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: [They are in a hospital ward surround by lots of sick and injured people
] What are we doing here? I don't even think we're supposed to *be* in here. Kay Eiffel
: You told me I needed visual stimulation. Penny Escher
: Yeah, I meant a museum or something. Kay Eiffel
: I don't *need* a museum. I need the infirm. Penny Escher
: [slightly under her breath
] You *are* the infirm.
Professor Jules Hilbert
: No, why did you change the book? Kay Eiffel
: Lots of reasons. I realized I just couldn't do it. Professor Jules Hilbert
: Because he's real? Kay Eiffel
: Because it's a book about a man who doesn't know he's about to die and then dies. But if the man does know he's going to die and dies anyway, dies willingly, knowing he could stop it, then... I mean, isn't that the type of man you want to keep alive?
: I'm Penny Escher. I'm the assistant your publishers hired. Kay Eiffel
: The spy. Penny Escher
: The assistant. I provide the same services as a secretary. Kay Eiffel
: I don't need a secretary. Penny Escher
: Then I will have to find some other way of occupying my time. Kay Eiffel
: Like watching me like a vulture in case I get distracted, because they, the publishers, think I have writer's block, isn't that right? Penny Escher
: Do you have writer's block?
[Kay doesn't answer
: And I suppose you smoked all these cigarettes? Kay Eiffel
: No, they came pre-smoked. Penny Escher
: Yeah, they said you were funny.
] Why was Harold talking to this man? This man was an idiot.
: [sitting on bench under an umbrella
] May I ask what we're doing out here? Kay Eiffel
: [sitting next to Penny without an umbrella
] We're imagining car wrecks. Penny Escher
: I see. And we can't imagine car wrecks inside? Kay Eiffel
: No. Did you know that 41 percent of accidents occur in times of inclement weather? Penny Escher
: So do 90 percent of pneumonia cases. Kay Eiffel
: Really? Pneumonia. That's an interesting way to die. But how would Harold catch pneumonia? Penny Escher
: Have you written anything new today? Kay Eiffel
: No. Penny Escher
: Did you read the poems I suggested, or make a list of words, buy new typing paper, anything? Kay Eiffel
: No, none of it. Penny Escher
: Sitting in the rain won't write books.
: What's this? Penny Escher
: It's literature on the nicotine patch. Kay Eiffel
: I don't need a nicotine patch, Penny. I smoke cigarettes. Penny Escher
: Well, it may help. Kay Eiffel
: May help? Help what? Help what, Penny? Help write a novel? Penny Escher
: May help save your life. Kay Eiffel
: I'm not in the business of saving lives.
[spits into tissue to Penny's disgust, and puts cigarette in tissue
] Kay Eiffel
: In fact, just the opposite.
[wipes water out of eye
] It wasn't just about finding a guitar. It was about finding a guitar that said something about Harold. Unfortunately, this guitar said: "When I get back to Georgia, that woman gonna feel my pain." This one said something along the lines of: "Why, yes, these pants are Lycra." These said, "I'm very sensitive, very caring and I have absolutely no idea how to play the guitar." "I'm compensating for something. Guess what." And then Harold saw it.
: Man in tweed? Kay Eiffel
: There's nothing wrong with him, he just likes looking at sick people. Penny Escher
: Oddly spoken with disdain.
: Excuse me, where are the dying people? Most of these people are sick or injured - Which is great, don't get me wrong. But they're gonna get better, which doesn't really help me. Is there any way to see the people who aren't going to get better? Head ER Nurse
: Excuse me? Kay Eiffel
: I'd like to see, if at all possible, the ones who aren't going to make it. You know, the dead-for-sure ones. Head ER Nurse
: I'm sorry, are you suffering from anything? Kay Eiffel
] Just writer's block.
: [Penny goes to answer phone
] Don't answer that! Penny Escher
: Didn't you say this phone never r - ? Kay Eiffel
[types another sentence; the phone rings and she runs to answer it
] Kay Eiffel
: Hello? Harold Crick
: Is this Karen Eiffel? Kay Eiffel
: Yes. Harold Crick
: My name is Harold Crick. I believe you're writing a story about me. Kay Eiffel
: I'm sorry? Harold Crick
: My name is Harold Crick. Kay Eiffel
: Is this a joke? Harold Crick
: No. No, I work for the IRS. My name, Miss Eiffel, is Harold Crick. When I go through the files at work I hear a deep and endless ocean. Kay Eiffel
: [gasps; drops phone in terror
] Oh, G - ! Harold Crick
: Miss Eiffel?
: [sees Harold for the first time
] Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Harold Crick
: Miss Eiffel? Kay Eiffel
: Your hair. Your eyes. Your fingers. Your shoes. Harold Crick
: Hello. I'm Harold Crick. Kay Eiffel
: I know.
: Little did he know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.