Drawn Up From Deep Places

Don’t suppose you do; not by name, any roads. None of us.

Not Polly, nor Annie, nor Long Liz, Kate or me. But I’ve a name,

mister. It’s Mary Kelly, Marie Jeanette to you. I never wanted

to die. Just needed money for a glass, and my rent, with winter coming. And my baby. Remember this?

“What’s in your bag, mister?”

JACK

A cure . . .

MARY KELLY

. . . For anything?

(Mocking)

Oh, and I’m cured now, all right. Ain’t I? But you know, I think you liked the doin’ of it just a bit too much for comfort, my lad. A sight too much to call it anything like mercy.

JACK

Get away from me!

MARY KELLY

Easier said than done; can you get away from me, that’s the question. Are you still that slippery?

JACK

(Not listening)

Get away!

He STUMBLES, FALLS. A HUGE SPLASH. Bring up the SOUND OF THE RIVER as he sinks deeper, MARY KELLY’S voice FADING IN warped, through the water—

MARY KELLY

There you go, love. There you go . . .

(Colder)

But don’t come up again, for you’ll just end up here, eventually.

And I’ll be waiting.

MODIFY to the PULSE OF BLOOD in JACK’S brain. BRING UP his HEARTBEAT until it’s VERY LOUD. Then stop.

The RIVER’S NOISE, CLEAN again.

TABLEAU TWELVE: MORE GIFTS FROM THE WATER

FADE IN the sound of TWO PEOPLE—a local POACHER and his son, the SECOND BOY—WADING in the river.

POACHER

Best catching’s a little more this way.