a hard enough time dealing with people who talk. You of all people know that.
Janine’s expression is tight, controlled; she expected too much.
DAN (CONT’D)
And frankly, there’s enough stress in my life right now. I tried … I failed. Thanks for thinking of me.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE GLORIA P. DUNHAM CLINIC - DAY
Dan leaves through the front door, descends the steps in a rush at first, hands in pockets, then slows and stands in the bright sun, staring up at the sky. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
DAN
Shit.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. DAN’S BEDROOM - LATE AT NIGHT
The clock says 3:00. In bed in the dark, asleep. He JERKS.
P.O.V. DREAM
FLASH on Trevor STARING at us with a quizzical expression. Clouds of BLACK SMOKE like squid ink fill the space behind him.
INT. DAN’S BEDROOM
Dan sits up in bed with a strangled SHOUT, eyes wide. Swings his legs over the edge of the bed, sits up.
CUT TO:
INT. DAN’S BATHROOM
He taps a couple of aspirin tablets into his palm, slugs them back, chases them with a glass of water, stares at himself in the mirror owlishly, accusingly.
DISSOLVE TO: