Time Lapse

Dude!

Yeah, don't get up. I got it, bro.

Wow. Damn, Finn.

This must be your best one yet.

How long you been workin' on this? Like two, three weeks?

Fuck off. I don't go to the bar and complain

when it takes you 10 minutes to make a martini.

I'm perfectly happy with where I'm at.

I just hit a little creative block. That's all.

Hello?

Oh, hi, Mrs. Anderson.

Why, yes. The building manager's right here.

Oh, I'm sure he'd be delighted to come over and fix your toilet.

He's givin' me the thumbs up right now. He'll be over in a second.

You were saying something, right?

About you being perfectly happy with where you're at in life?

Hello.

Well, he said he was thinking of going to art school.

And I said, “Oh, what a coincidence!

Our building manager used to be a painter.”

When you're 18, everybody wants to be an artist.

Shh! Where did you get that?

Garage sale.

So weird.

I'm seeing-

I'm seeing... seashells.

Outlaw, Rambling Rose, Crab Apple.

Crabs live in the fucking ocean, right? Yes, they do.

Crab Apple. I'm betting on Crab Apple.

Hello, my lost boys.

- New sweater. - New for me.

It's a thrift store find. You like it?

Oh, uh, I had a little left over, so I got these for you, babe.

It's the right kind. Camel hair, right?

Thank you. Did you get a new journal?

Oh, I knew how much you wanted them, so I couldn't resist.

Okay, uh, I'm going to go start dinner.

Do you guys want your favorite, lasagna?

Need some help?

Hey, Big Joe. Yes, I do.

Thank you.

Eight is really gettin' taken-Come on. Come on.

Come on. That's it.

That's it. Come on.

You got this. Keep fuckin' running. Let's go.

Come on. Come on.

What's up?

Uh, hey, Big Ben.

Come on. Uh, it's Joe.

Crab Apple. Crab Apple. Come on, you little bastard! Run!

Ah, come on! Run!

Come on! Fuck, man!

Chill out.

Hey, Finn, the landlord called. Mr. Bezzerides's rent is late.

M-Maybe he fell, and he can't get up.

Eh, he's been late before.

Oh, the man across the way? Yeah.

I noticed a couple of parking tickets on his car.

I guess he's got a couple parking tickets on

his car, so maybe we should check on him.

And I also invited Big Joe to stop by the party.

Okay, but I hope he doesn't wear that tacky rent-a-cop uniform.

I thought we were just inviting close friends.

Yeah, uh, well, Big Joe's really cool.

And he's helping me with the chairs. He's standing here right now.

Don't worry. I own other outfits.

I'm sorry.

I'm just gonna... go check on Mr. Bezzerides.

Okay then.

Hey, Mr. Bezzerides, are you home?

Everyone's kinda worried about you,

so I'm going to go ahead and come inside, okay?

Mr. Bezzerides?

It was a sure thing.

No, it obviously wasn't a sure thing. He lost, Jasper.

No, he was a sure thing up until the moment he lost.

That makes zero sense.

What the fuck?

These are shots of our living room.

Mr. “Bitch-arabies” is a peeping tom.

Yeah, I though that, too, but why take photos of our empty living room?

Looks like he saved the best ones for his private collection.

What is this thing?

I-I think it's a camera. See?

Cripes.

You think he got enough film?

Hmm.

What? Do I even want to know?

When did we knock over the coat rack?

Maybe it was that night we played drunk charades. You remember.

No, he doesn't remember 'cause he passed out on the couch.

Well, I guess this explains the green light we see over here sometimes.

Yeah, but why is this thing bolted to the floor?

I don't know, but I don't like it.

I don't like the sound it's making either.

Uh, or how about the half-naked photos of me on the wall?

That's the one thing I do like about this situation.

I knew something wasn't right about that old man.

Hi, Mr. Kendall, this is Finn from Sycamore Apartments.

I'm calling you back about Mr. Bezzerides.

If you can please ring me when you get a chance, that would be great.

Thank you. What did the landlord say?

I just left a voice mail.

Okay. I'm off to work.

I counted the cookies, so if any go missing,

there will be murder in this apartment.

I'll guard 'em. Well, who's going to guard 'em from you?

it's a perfect match.

It's got to be a coincidence.

Maybe. Or-

Or what? The camera took a picture ahead of time?

Give me a break.

I mean, just look at it.

The placement of everything, my canvass.

Your canvass has looked like that for months.

Uh, hey, guys.

No way.

Oh, my God.

This was last Wednesday. Remember you broke the mug with your four-iron?

Oh, yeah, right.

Thursday. Friday we went to the movies.

Saturday we lost power, used candles.

Sunday.

Monday.

That's tonight, Tuesday.

Tomorrow.

Bullshit.

Mr. “B” invented a camera that takes pictures of the future,

and he only used it to look in our apartment?

Doesn't make any sense. Well, maybe he's testing it.

Yeah, and this thing isn't exactly portable.

Well, he's a scientist,

so there's got to be some sort of logs or documentation somewhere.

Just start looking. Will you guys listen to yourselves?

All right. Come on out, Mr.

I know you're fucking in here in the walls or something, laughing your ass off!

The jig's up! Come on out, asshole!

I don't think he's going to answer.

Why? “November 27.

Results today: Positive function.

The machine continues to work perfectly.

However, I've seen something in the future that is disturbing to my core.

I believe I've seen my death.

I know the cardinal rule of time and causality...

is that one should not attempt to change the future.

But under these circumstances, it seems to be a risk worth taking.

If I believed in God,

I would pray today that no greater harm will come from what I'm about to do.”

Then what?

Nothing. That's the last entry, a week ago today.

A week ago.

Seven photos. That means it was kicking it out after he disappeared.

So it must be on a timer.

8200 PM.

Then why are there so many daytime ones?

Maybe it's only been taking ones at night for the last week.

All right.

Even I have to admit this photo is a little fucking unsettling.

I think I know where he might be.

Christ. What's he keeping in here?

I don't know.

Him and the previous manager added this door years ago.

God, please, oh, please, don't let him be in there.

There's no way. If there was a dead body in there, we'd be able to smell it.

Oh, God. What?

Is he in there?

Oh, my God. Close it, close it.

What happened to him?

It looked like he was burned.

Yeah, I don't know about that.

Did you see his suit? It was fine. It wasn't even touched.

Isn't it obvious? I mean, you read his journal.

He broke the cardinal rule.

You don't fuck with time.

Jasper, please take his hat off.

It's my thinking cap.

What the hell is there to think about? We need to call the police, guys.

Hang on. That could be a big mistake.

What do you mean?

I mean, we just discovered a fucking time-traveling camera!

We need to consider the possibilities.

Well, one possibility is we've all been dosed with lethal amounts of radiation...

that, you know, could've killed Mr.

Okay, Negative Nancy, but what if we could use this thing?

How?

Remember how Mr. “B” took a photo of himself holding that sign?

What if we put up, like, the newspaper?

We would know what happens in the future.

Yeah, the newspaper, Jasper? What are you thinking?

Arts and Entertainment?

- Or are you thinking the race results? - Oh.

Well, what if?

Think about how much money we could make.

Callie, I foretell that tonight is your last night waiting tables.

And instead, you can pursue writing full time.

Callie?

No! Absolutely not! We're calling the police.