sir. yes sir. beat. yes, captain. everything's fine. here. i'll "rally" the troops. we're moving out. beat. he shuts the door again. captain? why don't i ever ride in the bradley with the other enlisted personnel? sir, i don't want to be singled out for special treatment because of my mother's position -- trust me, sir, i don't wish to ride in the bradley with the others, i'm just . the men don't care for me very much. that's absolutely correct, captain. i am not a professional politician. i am not a professional politician . i am . a professional politician. not. knocking on his door -- it opens, and secret service agent evan anderson removes his key while sen. eleanor shaw, pretty and ageless, sweeps in -- closing the door on her aide -- no. no to the question you're going to ask. no to all the questions you pretend to want to ask -- -- and no you may not engage in your usual back-door political thuggery to shovel me onto the presidential ticket. of course i'm interested -- i wouldn't be here if i wasn't -- but not if it means attacking the reputation of a statesman like thomas jordan, which i'm sure was your plan. let democracy run its course, mother. let the people decide. now ellie stares at him, mouth agape. what. mother -- mother, you chased her away -- -- you ruined everything. i'm wearing the one i have on. no response. no ma'am. no ma'am. captain. i mean -- that's supposed to be the whole point of this great country, isn't it? that everybody matters. not just the people at this party -- no offense -- but the people who can't afford to be here. including you? nice to see you mark. thanks. the following flows, overlapping, easy: yes, hi -- -- and co-chair of the u.s. international policy caucus. go away, mother. you've earned your fee. raymond flashes a dazzling kennedyesque smile, as the men chuckle appreciatively. gentlemen, how's business? careful. any better, you'll be a monopoly. i know. hello captain. i've changed too. -- but my feelings haven't. changed, i mean . jocie starts to say something, is at a loss for words -- i guess i've never stopped -- feeling -- wondering -- how it might have turned out, you know, between us, if -- jocie, i haven't even been with another girl since we . stopped seeing each other -- doesn't that say something to you? what? marco slides in front of him with a disarming grin. -- not now. don't touch me. don't ever touch me. beat. marco's eyebrows go up. there are gaps in this country. ugly chasms that we need to bridge . the side of a bus with a huge skin of gov. arthur and raymond shaw and the arthur. shaw "secure tomorrow" campaign icon -- it slides away, revealing: marco -- crosses the street, walks along a row of dilapidated apartments -- the gap between rich and poor, between government and people -- -- the area is desolate, depopulated, an economic wasteland. under a crumbling awning and into between what is real and what is not. the enemy is among us. the wolf is at the door . the fox is in the henhouse . the weasel is . the weasel is . they take his room keycard from him, open the door -- the weasel is a weasel. frog and toad are friends. -- returning to the door and handing raymond his keycard. the phone begins to ring -- i know. good night. he closes the door after them. breathes out. glances at his watch. then crosses to answer the phone: you have thirty seconds, mother. you have no idea. i happen to believe in it. goodnight, mother. punches the line, lifts the receiver -- yes? who is this? close on raymond's ear -- yes ? close on raymond's eye -- yes. -- everything is brighter, sharper, more luminous -- more etched than it was just moments ago -- no sir. yes. the lcd screens show activity in areas of raymond's brain. we're heading back to forward command. the night is clear. stars but no moon -- marco closes the book, opens another journal. same drawings. same title page. same cramped writing, that begins exactly the same way -- an incoming mortar shell kills both of them instantly, before i am able to -- we can't clean up the world with dirty hands. guys, i gave up a long time ago trying to second guess my mother. i'm just surprised the rest of you haven't. i can never remember my dreams. more questions lobbed out, overlapping, but raymond ignores them. marco pushes through as raymond assures anderson: -- it's okay. i know him, it's okay. i saw mavole's mom and dad in st. louis. i still visit them -- and baker's mom -- when i can. do you keep up with anybody from the unit besides al melvin? why did you ask me about kuwait? no. what do you want from me, captain? he wants to talk about my mother. no. he looks at marco -- well, we've got about five minutes, right now. and this is as private as it gets for me anymore, so . beat. he waits. anderson staring at marco. including you? that's easy. rpg incoming. mortar fire, we're ambushed. total chaos. i can't locate baker or mavole. you're knocked unconscious -- i find you and pull you to safety and then -- am i in your dreams? doing what? saving everybody? pedestrians pass between them on the crowded sidewalk. i don't have dreams, captain. maybe you should . see somebody -- talk to somebody who specializes in this kind of thing -- captain -- -- major. ben. marco stops, turns. are you hungry? i kill mavole? no. no. -- i killed the enemy. i didn't know them, either. so it was okay. and, anyway, i remember what we did in kuwait, i remember it perfectly. but now that you mention it, i don't remember doing it . exactly. no. what a thought. now he picks up the dream book. marco watches. raymond flips through the pages for a moment, dismissively. then stops at something melvin has drawn. frowns. raises his eyebrows. closes it, sets it down: life is so bizarre, isn't it? this absurd campaign, the sordid world of politics, my whole public life and persona -- sometimes, occasionally, for an instant, the fog clears and i look and i think, what am i doing? i mean, what the fuck am i doing? posing and grinning like a goddamn sock puppet, shaking hands with total strangers who must be blind if they can't see what i am, at the core. what my mother has made me. raymond looks steadily at marco . who nods, interested: a prentiss. ferociously, a prentiss -- but not a shaw, god forbid -- i was molded by cold hard hands, every detail of my existence preordained. can you even imagine, ben, how it would feel never to have a say in what your life would be? i was twenty years old before i had a friend -- no, worse, a girlfriend -- well, almost -- but, yes, a friend, or i thought so -- outside my mother's circle of approved encounters -- and it didn't -- she wouldn't -- precipitating my one act of rebellion, storming off and enlisting -- -- in the army. which, ironically, only served ultimately to pad my gilded prentiss resume. you know: "fluent in five languages, phi beta kappa, congressional medal of honor, blah blah blah." and after the war i came back to her. and the family legacy. this. mother calls it, "fulfilling my manifest prentiss destiny." what? seeming startled, raymond's reverie is broken. his eyes harden as he refocuses on marco. weren't you listening? mother happened. you know, the truth is, i hate it. i've always despised it. the medal. the cloying adulation of the little people. your pitiful jealousy -- i don't have the dreams, ben. i do. i said i did. ha ha, don't mix me up, i'm tired, and -- fine. it's like this. it's as if i know what will happen, ben, but i never get to the part where i feel that it actually did happen. but i think that's probably perfectly normal. what? no. who would i ask? my old army "buddies," who love and adore me for saving their pathetically unimportant -- present company excluded -- asses? i'm sure the press would have a field day with that. nobody's put anything in me. i want to be supportive of you, ben, i do, but -- -- this can wait until after the election. you should leave. this is not, this is not -- there's nothing there! marco lunges at raymond -- they fall, together, over the desk, onto the floor -- chinese food scattering. ben -- no. marco -- shoved to the floor -- twisted -- handcuffed -- blood smearing across the carpet -- his eyes wild with adrenaline and fear -- raymond -- his hand goes to his back -- his eyes lock with marco's for an instant -- then marco is hustled out the door. no. that'd be political suicide. of course not. i want you to help him. because i feel sorry for him. because i said i would. mother. look. my campaign people are getting a restraining order, he's going on all the security watch-lists -- but i won't lock him up. i'm not pressing charges. it's complicated -- i don't know. it's just complicated and i don't want to talk about it, i want to get back to the campaign and focus on -- no. but he does. and he's a fine soldier and . my friend. and if his slim hold on sanity requires that i tolerate his delusions until he can get help, i'll do it. it doesn't diminish me. and i'm not afraid of him. yes i think telling people you want to "round up all the towelheads and throw them in a deep pit" probably tips your hand. stuffed. with oysters? she starts to cut meat into child-like, bite-sized pieces and put them on a side plate, for raymond. my god. in the world's literature of food could there possibly be a more vulgar dish? promise me that you'll help him. ellie stops, sighs, puts her fork down and reaches for the oversized-satchel that doubles as her briefcase and purse. -- i don't care. i know him. i served under him. he was a good man. hello senator. how's jocie? jordan picks up a picture of noyle and smoothes it onto the desk for raymond to see, as: no. sir, ben marco is sick. delusional. i don't understand. what? i don't -- i don't -- i don't have the dreams. what are you saying? silence. the question hangs there. what do i do? i feel sick. christ. what have you done to me? no, never mind -- don't bother. don't lie. don't say anything. no more lies. there are actual tears in ellie's eyes. raymond just stares at her, coldly. i can promise you that whatever you've done, i will undo it. i never want to see you or speak to you again -- -- i mean it this time. raymond heads for the door -- it's me, sir. sloshes down into the water, wades out waist-deep -- i came to apologize, sir. i'm sorry. i'm sorry, sir. -- jordan goes under, legs trapped in the kayak -- turns, grabs her by the hood of her sweatshirt -- -- and whipsaws her out into the deeper water, shoving her under it. jocelyn's hands claw at him, but he's stronger, and the water has no effect on him. she thrashes wildly . and he looks down at her through the water, hair flowing, utterly beautiful . as if in a dream. shhhhhhhh. aaaahhhhhhh --! raymond awakens with a startled about, face flushed, sweating. terrified -- yeah. yes. bad dream. okay. i was on the fence when i walked in there . but then i saw my name on the ballot and i knew what i had to do. laughter. he whispers to a poll volunteer, and she points him down a hallway -- it hurts. i've been having the dreams, ben. good? they're inside my head. they got inside, the way you said they would -- they're all . twisted together -- and i dream things, terrible things, that can't possibly have happened. i'm gone, ben -- i'm losing it -- of what? jocie's dead. -- and the senator. did i do it? i don't remember. i don't remember it. raymond looks up at ben. emotionless. uncomprehending. i'm all inside-out. knocking on the door. just a minute. raymond's cell phone rings. all i've ever done is what i was supposed to do. what i was told to do -- -- what others want me to do. you don't think they saw this coming? you don't think they factored you in? i need to die, ben. i'm the enemy, major marco, and the only way to stop me is to kill me. i thought you were smarter than this. are we friends? i want to believe we're friends. i dream you, ben. you kill private baker. hello? yes mother. a class bell rings -- yes, he's right here. raymond extends the phone to marco. she wants you. marco hesitates. me? but takes the receiver -- the major is an excellent marksman. she touches his bare shoulder, leaves her hand there. but what will happen to him? yes, mother. yes, mother. she straightens his tie. her hands caress her son's shoulders.