whale studies his face in the mirror. he gives his white hair a few final licks with his silver-backed brush.
hanna opens the door, gasps when she sees whale lying motionless on the bed. she spots the empty bottle of luminal.
whale wakes with a start. he checks the clock, sees that it's past nine. he presses an intercom button on the bedside table.
whale opens his eyes groggily. he scans the room in panic, clearly unable to get his bearings.
whale sits up in bed, staring dumbly at the morning paper. hanna reaches in to take away the breakfast tray.
whale's hands fly to his throat. he opens his eyes and gasps greedily for air, the young men's screams lingering in the room. there is a look of genuine terror on his face.
whale and hanna go through the closet together.