Shut Up Island

Not much, Holmes. Looks like nasty weather's afoot, though.

Well, well: The legendary Teddy Daniels, U.S. Marshal, getting seasick?

Well, you liberated Dachau, didn't ya, almost single-handedly, only to come home and become a hard-hitting U.S Marshal, throwing bad guys in the clink hand over fist.

Well, now --

My, how dainty of you.

I mean, it's 1954 boss: Everybody smokes.

In fact, I was just smoking two cigarettes at once, by accident, so to speak.

Yeah. Probably because I haven't had my first cup of coffee yet this morning. I popped the second one in my mouth before it occurred to me that I was already smoking the first one.

And even when I realized my mistake, I was so lazy and indifferent about any potential health concerns accruing from the cigarettes in question that I couldn't even be bothered to take the second one out of my mouth.

But now that you're here, why don't you smoke the rest of cigarette number two here FOR me: I'd be honored.

Now, tell me again: Why are they sending two federal marshals to a hospital for the criminally insane?

Yeah, I hear they're doing all sorts of innovative therapy here.

True.

She's gone AWOL? But the prison is on a flippin' island less than 2 miles in diameter.

Well --

I guess so.

Cool beans.

Oh, really?

Isn't he that infamous Boston arsonist who burned down a house a few years ago containing a gorgeous blonde and her three luckless children?

I sure pity the wretched husband who came home to find the sad results of that madman's handiwork.

Oh, now I get it: You're here to get your own back on Laeddis.

You're going to kill Andrew Laeddis.

Poor guy.

Oh, the horror of it.

Yeah: because they're there.

Yeah, boss: We're the only two passengers on this rat-forsaken ferry and the dude's addressing us through a megaphone. I mean, what's up with that?



Chapter 2: He Saw

Hey, now!

Yes. Ahem! Anyhow, we're here to see Dr. Cawley?

You know what he means, wise guy: He's a federal marshall from Boston, so he doesn't always pronounce his r's correctly, all right? Jeez!

What, are you a drama critic or a prison warden? Now let us in, wise guy -- guns and all!

Great. You're telling me that federal prison guards are now unionized?

My God, it's -- it's Mahatma Gandhi!

But -- but --

Oh, right. Fair enough. I'm sorry, Doc. I don't know what came over me: It's just that, for a minute there, you looked exactly like Mahatma Gandhi!

See, boss? He gets that all the time.

Yeah, that will be all, Roger Ebert.

Yeah, I meant to ask you about that, Dr. Cawley: Why is an apparently native Englishman in charge of this quintessentially American psychiatric institution?

Say, Boss, weren't you in Germany lately?

I don't want to make you paranoid or nothing, but maybe he reminds you of someone you saw over there.

Yeah.

No?

Gee, boss, you don't suppose that we've been brought here on purpose as part of some... oh, I don't know... anti-Communist scheme, say, whereby we're to be a couple of guinea pigs in a bunch of gruesome experiments, culminating (perhaps) in some unspeakable surgical blasphemies , say, on the top floor of that lighthouse yonder?

She's right, boss: Dr. Cawley hasn't seen fit to invite us inside yet.

It would appear so, boss: stained glass and everything. Jeepers, I hope you guys tape those things up nice and tight in a hurricane.

Wait a minute, boss: She just handed you a note.

How's that boss?

Wait, there's more, boss: unfold the letter there and take a look.

You don't suppose --

Oh, dear.

Are you sure, boss?

You've got a point there.

Uh, don't you mean, MA'SHALs, boss.

Where are we going, boss?

But why are we in such a hurry?

Then why don't we wait till the storm blows over.

Ooh! Okay, fair enough. Well, I suppose I'd better disappear then.

Well, we obviously don't have time to get me plausibly out of the way so that you can climb to the top of the lighthouse by yourself and have your showdown with Dr. Cawley.

In fact, I don't think there's even time for you to stumble upon the cave-home of the former psychiatrist who's hiding out from the prison guards somewhere near here because she herself dared to blow the lid on this place two years ago.

Hell, there's not even time for you to climb that endless, narrow, rattling staircase to the top floor of the lighthouse.

Let's close our eyes and hold hands as I count to 3, shall we?

When I say 3, you will be facing Dr. Cawley on the top floor of lighthouse.

1...

2...

3!

I'm your psychiatrist, ya numpkin, not your 'buddy': remember? Jeez!

No hard feelings, Teddy.

So you're finally sane then?

Oh, dear.