"Déjà Vu"
Written by: Morton M., CoronetBlue, Phil Turner, and Mitch Nozka
Directors: Bobbynear and Sandra. — Assistant Director: Leonardo Anchundia
Producer(s): Lea Ames and CoronetBlue
Post Production: Brixius and R.A. — Creator: Roy Huggins
THE PROLOGUE
SOMEWHERE
"You may think that you are always right, but you know that you are not always correct," the old man says.
"I do my job, the best I can. That's all I can do. That's all I know how to do," Captain Philip Gerard answers back.
The old man pins him with his gaze. "Kimble just may be innocent."
"A jury convicted him. It is my job to see that justice is done," Gerard replies defensively.
"Justice? I was young once," the old man says. "I put my job before everyone and everything. I wasted four years of my life chasing a phantom. The man I thought was guilty of murder was completely innocent. I almost lost my family. I almost lost my sanity. I've spent the rest of my life trying to erase those four years."
"You sound like Jacob Marley," Gerard retorts. "I have news for you. It's not Christmas, and I don't believe in ghosts."
CHICAGO - GERARD'S BEDROOM - SEPT. 18, 6:00 A.M.
The alarm clock goes off and Gerard wakes. "Damn," he says, shaking off the apparition. He presses his hands to his eyes. "Where did that come from?"
CAPE FEAR, NORTH CAROLINA - ROUTE 421 - SEPT. 18, 7:30 A.M.
The sky and sea are golden. It is a gorgeous morning—the day after Kimble's escape from Myrtle Beach. The coast appears serene in the wake of Hurricane Gabrielle. The camera pans along a beautiful, nearly empty stretch of beach paralleled by a highway. A solitary man is walking along the side of the road, carrying a duffel bag.
Kimble takes a deep breath of salt air and looks out over the ocean. He has tinted his lengthening hair auburn and pulled it back into a short ponytail. His sideburns are starting to grow in, but the mustache is gone. The impression he gives is less that of a medical doctor than a mechanic.
The only people about at this hour are a couple swimming not far from shore. The young woman is standing chest-deep in water, instructing a rather uncoordinated man who is swimming farther out. Their voices carry on the breeze.
"No—kick harder!" The woman says shrilly.
The man complies, splashing ineptly in the manner of a new swimmer. The woman has a Coke can in one hand. She dispenses of it by tossing it in a long arc out into the ocean. Kimble, grimaces, not liking to see the littering of nature. He passes a trash receptacle near the road.
He has not gone far when he hears a scream from the swimmers. He turns.
"Tiffany!" The man calls, thrashing his arms frantically to keep from go-ing under. "Something's got me! HELP!" The man screams again and is dragged beneath the waves.
The frightened woman watches in horror, then hurries out of the water.
Kimble looks around for a life-guard station. The beach is unguarded and he realizes he must act or the man may drown.
Kimble leaps down the dunes and tears across the sand, dropping his duffel bag and pulling off his shoes as he goes. Tiffany stares, white-faced, as Kimble dives into the surf. The man has surfaced, but he has swallowed a good deal and is choking. Kimble reaches him using a powerful Australian crawl. Only then does he see the shark circling.
A pool of blood is already staining the water around the man. Kimble glances about desperately. Floating on the incoming tide is a log of driftwood. He swims to it and sidestrokes back, just as the shark is coming in for another bite. With all his strength Kimble raises the driftwood and brings it down, smacking the shark sharply across the nose.
Grabbing the man beneath the arms, Kimble tugs him in to shore. The shark does not follow. As he pulls the limp body onto the beach, Kimble sees that the shark has taken a gaping bite out of the man's thigh.
"Do you have a cell phone?" he shouts to Tiffany, who is standing beside a beach bag and towel. When she doesn't respond, he shouts again. "Phone 911, he's hurt badly!"
Slowly, as if in a dream, Tiffany bends over and fishes in the bag. Kimble strips off his belt and makes a tourniquet.
"I forgot to pack the phone," Tiffany says tonelessly.
The man is still breathing, but his eyes roll, indicating that he is losing consciousness. Kimble turns the man's head to
the side and some sea water spills from his mouth. "Hand me that towel," he demands. While he presses the towel against the wound, the young woman puts on a gauzy black beach robe. Her manner is absent and detached.
"How far are we from a hospital?" Kimble asks urgently.
She kneels in the sand and stares vacantly ahead. "There's one in Wilmington."
Kimble worries about Tiffany's unnatural behavior, but is more concerned about the man lying prone between them. "The shark tore an artery. Your husband is losing a lot of blood! He's going to need a transfusion soon, or he may go into circulatory collapse. Do you have a car?""
"No...not here...Tom and I walked," she replies without emotion.
The sound of a siren comes from the highway. Kimble looks up to see a police car on the way. His expression is a combination of relief and fear. He glances over his shoulder, contemplating running, but there is no-where to hide.
The car pulls off the road and an officer jumps out. He is a big man with graying black hair. He comes racing towards the two. "We got a call from a motorist. She saw someone drowning. Is he hurt?" the policeman asks as he runs up.
"Yeah—shark bite. He'll need a transfusion...and the lacerated artery will require surgery," Kimble tells him.
The officer gets on his radio. "What's the status on that ambulance?" The radio crackles. "Estimated arrival, twenty minutes. Do you copy?"
"We don't have that kind of time!" Kimble says anxiously. "He's already lost a lot of blood. The water was red with it."
"Copy. I'm bringing him in myself. Over," the officer responds into the
radio. "Come on, help me pick him up," he orders Kimble. "Do you think you can apply pressure to the wound, ma'am, while we lift?" Tiffany
reaches for the towel, sees the blood and backs away, starting to shake.
"She's in shock," Kimble says. "I can do it." He lifts Tom carefully by the legs, keeping the towel firmly pressed against the wound. The officer takes the other end and they carry him up to the squad car. The officer helps Kimble into the back seat with the injured man. He slams the door shut, then ushers Tiffany into the front.
"Don't worry, I'll get your husband there in time," he promises, taking the wheel. The police cruiser spins back onto the highway, bound for Wilmington with siren blasting—the face of Richard Kimble staring out the rear window like a trapped animal.
THE STORY
WILMINGTON GENERAL HOSPITAL - WAITING ROOM - A HALF HOUR LATER
Kimble, in blood-stained clothes, and Tiffany, still in her beach outfit, are seated, waiting for word from the vascular surgeon on call. The police officer returns with several cans of Coke to help them calm their nerves.
"Here you go," he says, handing out the drinks. "Poor selection, but they're icy cold." Kimble takes one. "Mrs.
Carter?" the officer asks, offering Tiffany another.
She eyes the can. "I'm not thirsty." She gets up instead and begins to pace.
"I didn't introduce myself properly on the way in. I'm Scott Stevens," the policeman says affably. He takes a seat next to the fugitive and opens a Coke.
"Jenkins. Barry Jenkins," Kimble says, avoiding the officer's eyes.
"It's an honor to meet a good Samaritan like yourself, Barry. What you did back there was as heroic as any of our men in uniform up in New York." Stevens takes a long sip. "Stroke of luck that you just happened to be passing by when it happened."
Kimble nods.
"Your first time in our neck of the woods?"
Kimble nods again.
"Not much of a welcome to Cape Fear, huh? Now, where have I seen you before?" Guardedly, Kimble looks up, but the officer is addressing the distracted young woman. "You live in one of those beach rentals, Mrs. Carter?"
"Yes, since May." Suddenly Tiffany breaks down and begins to weep violently, bending over as though she would be sick.
"There, there," Stevens says wanting to take charge, but not really having a clue. "You got any family we can call?" She shakes her head.
The vascular surgeon enters in scrubs, en route to the operating room. He looks around. Tiffany rushes over to hear the news.
"I'm Dr. Levine," he tells her. "I'll be operating to close your husband's wound. Applying the tourniquet was quick thinking—he might have died without it. We've given him a transfusion and his blood pressure has stabilized. We don't anticipate complications with the surgery, but there's no way of knowing." A nurse down the hall motions to him. "It will be another hour, probably, and then you can see him in recovery." He nods to Kimble and the officer, then heads quickly down the hallway.
Tiffany is anguished. "I can't stand this waiting," she cries, wringing her hands. "I need some air!" She takes off toward the elevator just as the doors open. In the next moment she is gone, and Kimble is left alone with the officer.
"Darnedest thing," Stevens says. "We have over fifty species of sharks in the Cape Fear area, but never an incident, until today. Thank goodness the tourist season is winding down, or it could have been much worse. We'll have to close that beach now."
"Shark attack, was it?" a man across from them in an "I LOVE NORTH CAROLINA" t-shirt asks.
"Came right in to shore—took a chunk out of her husband's leg," Stevens relays, finishing his Coke.
"I heard a shark got a child up in Virginia Beach recently. A young married couple were attacked there, too. The man was killed. It was just on the news," the t-shirted man shares excitedly.
Kimble frowns and looks towards the elevators. "I really need to be going," he mutters, standing.
"Sure thing, Mr. Jenkins. I have to be getting down to the station, myself," Stevens says, rising readily. "But, you know, I hate leaving the little lady alone right now. She's quite shaken up. And I'm going to need to talk with you both later—for my report. The Chief is a stickler for details. You staying in town?"
"I hadn't planned on it."
The two men study the elevator doors. "What do you say you keep Mrs. Carter company just awhile longer, until I return to take her home?" Stevens suggests. "I can give you a lift then anywhere you like."
Reluctantly Kimble puts down his duffel bag. "I'll wait," he says in a low voice.
THE WAITING ROOM - 60 MIN. LATER
Tiffany and Kimble are flipping through magazines when Dr. Levine enters, still in his scrubs. He looks tired. They rise to hear the news.
"Your husband is in recovery, Mrs. Carter. The surgery went well," he reports. "I repaired the artery. There appears to be no significant nerve damage. Now we need to watch for signs of infection."
Kimble listens, gratified. Tiffany's expression is unreadable.
"You can see your husband as soon as the anesthesia wears off and he's been moved. In an attack like this, loss of muscle tissue is to be expected. But I am confident Tom will regain full mobility. If all goes as we hope, he can begin physical therapy in seven days."
"Thank you," Kimble tells Levine sincerely.
"Yes, thank you, doctor," Tiffany echoes.
"My advise to the both of you would be to go home after you've seen Tom, and get some rest yourselves," Levine says, speaking from long experience. "Accidents like this are nearly as hard on family and loved ones as on the patient."
TOM'S ROOM AT THE HOSPITAL - 11:00 A.M.
Tiffany enters a semi-private room. Kimble is a few steps behind her. Tom has the bed by the window and seems to be asleep. Tiffany goes over to her husband. Kimble waits just inside the doorway to give them some moments alone.
The other patient is an elderly man, who is watching television with the volume turned down. Kimble nods respect-fully to him. The old gentleman focuses on Kimble.
"Do I know you?" he asks.
"No, I'm with them."
"Ahh. You're the young fellow who pulled the boy out of the water. The nurses have been talking. You're to be admired," the old man remarks.
"The three of us were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Kimble states matter-of-factly.
"You remind me of someone I knew during the Johnson administration, in the '60s. A valiant soul." The old man sighs, reflecting. "Times pass, and now I'm about to have prostate surgery," he adds with quiet resignation.
"Hope it goes well," Kimble says. He joins Tiffany. "How's Tom?"
"Still groggy," she whispers. "He doesn't remember much about what happened."
Tom opens his eyes. "I bet you thought you'd lost me," he croaks.
"I wasn't sure," Tiffany murmurs.
"Neither was I. When I started to drown it crossed my mind that I'd be worth more to you dead than alive." He speaks slowly through the narcotics.
"Oh, Tom, don't talk like that," Tiffany says uncomfortably. She introduces Kimble. "This is Barry Jenkins, who dived in to rescue you."
Kimble leans forward. "Hey, Tom. I was on the road and heard you cry for help."
Tom has difficulty focusing without his glasses. He peers at Kimble. "Barry?...I'm drawing a blank. Tiffany tells me there was a shark, but all I recall is the water getting deeper...and Tiff giving me confidence. You know, I'm a terrible swimmer! I wouldn't make the effort if not for her. She swims like a seal." Tom smiles weakly, but adoringly at his wife.
"You shouldn't try to talk, darling. Rest, you need to rest now." Tiffany bends over him and straightens the sheet.
"She takes such good care of me," Tom remarks sleepily. "I feel like I'm on a cloud...floating. They must have given me a cocktail's worth of pain killers." His eyes fall shut.
"We should go," Tiffany tells Kimble. "He'll be fine."
THE HOSPITAL LOBBY
As Kimble and Tiffany exit the elevators on the ground floor, Officer Stevens comes in the front door.
"How's the patient?" he asks.
"It wasn't such a bad bite," Tiffany tells him almost breezily. "I'm not worried. We have excellent insurance coverage."
"Well! That's a good attitude, hold onto it," Stevens says, happy to see the improvement in her spirits. "Your ride awaits." He opens the door for them.
ON THE HIGHWAY - INSIDE THE POLICE CAR
Kimble and Tiffany share the back seat.
"As I told Barry, I'd like to ask you both a few questions," Officer Stevens says, speaking to them in the rearview mirror.
Neither responds, so Stevens continues. "What were you doing swimming at that hour, Mrs. Carter?"
"I usually swim then," Tiffany answers evenly, "but I haven't been able to lately because of the hurricane. This morn-ing the water looked calm." She stares straight ahead.
"You and your husband swim there regularly?"
"I do. My husband prefers jogging along the beach. We both like to get in some exercise before he leaves for work."
"Are the two of you good swimmers?"
"I've been teaching Tom. He's getting better." She continues to stare straight ahead.
"Ever see sharks coming in close before?"
"No, never." Tiffany twists her hands in her lap.
"Well, you'll have to find another place to exercise, ma'am. As of today, that beach is officially closed to swimmers." Officer Stevens turns off onto the coast road. "What brings you to Cape Fear, Barry?"
"I'm taking a late summer vacation. Thought I'd see the coast," Kimble answers, gazing out the window.
"On foot?"
"Sometimes. I enjoy the exercise."
"You must have gotten plenty during the hurricane," Stevens observes jokingly. "Were you in these parts when she came through?"
Kimble begins to perspire. "No, I was inland," he lies. "Missed most of it."
"Well, we've seen worse here, let me tell you. What line of work are you in, Barry—when you're not out saving people?" He chuckles at his own humor.
"I'm a carpenter."
"Really? I had you pegged for a mechanic. You work for yourself?"
Kimble nods.
"A Northern boy, am I right?"
Kimble nods again, feeling as uneasy as Tiffany had under the officer's light interrogation.
"Turn here," Tiffany tells Stevens as they approach the small town of Kure Beach. She directs him to a modest white split-level house facing the ocean.
"Quite a view you've got," the officer observes. "A lot of people would give their eye teeth for it." He pulls into the drive and turns around to look at Kimble. "Anywhere in particular I can drop you off, Barry?"
Tiffany suddenly puts a hand on Kimble's arm and squeezes. "Barry's staying at our place. We have an extra bed-room." Kimble's eyes widen in surprise. "I feel it's the least I can do, after you risked your life for Tom," she insists persuasively.
Eager to avoid further conversation with the policeman, Kimble grabs his bag and follows Tiffany out of the car. "You two take care, then," Stevens says with a cheerful wave goodbye. "And stay out of the water!"
INSIDE THE CARTER HOUSE
Tiffany unlocks the front door and Kimble enters behind her. The living room is attractively furnished in lime and yellow pastels and features French windows leading out onto a patio.
"It's very kind of you to put me up, under the circumstances," Kimble says, looking around.
"I didn't want to spend the night alone," Tiffany explains dismissively.
She sets the beach bag down on the coffee table and automatically starts to unpack it. She pulls out a pair of glasses, a clean towel and a cell phone, then abruptly stuffs them all back into the bag and heads down the hall. "Let me show you to your room." Kimble looks at the bag, puzzled, then trails after her.
"Nice place," he comments.
Tiffany snorts with disgust. "This is just a rental. You should have seen the beautiful house we had before Tom's business failed. Six bedrooms, four baths, swimming pool and tennis court. Tom's a computer genius, you know. He started a dot com company and almost overnight we were worth $300 million in stock. Of course we couldn't sell any. SEC rules. Now it's worth about $150,000."
"Ouch," Kimble interjects.
"We've had to completely change our lifestyle. I used to swim whenever I wanted. Now I only go in the morning, when the beach is less crowded." She opens a door, gesturing in-side. "Here's your room. Balcony. TV. Dell computer, if you need to go online. Plenty of closet space. And the shower's in there."
Kimble lays his duffle bag down on the bureau. "Thanks, this is fine. I really need to wash off..." he gestures to his blood-caked clothes, "the salt water."
"There's a washer and dryer two doors down the hall." Tif-fany stands with a hand on the door and stares blindly out the picture windows. "Do you own any stock, Barry?"
"What? No. Not anymore."
"You got wiped out, too? "
"Yeah...you could say that.
She shrugs. "Tom still goes in to work everyday. But, it gets worse all the time. Instead of having a hundred people in the office, there are only three. And he'll be letting one of them go at the end of the month."
"That's really tough." Kimble commiserates. "But you said you have insurance?"
"Yeah. Tom saw to it that we got full protection. We each have five million in life insurance. So if anything had happened to Tom... " She sighs. "It doesn't matter now." She turns away.
"Do you have a job, Tiffany?" Kimble questions.
"No. I haven't worked in a long time. Do you mind frozen dinners?" she asks, changing the subject.
"Not at all."
"Good. You'll find some in the freezer. Just help yourself for lunch. I'm going to turn off the phone and have a long soak in the tub. I'm beat." Her eyes are heavy with fatigue and depression.
After Tiffany has gone, Kimble goes into the bathroom and starts the water running in the shower. He comes back, unzips his duffle bag and opens the top bureau drawer. Seeing that it is not quite empty, Kimble reaches in and pulls out a length of IV tubing, with a bag for collecting blood.
A quizzical look comes over his face.
THE BEACH NORTH OF THE CARTER HOUSE - ONE HOUR LATER
Kimble is walking up the beach. He wears a clean change of clothing and is heading for the location of the shark attack. The afternoon sun sparkles off the water and pleasure craft pass near to shore.
Reaching the spot, Kimble sees that the tide has come in, erasing any record of their earlier presence. Seabirds run over the soft sand leaving new footprints. He scans the water and the beach, not sure what he is hoping to find. There are no sharks to be seen.
Finally he heads up to the road. A sign has already been posted near the trash receptacle prohibiting swimming. On impulse he looks into the receptacle. It is nearly empty. At the bottom he sees a paper bag, two beer bottles, a broken sandal and a Coke can.
Kimble stares at the Coke can. All at once the details of the day's events register on his face.
THE CARTER HOUSE - KIMBLE'S BEDROOM - 9/19/01, 7:30 A.M.
Kimble is already awake, dressed and sitting at the computer. His packed duffle bag rests on the bureau, ready for an early departure.
He signs onto the anonymous surfing service to hide his location from Carni-vore. His expression is intent. He has been offline for nearly a month, and is eager to find out if Gerard came to Myrtle Beach and if Chuck Brixius is okay. His face lights up as he sees that he has email from Chuck.
Dr. Kimble,
If you're reading this, then hopefully you got away safely.
I'm fine. Gerard DID NOT ARRIVE. The local police decided the charges were circumstantial and let me off with a warning. I think they were more interested in taking care of problems caused by the hurricane. But they were perfectly clear that next time they'll throw the book at me!
I'm afraid we must never be seen together again. Even so, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened in my life. I hope you will always remem-ber that, whatever the future may hold for both of us.
Don't hesitate to ask, if you need anything,
Chuck
Kimble leans back in his chair, absorbing this, then types a reply.
Chuck,
So glad to hear you are okay. That worried me more than my own safety. Chuck, I don't want you to take any further risks for me. You have a life to live beyond fighting my battles. I pray you make it a good one, because you deserve a great deal of happiness.
I am well, and hoping to find a place to lie low for a couple months until my strength returns. If I were to take on the OAM now, I would prove no match for him. I must bide my time. Meanwhile, I'll be reading the message board and working on unraveling the conspiracy behind Helen's death.
You are the best of friends, and I am ever grateful,
Richard
Kimble sends the letter, then pulls from his wallet the paper on which Chuck wrote down the user name and pass-word. He surfs to .
With interest, Kimble scrolls through Brixius' new site, marveling at how much is being done on his behalf. He sees that supporters have begun to reconstruct episodes from his journey—altering names, dates and addresses to safe-guard the true identity of his protectors. He checks the latest posts on the message board, smiling as he recognizes familiar user names—staunch believers in his innocence like mhoran21, DalyFan, DIANA4848 and Brady00. He is heartened to see posts from friends around the world. Then a new name catches his eye.
"STFELIX," Kimble reads aloud from the "Still running..." topic. In a message to him dated Sept. 7, STFELIX claims to
be a Special Agent of the FBI. Moreover, he claims knowledge of Kimble's innocence. But no one on the board is certain if the mysterious Agent is friend or foe. Is the post a joke? A trick? Or could STFELIX be on the level? Might Kimble finally have an ally within law enforcement?
A loud shriek jars Kimble's concentration. Tiffany is calling unintelligibly from the front of the house. Kimble jumps up and signs off the service, hurrying from the room.
THE LIVING ROOM
"That was a reporter on the phone from the Morning Star!" Tiffany informs Kimble breathlessly. She is sitting cross-legged on the lime-green sofa in tight slacks and a halter top. "They want to do a feature on the shark attack! Isn't it wonderful!"
Kimble looks at her aghast.
"Don't you see? Our pictures will be in the paper! The story will probably get picked up by the wire services. TV news will want to come out here—ohhh!" Tiffany stops, a wild gleam in her eyes. Imagining the extent of their five minutes of fame, she says in an awed voice, "What if they even carry it on 'Good Morning America'? We'll be famous!"
"Tiffany, I meant to tell you last night, but I can't stay," Kimble says. He stands stiffly beside the coffee table. "I appreciate your letting me have the room, but I have a job to get back to."
"Doing what—carpentry?" she scoffs witheringly. "Really pressing, I'm sure. Anyway, you said you were on vacation. And you work for yourself, so it's not like you have a boss hounding you. Don't expect me to believe you can't spare an hour or two to get your picture taken! Besides, the reporter especially wanted to interview Barry Jenkins. You're the hero of the moment, not me."
Feeling cornered, Kimble tries a different tack. He takes a seat in one of the matching armchairs. "I lost a whole day yesterday talking to a policeman and a doctor. Spending another day talking to a reporter is not my idea of a great vacation, Tiffany. I'd like to enjoy the rest of my time off...walk along the beach, pick up some seashells," he relates in a casual tone.
She gives him a narrowed look. "You're not planning to run off on me are you?" There is a dangerous undercurrent to her words. Kimble remembers the IV tubing and shudders inwardly. He must not arouse any suspicions, especially with reporters coming. He gives her a lopsided smile.
"I just need some time alone today."
Tiffany studies him. "Fine. I'll tell them that. But don't blame me if the article sucks." She stalks off to the bedroom to redo her hair and makeup.
Kimble watches her, a frown creasing his brows. Then he looks down. On the coffee table is a publication by the North Carolina Tourist Bureau. The cover features various attractions, including one nearby. He picks it up, an idea forming in his head.
A BUS STOP ON ROUTE 421
A "Fort Fisher" bus slows with a billow of exhaust. Kimble and a woman with a little girl climb aboard.
"We're going to see the fishes," the child tells Kimble gravely.
He smiles and nods. "So am I."
The door swings shut behind them and the bus continues its southbound journey to the tip of Cape Fear.
THE NORTH CAROLINA AQUARIUM AT FORT FISHER
Kimble is among the small crowd of sight-seers walking along the entrance ramp to the Aquarium. He enters the lobby and stops to view the visitor information map. Kimble continues on past a large display of "Marine Life of the Cape Fear Coast." He identifies several kinds of tropical fish, a three foot high sea fan, trumpet tritons, hel-met shells and a queen conch. He admires their beauty, then takes the stairs down to the lower level.
Immediately facing him is the shark observation tank. Kimble ap-proaches, somewhat grim-faced after his recent close encounter. He meets the cold stare of a young sandbar shark swim-ming close to the glass. They exchange silence for a moment, then the shark swims by. Kimble looks down at a plaque explaining that the North Carolina coast is a birthing ground for six types of sharks. "Between June and September," he reads, "sandbar, sand tiger, spinner, scalloped and great hammerhead sharks, among others, commonly venture close to shore."
Kimble moves around the exhibit, watching the powerful creatures gliding to and fro. He reads that sharks rarely attack people unless provoked. "The sensory system of a shark is one of the most sophisticated in the animal world, earning it the nickname of 'the perfect predator'. Though sharks have excellent vision, with eyes ten times more sensitive to light than a human being's, scent detection comprises almost 70% of a shark's brain activity. Their sense of smell is so acute, they can detect one part of blood in one hundred million parts of water.
They also possess highly developed inner ears. Sharks," Kimble reads, "are particularly drawn to the sounds made by an animal or fish which is injured and swimming erratically."
FLASHBACK TO THE PREVIOUS A.M. AT THE BEACH
Tiffany is standing chest-deep in water, instructing the uncoordinated Tom, who is swimming farther out. Their voices carry on the breeze.
"No—kick harder!" The woman says shrilly.
The man complies, splashing ineptly in the manner of a new swimmer. The woman has a Coke can in one hand. She dispenses of it by tossing it in a long arc out into the ocean.
"You know, I'm a terrible swimmer! I wouldn't make the effort if not for her. She swims like a seal." Tom Carter's words echo in Kimble's head.
A PICNIC TABLE IN THE AQUARIUM COURTYARD
Kimble has purchased a sandwich and potato chips from the Aquarium snack bar and is eating his lunch outdoors at a picnic table. It is windy, and he has to keep his napkin from flying. Kimble leafs through several brochures he picked up. One is entitled "About the Aquarium Society". Another offers "Volunteer and Job Opportunities at North Carolina Aquariums."
For want of better reading material, Kimble unfolds the latter. When he reaches to open the bag of chips, a gust of wind blows the brochure off the table. Kimble recovers it and sees the photo on the back—under the heading "Op-portunities For Marine Biology Graduates." It is a picture of a class of school children stopping beside the shark tank to listen to their tour guide. The tour guide is a younger, conservatively dressed Tiffany Carter.
THE CARTER DINING ROOM - THAT EVENING
"This is quite a spread," Kimble says, taking a chair at the dining room table. The table is set with fine china and silver.
Tiffany, in a blue caftan-style hostess robe, is lighting the candles.
"It's from Zorba's, the best Greek restaurant. I'm celebrating," she explains. Kimble arches an eyebrow.
"Being a celebrity, of course. I feel like the whole world wanted my picture today. After you left, the TV people called, and of course I told them I'd be happy to give an interview. Poor Tom wasn't feeling up to it, so they had to make do with me." Relishing her moment in the sun, Tiffany opens a chilled bottle of champagne and pours some for both of them. "I haven't had so much fun since...way back when Tom and I first met."
"Was that in college?" Kimble asks, tucking his napkin into his lap.
"Un-huh, at the University of Florida. I was a marine biology major and Tom was getting his masters in computer science. We met in the university bar." Tiffany serves up a sampling of Greek dishes and hands the plate to Kimble. She looks very beautiful in the candlelight.
"We had great times then, before we got married. Tom's one of those people who's funny without realizing it. Very brilliant, but kind of klutzy, you know?"
"So I gathered."
"Soon afterwards he started his business, ." She dishes up smaller portions for herself. "I love Greek food! My grandparents came here from Greece, so I guess it's in the blood."
"It's delicious," Kimble concurs.
"Oh, I went to the hospital this afternoon...while you were beach-combing."
"How's Tom doing?" Kimble gives her a sideways look across the candles.
"He's starting to feel some pain now. The doctor said that's a normal stage in the healing process. It was strange to see Tom incapacitated for a change. He's always been an incredible manager. He used to handle everything, and since I don't like to worry about things, it worked out great for us."
"Used to?"
"Yeah. Before we lost everything."
"You still have a lot, Tiffany," Kimble observes.
"You wouldn't understand. You've never had that kind of money. No offense."
"I have some idea," Kimble says softly.
Tiffany touches her temple as if it ached, and pours more champagne for herself. "Let's talk about something else. Do you think I'm photogenic?" She lifts her chin for his appraisal.
"Very."
She smiles, pleased. "That's what the photographers said this morning. One guy told me he wished every job was as pleasant. They didn't even seem to mind much that you weren't there," Tiffany adds smugly.
"I don't photograph well," Kimble demurs.
"Oh, I think you're wrong. That little ponytail is kind of sexy."
Kimble becomes preoccupied with his food.
"And you've got an athletic build," she continues. "I saw how well you swam—it was impressive. You're very fit. Not like Tom. He just hates to go near the water. I practically had to drag him with me yesterday." Kimble is suddenly alert.
"Why did you?"
"I'd seen them coming in closer," she says sipping her champagne.
"Them?"
"The sharks." Tiffany suddenly becomes aware she has said more than she ever intended.
"You know a lot about sharks," Kimble pursues, hoping she will verify his suspicions. "I was at the Fort Fisher Aquarium today...I saw that you used to work there."
Bright patches form on Tiffany's cheeks and her eyes glitter angrily. "Were you checking up on me?" "No. I was enjoying my vacation."
"I need some air." Tiffany pushes herself away from the table and walks with champagne glass in hand to the French windows. She sways dreamily, tipping her head back so that her dark hair falls below her shoulders. After a moment she says seductively, "I can think of a better way for you to enjoy your vacation."
"You've had too much to drink."
"Have I?"
Kimble crosses to the mantle. He lifts down a small framed photograph and comes up behind Tiffany.
"Mmmm," she murmurs, contentedly leaning back against Kimble's chest. Kimble holds the photo in front of her. Tiffany opens her eyes. "NO!" She cries, striking it from his grasp. The picture knocks against an end table, shattering the glass and denting the chrome frame. The photo falls out. Tiffany gasps and her eyes fill with tears, as if she suddenly felt the impact of what she had done.
Kimble bends down and retrieves the fallen image of Tom Carter.
KIMBLE'S BEDROOM - SEPTEMBER 20, 6:30 A.M.
Kimble is asleep in bed when he is awakened by loud knocking on his door.
"Barry! Barry! Are you up?" Tiffany shouts. "You've got to see this!"
"Just a minute." Kimble scrambles into his jeans as Tiffany, in an over-sized t-shirt, bursts into the room with the Morning Star. She opens the louvered blinds, then jumps onto the bed, gloating.
"I made the front page! Take a look at the size of the photo they ran; I can't believe how good it came out! I could be a model, don't you think? They took it at the scene of the attack, and I put on the same bathing suit I was actually wearing when it happened. It really shows what great shape I'm in." She laughs at Kimble, whose anxiety to know what else the article has revealed is apparent. "Now, aren't you sorry you missed out on a perfectly good chance for free publicity?" She throws the paper down for him to read.
Kimble quickly scans the article, relieved to find no damaging personal details. "They're speculating the hurricane brought the shark in to shore," he comments after a moment.
"Un-huh, 'an accident of nature'. I'm going out to buy another paper and bring a copy to Tom. He'll be so thrilled for me!"
Kimble regards her sourly.
"You're coming, aren't you?" she asks. Kimble nods, thinking to speak privately with Tom. He continues to dress as Tiffany pours over the article.
"Do you think I could use this as a kind of resume?"
"What do you mean?" Kimble asks from the armchair, while pulling on his socks and shoes.
Tiffany folds the paper over and shows Kimble a notice in smaller print. "'Screen Gems Studios will hold auditions today between 1:00 and 7:00 p.m. for a new film, tentatively titled Sea Witch Heist,'" she reads aloud. "'Heist is a murder mystery set aboard a billionaire yacht, the Sea Witch. Local actors are being sought to fill the roles of six bit players, including...'" She looks up, her face shining. "'Daria, a young, nubile woman who must be able to swim well and look good in a wetsuit.' Oh, Barry, that could be me, don't you think?" Tiffany waits, eager for Kimble's approval.
"Have you ever acted before?" Kimble gets out his shaver and goes over to the mirror.
"I've been a tour guide, so I know I can recite lines, but this article proves I'm also photogenic. Don't you think they'd rather hire a celebrity than just anybody? And I'm a celebrity now," Tiffany says with convic-tion.
"Sure, go for it," Kimble replies without enthusi-asm. He continues shaving.
"First, I'll have to find something impressive to wear. Wow—I almost forgot! I'd better tape the morning news shows!" She springs to her feet. "Aren't you the least bit interested to hear what they'll say about the famous Barry Jenkins?" Kimble puts his shaver away without answering. "Well, we can watch them over breakfast, and then I'll drive us to the hospital." Kimble turns around to face her.
"Tiffany," he asks slowly, "you live only a few minutes walk down the beach from where Tom was attacked. If you had a car so close by, why didn't you drive us in to the hospital yesterday?"
Tiffany stares at him coldly. "A police car came in time, didn't it? I hope you're not going to keep discussing Tom all day, Barry, because I need your support for my audition."
Kimble eyes his duffle bag. "Like I told you, after we see Tom, I need to be moving on."
"Oh, no, you don't," Tiffany cries with determination. She crosses to the bureau and snatches Kimble's bag by the handles. "I'm keeping this for you until after the audition. No way I'm going to go try out all by myself; there'll be like a thousand people there!"
CHICAGO - GERARD'S KITCHEN - 7:00 A.M.
Captain Gerard is seated alone at the kitchen table with a simple breakfast and an open briefcase. He pours himself a cup of coffee and scans the Chicago Tribune. Blowing first on the scalding coffee to cool it, he takes a sip and turns the page. He is raising the cup for another sip when his attention is caught by an article with a North Carolina headline. Engrossed in the report, he takes a long sip and suddenly spits coffee.
"Holy...!" he interjects, putting down the cup and wiping up the mess. Excitedly, Gerard pulls out his cell phone and makes a call, waiting impatiently for it to be picked up on the other end.
"Hello?" a fuzzy voice responds.
"Art, is that you?" Gerard enquires. He hears a brief fit of coughing.
"Yes, Captain. What did you want?" Art Zimmerman asks thickly.
"I've found Kimble! He's in North Carolina, I'm sure of it. Take a look at the Chicago Tribune. Middle of page 9. He's performed another act of heroism and given himself away."
"Just a minute." Gerard hears the sound of fumbling and rustling. "Uh, Captain, there's no picture of Barry Jenkins there."
"Exactly!" Gerard says. "What kind of hero doesn't want to have his picture taken? And what kind of person knows how to apply a tourniquet? And who was just seen in the area?"
"I'm guessing Kimble," Art answers, with another fit of coughing.
Gerard is annoyed at the conversation's resemblance to a superior Holmes edifying a slow-to-catch on Watson. "Of course, Kimble! Obviously he hasn't gone far and is already drawing attention to himself by a dramatic rescue." Gerard pushes his cup away and adds the paper to his briefcase, closing it. "I think I've figured Kimble out," he says, rising. "He feels so guilty for his wife's murder that he feels compelled to wash the blood from his hands by saving everyone else." Gerard slips on a jacket and heads for the door. "He wants to get caught!"
"He does?" Art asks, blowing his nose.
OUTSIDE GERARD'S RESIDENCE
"Kimble seeks punishment for his crimes. These good deeds of his are a cry for help," Gerard continues, emerging from his house and locking the door. "He wants us to come out there and pick him up—put an end to his misery." Gerard checks his watch.
"He does?" Art repeats, uncertainly.
"I'm booking us both on the next flight out of O'Hare. I'll meet you at the airport," Gerard says, heading for his car.
"Uh, Captain? I was planning to call in sick today. I've got a head cold and the flu or something. I'm taking my temperature right now. Can you hear the thermometer beeping?"
Gerard stops, his hand on the car door. "Not now, Zimmerman! We've got a hot lead—who knows when we'll get a better one?"
"Sorry, Captain, it can't be helped. Thermometer says 101. Call me and let me know how it goes." The line goes dead.
Gerard whacks the top of the car. He casts about for inspiration. Suddenly, with renewed zeal, he jumps inside and backs the Ford Explorer out of the drive.
THE FORD EXPLORER - EN ROUTE TO THE AIRPORT
The sunrise casts a rosy glow over the early morning traffic. Gerard makes another call. He taps the steering wheel with frustrated antici-pation.
"Good morning, Captain," Eve Hilliard says, answering her cell phone. "I was just thinking of popping by during lunch today...see how things are going with the Kimble case. I kind of miss the old Task Force."
"Eve, I need you now. Where are you?" "I haven't left the house yet."
"Good. Good. I'm booking a flight for us to North Carolina—strictly under the counter. Meet me at O'Hare within the hour."
"You've found Kimble!"
"Almost. The local P.D. in Carolina Beach doesn't know they have him yet, and that's how I want it. The whole operation was bungled Monday in Myrtle Beach and I have no intention of letting that happen again... Tell me you can get away for the day."
"I can't, but I will. Don't worry, Captain, I have as much interest in finding Kimble as you do!"
"That's the spirit!" Gerard exclaims, gratified.
"See you at O'Hare," Eve replies, smiling to herself.
WILMINGTON - SCREEN GEMS STUDIOS - 1:15 P.M.
There are easily three hundred people lined up in the anteroom. A young woman in charge of talent is going through the crowd.
"Headshots this way. Everyone else remain here. The photographer will arrive momentarily," she says loudly to be heard above the general din.
Tiffany, wearing a brand-new tailored red jacket and miniskirt with matching purse, grabs the casting woman's elbow as she passes. "Will this do?" She holds up her newspaper photo, which has been attached to the other side of a short resume. The casting woman pushes her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose and peers at the photo. She looks surprised, and then bemused. She nods.
"You're the shark girl. We saw you on the news this morning. That's a good angle—the director will like it!" She smiles and motions for Tiffany and Kimble to accompany her. "Come this way," she instructs the crowd with headshots. She walks briskly ahead and they follow her into a vast, dark, sound stage. "I'm Tracey and this is Ellen and Cheryl," she says, introducing another woman and her assistant, who are working at a long table. Ellen will take your headshots. She will give you your sides to memorize and help you fill out an availability form. Afterwards, you may have a seat...if you can find one. I'll call you by name when we're ready to film your audition." She pushes her glasses up again and returns the way she came.
Kimble and Tiffany join the long line forming at Ellen's table. Kimble stares at the movie rigging, tarpaulins and oddly shaped boxes that fill part of the studio.
"Do you think I bought the right outfit?" Tiffany asks him in a hushed voice.
"It took us the entire morning shopping to find it, you'd better hope it's the right one," he answers acerbically. "What is this place?"
"Welcome to Hollywood East. Screen Gems is the largest motion picture facility this side of Hollywood," a man with excellent posture in front of them explains. "Nine sound stages right here in Wilmington. They've filmed hundreds of movies and TV shows: 'Dawson's Creek', 'Matlock'. I just did a 7-Up commercial. I'm Dean Hauser, by the way. I'm up for the part of first mate. What are you auditioning for?"
"Daria," Tiffany says hopefully. Hauser eyes her figure appreciatively.
"So are half the women standing in line. Can you swim?"
"I swim every day. I was on the swimming team in school," Tiffany boasts. "And after college I got a job at SeaWorld— training dolphins."
FLASHBACK TO THE SHARK ATTACK
Tiffany is instructing Tom as he splashes about in the deeper water. She keeps an eye out for the sharks she has seen recently at this hour. No—kick harder!" Tiffany orders shrilly.
Tom complies. His flailing attracts a single shark. As soon as she spots the dorsal fin, Tiffany tosses her Coke can in a long arc out into the ocean. The contents stain the water red.
The shark is on it in an instant. Suddenly aware of his danger, Tom begins to scream. "Tiffany!" he calls, thrashing his arms frantically to keep from going under.
Tiffany watches the circling shark intently for a moment, then turns and hurries out of the water.
"Something's got me! HELP!" Tom screams in desperation as he is dragged beneath the waves.
Thinking he must act before Tom drowns, Kimble leaps down the dunes and dives into the surf.
Tiffany stares after Kimble.
"You know...she swims like a seal," Tom's voice echoes.
THE STUDIO
What about you?" Hauser asks Kimble, with a touch of competitiveness.
Temporarily disoriented, Kimble returns to the thread of the conversation. "I came along for moral support."
"Really? I can see you as one of the thugs. That ponytail. All you need is a tattoo," Hauser recommends.
"I'll keep that in mind," Kimble remarks.
"Me, I'm typecast as a man in authority. I've been a policeman, a drill sergeant and a marine. But with a face like yours, you could play anybody."
Kimble smiles wryly.
ON BOARD A UNITED FLIGHT BOUND FOR ATLANTA - 2:00 P.M.
Philip Gerard and Eve Hilliard are seated side by side near a window. The plane is only half-full. Gerard looks behind him.
"A three hour wait to board the plane and hardly anyone is flying. You'd think security could move faster than that," he objects.
"I'd rather they were extra careful than that they let a terrorist get through," Eve opines. "Still, I'd feel better if we had an air-marshal on this flight."
Gerard checks his watch. "Another half hour and we should be in Atlanta. I doubt we're in any danger of terrorists hijacking our connecting flight to Wilmington." He settles back against the headrest. "This the first time you've flown since the attack, Eve?"
"Captain, I think it's the first time any of us have risked air travel. "I wouldn't have come except for Kimble. You're that sure this good Samaritan is our man?""
"I'm that sure."
WILMINGTON - SCREEN GEMS STUDIOS - 3:OO P.M.
The line at Ellen's table is even longer now. Kimble, Tiffany and Dean Hauser are seated along the back wall among scores of hopefuls, still waiting their turn. Everyone is well-groomed and trying to look their best.
"I can't believe we haven't been called yet. We got here on time, and I've already memorized my dialogue. What's taking them so long?" Tiffany complains, fanning herself with her script page. Around them actors are mouthing lines to themselves as they commit them to memory.
"They haven't started the female auditions," Hauser says. "There are more male parts than female, so you'll probably go up last. Welcome to the world of film-making. It's all about get ready and then sit around and wait until you're bored to tears. If you don't have that kind of patience, you're in the wrong business," he chides her.
"I can wait if I have to," Tiffany replies, chastened. "This part means everything to me!" Kimble gives her an appraising look. "Why haven't you tried out before?"
"I didn't need to. We had plenty of money. In any case, there was no one to come down with me. Tom was always at work. I'm too nervous to do this kind of thing alone."
"Tiffany, if there's one thing you're not lacking, it's nerve," Kimble says ironically.
Startled, Tiffany's eyelashes flutter down. "Thank you," she says genuinely, a warm glow suffusing her face.
ATLANTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - A LOUNGE - 3:30 P.M.
Gerard has purchased several newspapers and is pouring over them for more coverage of the shark attack. Hilliard is reading a paperback. Travel-weary passengers around them wait for the next flight to be called.
"I hope you brought along better reading material than that. We could be here for awhile," Eve says, glancing over at Gerard.
"Nothing is more interesting to me than bringing Richard Kimble to justice," Gerard responds rather curtly. "You'd risk your job to bring him in, wouldn't you?" Eve surmises. "In a flash."
"Well, in that way we're alike, Captain. I'd risk my job, too," she says, returning to her paperback. Gerard gives her a look of conjecture, then dismisses it from his mind. He picks up another paper, the Wilmington "Morning Star".
WILMINGTON - SCREEN GEMS STUDIOS - 4:00 P.M.
Kimble and Tiffany are sitting among a group of mainly women. Hauser is gone. More aspiring actors are lined up at Ellen's table. Ellen and her assistant are fast becoming buried behind stacks of resumes.
"Tiffany Carter?" Tracey, brandishing Tiffany's resume, enters and looks around the sound stage.
"Ohhh, it's my turn! Wish me luck!" Tiffany cries breathlessly to Kimble.
"Break a leg," he says, preparing to sit it out. Tiffany tugs him to his feet. With Kimble in tow, Tiffany is ushered into a second, smaller soundstage. Lights have been configured to illuminate a backdrop suggesting the ocean at sunset. A small crew is waiting to videotape her performance.
While Tracey confers with the crew, Tiffany thrusts her purse into Kimble's hands. "Open it. There's a camera inside. I want you to take my picture for Tom." Kimble does as she requests.
Tiffany captures the attention of the crew by unbuttoning her jacket and slipping out of her skirt. She kicks off her heels and steps for-ward, dressed the part in a sleek, revealing black swimsuit.
"Just stand on the X and we'll begin when you're ready," Tracey instructs.
Tiffany hops nimbly over to the strips of masking tape marking an X on the floor and strikes a pose. She pulls the zipper of her suit down until it exposes an ample amount of cleavage. The crew and cameraman, watching through his lens, are agog.
"Daria has just swum out to the yacht and been discovered by the villain," Tracey says, cueing her from the script.
Tiffany nods. "I'm ready." The camera rolls. Suddenly Tiffany's eyes flash fire. "I have every right to be on the Sea Witch. Captain Sanders invited me!"
Kimble shows surprise. Tiffany is delivering her lines like a pro. He should have guessed acting would come naturally to her.
"I'm not budging until I've spoken with the Captain," Tiffany continues dramatically. "Take your hands off me!"
"Good!" Tracey says approvingly. "We'll do one more take. When you're ready." Tiffany's scene has flown by in a matter of seconds.
Kimble realizes he has forgotten to snap her picture and positions the camera.
"I'm sorry," Tracey says, seeing the camera for the first time. "No photographs, please."
Kimble shrugs apologetically to Tiffany. She is disappointed, but carries on with her scene, adding more hand gestures and emphasis this time.
"I have every right to be on the Sea Witch. Captain Sanders invited me! I'm not budging until I've spoken with the Captain. Take your hands off me!"
"Excellent!" Tracey says.
Tiffany beams. Even Kimble finds himself believing in her performance.
"'Daria dives backwards into the water and eludes the gaff hooks of the Sea Witch's crew,'" Tracey recites from the script. "Tell me you swim as well as you wear that suit."
"She does," Kimble verifies.
"Great! Then that will do it. We'll call you," Tracey says, terminating the audition.
Tiffany picks up her clothes. "Do I have any chance of getting the part?" she asks Tracey, half afraid of the answer.
"My honest opinion? Better than average. You have the right look and voice. The swimsuit helps. And that incident with the shark might tip it in your favor. But I'm not the director. It's his call," Tracey answers kindly. Tiffany finishes dressing.
"My lens liked you," the cameraman volunteers. The other crewmen nod warmly.
Scarcely able to contain her joy, Tiffany whispers to Kimble as she takes her purse, "I think I'm going to get this part!"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Kimble agrees, begrudging her a real smile.
They walk back past the long line of hopefuls. "I'm starved!" Tiffany says suddenly. "I hardly ate today, to be sure I'd look good in the swimsuit. Let's eat out! Somewhere nice." Seeing Kimble's expression darken, she soothes, "Don't worry, I'll pay. And then we can stop by the house to get your things and go on to the hospital.
"Perhaps you should call Tom and tell him we're coming," Kimble advises. "While we've been running all over town, Tom's been lying in the hospital with no one to talk to. Did you think of that?"
"Well, I had no idea it was going to take so long! Besides that old man in the next bed is probably talking Tom's head off. He was yesterday. I'll buy some flowers to make it up to him." She looks at Kimble. "You, know, Dean was right, you should have auditioned as a thug!"
WILMINGTON - AIRPORT CAR RENTAL - 5:20 P.M.
Gerard is waiting to sign the papers on a rental car. Eve is minding their carry-on luggage.
"Are you going to phone ahead to the station?" she asks.
"Nope. They can find out what's going on when we get there. Every time these locals have been allowed to take charge, Kimble has escaped." Gerard states unequivocally. "Your call, Captain," Eve defers.
OUTSIDE THE CARTER HOUSE - 6:00 P.M.
Tiffany and Kimble emerge from the house. Tiffany is carrying a gift and a vase of flowers wrapped in florist's foil.
Kimble shoulders his duffle bag.
"I'm sorry I kept your bag," Tiffany apologizes as she locks the front door. "But you wouldn't have come down with me...would you have?"
"No," Kimble says as their eyes meet.
"I thought not." She unlocks the car and slips into the driver's seat. Kimble gets in beside her.
CAROLINA BEACH POLICE DEPARTMENT - 6:15
Officer Stevens arrives at the small station, eating a large piece of chocolate frosted cake. "Sorry, to keep you folks waiting," he says cheerfully to Hilliard and the Captain between bites. "I was in the middle of a birthday dinner with my wife and kids when you called. Had to let Bonnie blow out the candles on her cake."
"Officer Stevens, have you seen this man?" Gerard asks without preamble. He holds up a computerized picture of Kimble with a mustache, as last reported in Myrtle Beach. Stevens brushes his own heavy mustache with a forefinger.
"Why that fellow looks sort of like me!" he exclaims. "In my younger days. Goes to show you can't judge a cop from a criminal just by the face." He laughs.
"Is this Barry Jenkins?" Gerard demands.
"Barry? No," Stevens says dismissively. "Barry's a carpenter. Here on vacation. I believe him. I was there at the scene of the attack. He dragged Carter from the water—saved his life! Mr. Jenkins is a hero in these parts."
"Yes, but could this be the same man?" Gerard persists.
Officer Stevens reexamines the photo. "Well, there is some surface resemblance, now you mention it."
"Did you take down an address for your Mr. Jenkins?" Gerard asks condescendingly.
"No need to. He's staying with the victim's wife out in Kure Beach. I drove him there myself."
"Then we'll follow you. If the suspect is Dr. Richard Kimble, we can make a positive I.D.," Gerard directs, as he and Hilliard head outside.
"No fooling! The Dr. Richard Kimble, who murdered his wife?" Stevens asks, putting down the remains of his cake. He wipes his mouth and runs after them, checking his holster.
WILMINGTON GENERAL - TOM CARTER'S ROOM - 6:30 P.M.
Tiffany pauses in the doorway with Kimble. She looks past the old man—who is sitting up reading—to Tom in the far bed. Tom is watching television and hasn't seen them yet.
"I do love him, you know," she attests softly to Kimble.
"Then look after him. He needs you," Kimble replies.
She nods, absorbing the truth of this statement. "Yes, he does, doesn't he?" She brightens and enters the room.
"Hey, what's the occasion?" Tom asks, seeing the vase of flowers and the gift. Tiffany sets them down and gives him a big kiss. "Hi, Barry," Tom says, acknowledging Kimble. Kimble notes that Tom is wearing his glasses and his vision is markedly improved.
"You're looking better this evening," Tiffany says fondly.
"The leg still hurts, trust me," Tom admits. "But I don't mind, not when I get to look at that all day!" He nods towards the television. They turn and see the Morning Star propped above the set. Tom grins. "Everyone's been coming round to ask if that's my wife!"
"Oh, you are proud of me!" Tiffany cries, eyes glistening. "Look, I have something for you." With child-like excitement she hands Tom the gift.
He shakes it. "Doesn't rattle." He puts it to his nose and smells it. "Not cheese."
"For pity's sake, open it!" she exclaims happily. Tom unwraps the small picture of himself which Tiffany had broken the night before. "When we were out shopping we picked up a new frame for it. Do you like it?"
"Well...yes. But you didn't have to do that," Tom says, mystified.
"Yes, I did. It's my favorite photo." Tears spring to her eyes. happened to you, Tom!"
"Come here," Tom says, holding out his arms for a big hug.
They embrace.
Kimble steps back and catches the old man's eyes.
"All's well that ends well," the elderly patient says sagaciously.
"How was your surgery?" Kimble asks him.
He folds his gnarled hands in his lap. "At my age, I'm thankful to simply be alive."
Kimble watches Tiffany and Tom. "So are all of us, if we think about it," he comments quietly.
"I won't be putting in such long hours when I return to work," Tom is telling Tiffany. "Dr. Levine says I need to keep my leg limber, and the best therapy is swimming. So, you'll have to make a swimmer out of me yet!"
"I will," Tiffany assures him. "And I want to help with the budget. We went down to Hollywood East today." Not want-ing to spoil the surprise herself, she turns to Kimble. "Tell Tom. I want him to hear it from you."
"Your wife auditioned for a part in a new movie. She was sensational. She's a born actress!" Kimble confirms.
"Well, I knew that," Tom laughs. "Tiffany's got all the imagination in this family. That's what I love most about her."
"You never said," Tiffany says, reveling in her new-found identity.
Kimble checks the time. "I really need to be going," he tells them both. "I have a bus to catch."
Tom reaches out his hand. "Thanks, man, for all you've done." He grips Kimble's hand. "For me...and for Tiffany. I owe you."
Kimble shakes his head. "Just look after each other."
Tom calls to him when he reaches the door. "If you ever come back this way, be sure to look us up!" Kimble nods. Tom turns his attention to Tiffany, taking her hand. Then, remembering something, he looks up again, but Kimble is gone. "Shoot! I forgot to tell Barry that a friend of his called a little while ago. Oh well, I'm sure they'll meet up. I told him Barry was on the way here."
BY THE ELEVATORS ON THE SAME FLOOR
Kimble shifts his duffle bag and boards the elevator on the left. As the door closes after him, the elevator on the right opens and Gerard, Hilliard and Officer Stevens hurriedly exit. They run down the corridor toward Tom's room.
EPILOGUE
TOM CARTER'S ROOM - SECONDS LATER
The police officers rush into the room, guns drawn. "Kimble!" Gerard shouts. After a quick survey, Hilliard checks the bathroom.
Tom and Tiffany stare wide-eyed. "What's going on, Officers?" Tom asks.
Gerard shows the couple the mug shot of Kimble. "Was this man just here?"
"That man saved my life," Tom says ingenuously.
Stevens looks at the photo, awed. "Well, I'll be. It is Richard Kimble. I would have sworn you were mistaken, Captain."
"That's why I prefer to do things myself," Gerard tells Eve, under his breath. "Do you know where this man is now?" he asks Tom.
"Um, no, I sure don't," Tom says. "What's the problem?"
"He's a wanted felon, going by the name of Barry Jenkins," Stevens informs the couple. "He's guilty of murdering his wife."
Gerard goes to the window and scans the parking lot below.
Stevens turns to Tiffany. "Do you know where we could find him, ma'am?"
Tiffany pales under this second round of questioning by Officer Stevens. Her lower lip trembles. She looks to Tom for support.
"We have no idea where he might be. None whatsoever," Tom says firmly, putting an arm around his wife.
"Agent Hilliard, search the parking lot," Gerard orders. "Stevens, take the floor above, I'll check below." Eve runs from the room, followed by Stevens. Gerard suddenly stops.
His gaze is magnetically drawn to the old man in the bed near the door. "Who are you? Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"It may be déjà vu," the old man answers enigmatically.
"But where are you from?" Gerard asks, no less puzzled.
"Originally, from Stafford, Indiana. A retired police lieutenant," the elderly gentleman relates. "Wasted four years of my life chasing a convicted murderer. Wasted the taxpayers' dollar. Almost lost my family. Almost lost my sanity. The murderer I sought so hard to bring to justice was innocent."
"Yeah? Well, the one I'm chasing is GUILTY," Gerard snaps.
THE HOSPITAL PARKING LOT
Hilliard exits the hospital and looks both ways. In the distance, she sees a male with auburn hair walking rather briskly.
She gives chase. Kimble, hearing the click of her high heels, breaks into a run.
"Wait!" she shouts. Kimble leaps over a row of low bushes. Hilliard tries to head him off from the street. "Richard, stop, please!" she hollers after his retreating back. "I know about the One-Armed Man!"
She is too late. Kimble disappears from sight and Eve slows, breathing heavily and holding her aching ribs. Sadly she repeats, "I know about the One-Armed Man."
TOM CARTER'S ROOM - MINUTES LATER
"Captain?" Eve enters the room, surprised to see Gerard still talking with the old man. "I checked the perimeters. If Kimble was here, he's long gone."
"Younger people never listen to their elders," the old gentleman is telling Gerard. "Not when I was young. Not now."
"Thanks for the warning, but I don't need it. The evidence is stacked this high against Dr. Kimble. I'd bet my life on it," Gerard replies dryly.
"You may indeed. And God have mercy on your soul." The old man closes his eyes and appears to fall asleep. Gerard shakes his head, as if dispelling an apparition.
Hilliard wonders what has transpired, but says nothing. Gerard takes her arm.
"Call Wilmington P.D. Have them put out a net for Kimble. I want every bus station, every train line, every..."
"These are mainly small towns along the coast," Eve interrupts. "There aren't a lot of police available to deploy. But I'll do what I can."
Gerard wipes his brow with a trembling hand, the strain of the long day finally showing.
"Are you feeling alright, Captain?" Hilliard asks.
"Just a touch of déjà vu," says Gerard.
AN ALL-NIGHT BUS TO VIRGINIA BEACH - BEFORE DAWN
Kimble is seated near the back of the bus. He is wearing a baseball cap and has a realistic-looking tattoo of a phoenix covering his left temple. The phoenix's tail wraps around his left eye and ends across the cheekbone. The other passengers are giving him a wide berth. Kimble smiles faintly, thinking of Dean Hauser's prescient advise. He packs his windbreaker into a corner of the seat to create a pillow, then tries to get some sleep.
The night sky turns lighter in increments. The camera pans to the sea as the sun rises over Virginia Beach.
THE END