SILVERMANE

EXT. OTTAWA FAIRGROUND. NIGHT.

A hot, sticky summer night. Warm oranges and burnt yellows.

Follow down the cold stream, the water glistens from the fairground lights off in a distance.

INSPECTOR BETHANY LOMAX, late-20s, Quebecois, petite, piebald mullet, walks with HUNTER ROANOKE, mid-30s, tall, dark, handsome, through the fairground. There are people everywhere, cascading like a swarm of locus. Children scream on rides, and machines buzz and howl.

The pair are dressed in casual attire, currently undercover. Lomax is wearing a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey.

Lomax pulls out a packet of Marlboro cigarettes, placing one between her teeth.

ROANOKE

I didn't know you smoked.

LOMAX

Only when I'm anxious.

ROANOKE

Let me get you a drink.

They stop. Roanoke goes to a trailer selling refreshments. Lomax reaches under her jerseys for her notebook, containing scribbles about a murderer known as the Lycan with a few pieces of description.

Roanoke returns, handing Lomax a can of Pepsi.

LOMAX

Aw, bless you.

ROANOKE

So, how's it going so far, Manhunter? Got another soul added to your tally.

LOMAX

Nothing to note. And, please, don't call me that.

ROANOKE

Why not?

LOMAX

It's bad enough all the boys do it.

ROANOKE

It's a compliment, people are recognizing your track record.

LOMAX

Hmmm...

ROANOKE

(nudging her)

You reckon this is Ontario's Strangler?

LOMAX

(correcting)

Trois-Rivières Ripper.

ROANOKE

No one calls him that anymore.

LOMAX

I do.

ROANOKE

Then you're alone on that one, Red.

Lomax gives him a low energy sigh of a smile.

ROANOKE

It's funny seeing you out of your usual busy suits, eh?

LOMAX

Oh?

ROANOKE

I didn't take you for a Leafs fan.

LOMAX

Ah, the accent is all a disguise. Shall we continue on our prowl?

Roanoke holds out his arm. Lomax shakes her head with a cheeky grin, then loops around him.

We head through the fairground, passing dodgems and a funhouse. The two are subtly monitoring everyone they pass. There is a noticeably heavy police presence. Officers are constantly walking in the background.

They stop by a fence, taking time to watch people.

While Lomax is staring into space, Roanoke checks over his own notes. At first, mistakenly pulling out his police badge. He murmurs a few points to himself, then looks up, assessing every man in the immediate vicinity.

He notices Lomax coming closer.

ROANOKE

You know half of this would be easier to remember if you weren't forever changing it.

LOMAX

I'm perfecting my art. What are you having trouble with?

ROANOKE

I keep looking for things that aren't even on here. I'm checking people for things that you must have struck off freaking months back. Or just pulling some of it out of my ass.

LOMAX

White, beard, long hair, tall frame, friendly face, big hands, dark eyes as dark as night. With the usual over keenness towards children. At first glance, he will appear like any other man, but the longer you look at him, the less human he'll become. The best thing we can start doing is talking to people. It's most likely the Lycan will fold when confronted by an adult. And as per his namesake, he will be in awe of the moon.

ROANOKE

And you just happen to know that? Off the top of your head?

LOMAX

It is my job.

ROANOKE

To hunt pedophiles... Glamorous.

LOMAX

That's not the word that I would have used. But I'll take it. It makes me quirky, at best.

ROANOKE

Your dress sense makes you bold, and I suppose quirky if you like. Not the fact that you choose to spend your evenings chasing kiddy fiddlers.

LOMAX

(whispering)

Because ceaselessly searching for missing children is better? What would you rather I did?

ROANOKE

Something. Anything, even.

LOMAX

I have a life outside of work.

ROANOKE

Pffft...

LOMAX

I do.

ROANOKE

That remains to be seen.

(chuckles to himself)

Only you could sound so defensive saying that. Which you spend doing?

LOMAX

Revising case notes for the Ripper.

ROANOKE

Strangler.

LOMAX

Ripper.

ROANOKE

You're not even on that case. It's too high profile for you.

LOMAX

I’m doing what I can to help.

ROANOKE

Bethany, trust me. It will not be appreciated.

LOMAX

That's your opinion.

ROANOKE

I'm not arguing.

The pair spend a little while longer meandering around the fairground. They weave in and out of racing children. Lomax continuously checks her wristwatch and monitors the approaching full moon.

ROANOKE

Any danger of a match?

LOMAX

No. I keep getting distracted by the not-so-subtle police presence. The same as the Lycan will.

Roanoke reaches for a radio from his jacket.

ROANOKE

Want me to call 'em off?

LOMAX

No. He's in too deep now. It's become a ritual. They won't stop him. Especially after the notes, too, it'll be embarrassing for him.

ROANOKE

I'll tell them to back off, at least. Come here.

Roanoke wriggles into a space between the fun-house and down-a-clown machines. Lomax blocks what space she can with her slight frame.

LOMAX

The more nonchalantly you do that, the better. Start curling yourself up in the corner and it becomes rather suspect...

ROANOKE

Do you want the radio?

LOMAX

I've got no pockets.

Playfully poking Lomax with the antenna.

ROANOKE

Then shush.

Giving a small laugh, Lomax turns her attention to the crowd. She is upbeat so as not to arouse any suspicion. She smiles at the children, tossing softballs at the clown heads. A sudden snapping hit puts Lomax on alert.

The machine howls excitedly at success. Lights flicker in her dazed eyes, spouting visions of slit wrists for only a flash.

Screwing her face up into a ball, Lomax claws at her eyes and shudders. She is in visible pain, breaking from her hands slowly. Lomax gazes off into a dark space, her eyes frozen in a moment of terror. We don't see what she sees.

Roanoke brings her out of the hypnotic state with a hand on her shoulder. Lomax jumps.

ROANOKE

You all right, Red?

LOMAX

Sorry? Yes, fine. Got a little lost, is all. Nothing to... Nothing to write home about.

ROANOKE

Keep your focus. I think I caught a glimpse of one of the deputies. How long till the moon is where you'll want it?

LOMAX

Full moon at six to seven. We've got five minutes.

ROANOKE

Shall we make our way up the mound then?

LOMAX

(Still stunned)

Sure.

The pair come to the top of a mound, letting them overlook the majority of the fairground. Grey clouds float above their heads separate at precisely 18:52 Lomax checks her Casio watch. She turns her attention to the crowd.

Roanoke notices several police officers gathering behind them.

ROANOKE

Just a little of needless pressure.

LOMAX

Wonderful.

Lomax turns to the bustling crowd of people. She spots one boy clamped tightly in a man's grip, sobbing. Lomax places her hand over her jacket, feeling the cold steel of her pistol. The man drags the sobbing boy, hearing him groan.

MAN 1

We'll get you another balloon, okay? Please, just put a sock in it. Look, there's mommy now.

Lomax releases her grip. A flash of light grabs her attention. A man takes a picture of his daughter.

MAN 2

Come on, sweetheart, smile for daddy.

CHILD (OFF-SCREEN)

Ahhh!

Lomax's eyes dart across to the sound. A child is in tears on the floor with grazed knees and a slippery mess under his ice cream cone. His mother sprints back for him.

Lomax scrunches her eyes, rubbing her face hard.

Faces run by in every direction, like a maze of caterpillars, bouncing bodies, stomping feet. Voices become shallow, muffled under the thunderous blood pounding inside her skull. A potent whistle deafens Lomax. A bead of sweat trickles.

In a moment of solace, Lomax shuts her eyes with a slow, strong inhale. Her head raises to the sky. Lomax's eyes open to the broad moon, so pure and white. The moon fills the screen. Soulless.

Slowly, Lomax's head lowers, and she sees a man in the centre of the crowd staring up at

the moon. He is holding a crying child's hand. The child is in distress trying to break his titan grip. He is the Lycan, his face is alien, devoid of human expression, dressed in a scarlet jumper.

The Lycan's eyes drift down from the moon, meeting Lomax's glasses a hundred yards away.

Lomax touches Roanoke's bicep.

The Lycan picks up the child, keeping his eyes trained on Lomax.

ROANOKE

What is it? Do you see him?

LOMAX

(faintly)

The big bad wolf.

A mother screams.

The Lycan sprints.

Lomax chases. Roanoke follows, shouting at the officers.

People see the charging police and scream, darting out of the way.

Officers at the entrance lunge for the leaping Lycan, diving at his ankles in a cloud of dust.

He kicks up his heels, then turned over a table to further their delay.

Lomax collides with the tumbling timber, rolling to the floor in a heap. Her pistol burst free of

her waistband. The onlookers see the gun and scream. Lomax collects and continues the pursuit. Getting to her feet as Roanoke catches up. He pulls her up by the arm, not breaking

his stride.

Her first step is shaky, the next one even worse. Blood leaks from her nose. By ten paces, the vile throbbing in Lomax's head acts as a mental handbrake.

Momentum follows Roanoke into the sprawling farmer's field turned parking lot.

ROANOKE

Suspect is entering the parking lot, get the stinger and blocks ready.

The chase continues. Roanoke fires his pistol into the air.

ROANOKE

(screaming)

Police, stop!

Roanoke slips but stays on his feet. When his head bobs back up above the car roofs, the Lycan is gone. He keeps a firm grip on his pistol, slowly making his way through the packed parking lot. As Roanoke steps out into a clearing between two lanes, the headlights of a Jeep burst into life. Roanoke gasps. The Jeep lurches like a jaguar.

ROANOKE

Get out of the-

Roanoke dives to the side, just barely missing the heavy tires. Over a bump in the dirt, the Jeep loses traction, slowing as it leans forward.

Back to his feet, Roanoke leaps for the Jeep, clinging onto the driver's side door. We see the child crying in the vehicle's rear. The handle of Roanoke's pistol thumps against the window, once, twice, three times, then shattering. Glass shards eviscerate the Lycan's face and Roanoke's hand.

The Jeep rocks over a pothole, sending Roanoke flying off the door. He tumbles into a bloody heap, clutching at his hand as the Jeep spins into the police onslaught.

FADE OUT.

MONTHS LATER.

INT. SPVQ OFFICES. QUEBEC CITY. NIGHT.

Cold autumn, light greys and pale blues.

Chief Superintendent Jean-Philippe Dupont, titan-like, brooding man, sits at a messy desk. The room is lit by his computer screen, which perpetually buzzes. We see him scroll through application forms, all with messages "REJECTED BY APPLICANT".

He scrolls to the bottom of the list and sees DR. BETHANY LOMAX. She is the only one he hasn't sent the offer to. Dupont clicks on her profile. It opens with a news article, "LYCAN APPREHENDED" with a photograph of Lomax and Roanoke. The date on the paper is AUG 86, Dupont looks at his calendar. It is now October.

There is a long pause of deliberation. Dupont goes over her qualifications numerous times.

Major in Criminology. Ph.D. in Human Psychology. MSc in Forensic Psychology.

He hits send, then adjusts some files, flicking through a small mound before his screen flashes, and the offer is accepted.

EXT. SPVQ BUILDING. QUEBEC CITY. DAY.

The morning is chilly. Frost settles on the small patches of grass. Lomax arrives outside the police station (SPVQ - Service de police de la Ville de Québec) in a pristine suit, carrying her bag in one hand and a small library of textbooks under her arm.

Lomax is smoking. Her hands are jittery. She waits for them to settle, then burns out her cigarette and daintily tosses it in the trash. A deep breath. She adjusts her glasses with a pinch around the lens.

Dupont stands to greet her by the entrance.

DUPONT

Bonjour, Madame Lomax. Bienvenue au Service de police de la Ville de Québec.

LOMAX

Merci beaucoup. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer Jean-Philippe.

DUPONT

S’il te plait, Dupont.

LOMAX

Oui Monsieur. Désolée. Comment allez-vous?

DUPONT

Ça va bien, et toi?

LOMAX

Un peu nerveux.

DUPONT

Ne soyez pas, tu parles Anglaise?

LOMAX

(visibly confused by that remark)

Je parle Français, Anglaise et…

DUPONT

Good, there's a bunch of lazy pricks from the Winterpig and Hamilton RCMP here who don't have the mental capacity to become bilingual.

(holding the door open)

I'm assuming you've worked with some of them before?

INT. SPVQ BUILDING. QUEBEC CITY. DAY.

The pair wander inside, following the sterile corridors.

LOMAX

Winnipeg, yes, sir. I didn't recognize any names on the list you attached.

DUPONT

They've been here for the past three months and turned up nothing. They're boneheads, Lomax. Have you ever worked with boneheads?

LOMAX

No, sir...

DUPONT

Don't work with boneheads. They wouldn't be able to pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel… So, you can imagine the joy I felt when I read your file and your sensational desire to hunt pedophiles.

LOMAX

Glamorous, isn't it? It's not everyone's calling in life.

DUPONT

I liked what I saw, Lomax, and have a good feeling about you. I'm sure you know who we are trying to catch?

LOMAX

Le Trois-Rivières Ripper? Or, as I've heard him called, the St. Lawrence Strangler.

DUPONT

Oui.