I am working on an original Noire Horror film (either short or feature, but either way independent), where a string of murders in Pensacola, Florida (location pending, could be anywhere really) has something more sinister than just a murderer.
It will be Lovecraftian, but with no real story being cited specifically. There will be a crazy monster, and it will appear at the end, and there may or may not be a cult involved.
Anyway, to set the scene
John and James (names pending) are two police investigators, following the aforementioned murder trails. After about the 2nd or 3rd victim, a few false leads, and a chilling coroner's report, they have decided to try and unwind.
The dialogue begins during that lull that comes after a good joke.
John: James, do you ever have dreams?
James: Yeah, yeah sure I do. I think everyone does, at least anyone I've-
John: What kind of dreams?
James: Uh, well. Lots of different kinds, I guess.
He chuckles slightly as he remembers something
One time I had this dream, where my old lady was walking me outside, had the leash and everything. We came inside, and I looked around, and my dog Rex was at the table reading a paper and smoking my cubans.
John and James laugh
James: What about you, Scout, since you brough up the subject?
John: Well, I have this one most of the time.
John: Yeah. In it, I'm fighting. Not anyone in particular, really. Could be a bum, or a friend, or a guy at a bar, or something else. I'm punching him, and I just do nothing to the guy.
James: What do you mean? I've seen you punch out lots of guys
John: I know, that's the strange thing. Sometimes I swing as hard as I can, but my fist just glazes past him. Other times, I hit him, but I would have done more damage if I threw a pillow at 'em.
James: How often you having this dream?
John: I don't know, John. At least once a week. It's weird. I keep fighting and fighting and fighting, and I do nothing. Meanwhile, the guy rolls me up and down, and I'm defenseless. I know I can hurt him, but I just can't.
John moves towards the window to look out
John: It's scary, ya know? You become a cop, and you think "I can beat anything. I'll rope in the druggies and the rapists and the killers, and I'll get a nice medal. I'll be a hero, and I'll ride down Main in a Rolls Royce in a ticker tape parade"
And then you think of shit like this. Maybe I'm not invincible, maybe I can't beat everything. Sure, I can knock out the dope fiends here, or the arsonists there, but soon the fiends will be over there, and the arsonists will be over here. (He pauses.) And this murder. All these dead leads, and deader stiffs. And now, we might not even be dealing with something human? I know the odds are against us, but God could throw us a bone every once in a while.
James comes up and clasps his shoulder
James: I know it's a lot to think about, John. Don't pay any attention to those loonies down at the morgue. All the foramyldyhed pickled their brains. Monsters are just in radio shows and pictures, not in real life. We'll catch whoever is doing these murders. And hey, if we can't make the streets safe forever, we can make 'em safer for a while.