Storm of the Century (14 page)

And blow away if he blows away?

You want to go home, Pete?

No.

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MIKE nods and leaves.

155 EXTERIOR: MARTHA CLARENDON’S HOUSE--DUSK.

The Island Services vehicle comes out of the growing gloom, crunching through drifts and driving over fallen limbs in the street. It stops by MARTHA’S gate. MIKE gets out, carrying the little case, and goes up the walk. The storm is worse than ever; the GUSTS OF WIND push MIKE around. He struggles up the snow-laden porch steps.

156 EXTERIOR: THE PORCH, WITH MIKE--DUSK.

He opens his case, takes out the flashlight and the cased Polaroid. He hangs the camera around his neck on its strap. The WIND MOANS. Branches CLACK against the porch. MIKE looks around, a little nervous, then returns his attention to the case. He takes out a roll of white adhesive tape and a Sharpie-type pen. Holding the flashlight (now turned on) between his chest and his arm, MIKE tears off a strip of the tape and puts it on MARTHA’S door. He uncaps the pen, thinks, then prints: “CRIME

SCENE DO NOT ENTER MICHAEL ANDERSON CONSTABLE.” Then he puts the roll of tape on his arm like a bracelet and opens the door.

He picks up MARTHA’S walker, holding the grips in his gloved hands, and sets it in the hall. Then he closes his case, picks it up, and steps inside himself.

157 INTERIOR: THE HALLWAY--DARK.

MIKE puts his flashlight, turned on, in his coat pocket. The beam SHINES UPWARD at the ceiling. MIKE himself is little more than a MOVING SHAPE in the dark as he readies the Polaroid and raises it to his face.

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FLASH! and we see:

158 INTERIOR: MARTHA CLARENDON.

Her battered, bloody face. Just for a moment. Then it FADES. This picture and those that follow have the stark quality of crime-scene photos ... of evidence . . . which is just what they will be in a courtroom someday. Or so MIKE hopes.

159 INTERIOR: THE HALLWAY--DARK.

MIKE turns, putting the first photo in his coat pocket, then triggers the Polaroid again.

FLASH! and we see:

160 INTERIOR: PICTURES ON THE HALLWAY WALL.

Boats at sea. The town dock in 1920. Old Fords chugging up Atlantic Street Hill in 1928. Girls having a picnic by the lighthouse. The pictures are stippled with BLOOD. Between them, on the wallpaper, are THICKER SPRAYS OF BLOOD. FADES.

161 INTERIOR: THE HALLWAY--DARK.

The shape that is MIKE ANDERSON bends a little.

FLASH! and we see:

163 INTERIOR: THE HALLWAY--DARK.

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MIKE moves up the hall toward the living room.

164 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM--DARK.

It’s pretty spooky in here, with the furniture just dim shapes and the WIND HOWLING outside. BRANCHES TAP and TREES GROAN.

MIKE moves forward, the flashlight beam still spraying up from his coat pocket. He inadvertently KICKS SOMETHING. A DARK SHAPE rolls across the floor, hits a leg of MARTHA’S chair, and ricochets out of frame. MIKE follows after, takes the flashlight out of his pocket, and shines it into the lens of THE CAMERA--he’s looking at the object he kicked, although we can’t see it from where we are. He replaces the flashlight in his pocket, raises the Polaroid, and bends forward.

FLASH! and:

165 INTERIOR: DAVEY’S BASKETBALL.

Splotched and stained with blood. Looks like some weird planet. FADES.

166 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM, WITH MIKE--DARK.

He rips off a piece of the tape, prints “EVIDENCE” on it, and sticks it to the basketball. Then he walks around the chair and aims the Polaroid at the TV.

FLASH! and:

167 INTERIOR: THE TELEVISION.

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The picture tube totally smashed. The electronic guts of the thing visible inside the ragged hole. It’s like a gouged-out eye. FADES.

168 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM, WITH MIKE--DARK.

He’s frowning, puzzled, thinking about the TV. He and Hatch heard the damned thing. They really did. He moves carefully toward it, then turns and raises the POLAROID.

FLASH! and:

169 INTERIOR: MARTHA’S CHAIR.

Stark and bloodstained, as creepy as an instrument of torture. The cookie plate and bloodstained teacup are still on the table beside it.

170 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE.

He wants a second one of this. He raises the Polaroid, then stops. He looks up at:

171 INTERIOR: ABOVE THE DOOR BETWEEN THE LIVING ROOM AND THE HALL.

There’s something up there, written on the wallpaper above the arch. We can see it, but it’s too dark to read.

172 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE.

He points the Polaroid up, aims, and-
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173 INTERIOR: ABOVE THE DOOR BETWEEN THE LIVING ROOM AND THE HALL.

It’s a message printed in MARTHA CLARENDON’S blood: “GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND I’LL

GO AWAY.” Above it is a drawing-

We may or may not recognize it. FADES.

174 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE.

He’s shaken, and badly. Still, he’s determined to do his job. He raises the Polaroid for that second shot of the chair.

175 INTERIOR: MARTHA’S CHAIR.

This time LINOGE’S cane lies across the arms of the chair, the bloodstained wolfs head snarling into the flash. If we didn’t understand the significance of the drawing on the wall, we do now.

176 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE.

The camera drops out of his hands; if not for the strap, it would fall to the floor. He is understandably freaked. The cane wasn’t there before. The WIND GUSTS--the strongest one yet. Behind MIKE, the window facing the street EXPLODES INWARD. SNOW SWIRLS into the room, twisting in ghostly
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cyclones. The sheers billow like ghostly arms.

MIKE is startled (hopefully we will be, too) but recovers quickly. He pulls the drapes across the broken window. They BILLOW OUT, but he quickly moves a table into place to anchor them. Then he turns back to MARTHA’S chair . . . and that unexpected cane. He bends over it, then raises the Polaroid.

FLASH! and:

177 INTERIOR: THE WOLF’S HEAD CANE, CLOSE-UP.

It stares at us with its bloody teeth and eyes like a ghost wolf in a stroke of lightning, then FADES.

178 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE.

He remains where he is for a moment, trying to get himself back together. Then he pockets the last picture, tears off another strip of white tape, and tags the cane. On it he prints “EVIDENCE” and

“POSS. MURDER WEAPON.”

179 INTERIOR: MARTHA’S DINING ROOM--DARK.

MIKE comes in, removes the pine-cone-and-candle centerpiece from the table, then removes the white linen tablecloth.

180 INTERIOR: THE HALL, WITH MIKE.

He comes out of the dining room and approaches the shape of MARTHA’S body. As he does, he notices something on the wall by the door. He trains the beam of his flashlight on it. It is a key rack, in the shape of a key. MIKE runs the light along it, and finds the set of keys he’s looking for. He takes them off their peg.

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181 INTERIOR: THE KEYS ON MIKE’S PALM, INSERT.

The tag on one reads “FRONT DOOR” in MARTHA’S spidery old-lady’s writing.

182 INTERIOR: RESUME HALL, WITH MIKE.

He pockets the keys and sets his case and camera aside on the stairs for the moment.

I’m so sorry, old girl.

He billows the tablecloth over MARTHA, then takes up his gear again. He opens the door to the porch just enough to slip through and goes out into the SHRIEKING STORM. Night has fallen.

183 EXTERIOR: ON THE PORCH, WITH MIKE--NIGHT

He uses MARTHA’S key to lock the door. Tries it to make sure it’s locked. Then he goes down the steps and begins floundering back down the walk to the Island Services vehicle.

184 EXTERIOR: A HOUSE ON UPPER MAIN STREET--NIGHT.

We can barely see it through the sheeting snow.

185 INTERIOR: THE CARVER KITCHEN, WITH JACK, ANGELA, AND BUSTER.

No generator here. The kitchen is lit with two Coleman gas lanterns, and there are big shadows in all the corners. The little family is eating cold cuts and drinking soda. Each time the wind GUSTS and the house
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CREAKS, ANGELA looks around nervously. JACK is a lobsterman and less worried about weather (what’s to worry about when you’re on dry-back land, for gorry’s sake?). He’s playing airplane with BUSTER. The plane is a bologna sandwich; BUSTER’S open mouth is the hangar. JACK keeps approaching (making the appropriate airplane noises as he does), then pulling away. BUSTER is laughing heartily. Daddy is such a comedian.

There’s a RENDING, SPLINTERING CRASH from outside. ANGELA grabs JACK’S arm.

What was that?

Tree. Robichaux’s backyard, from the sound. Hope it didn’t hit their porch.

He starts playing airplane again, this time landing the sandwich in BUSTER’S mouth. BUSTER chomps off a bite and chews with gusto.

Jack, do you have to go back to the store?

Ayuh.

Daddy’s gonna guard the bad guy! Make sure he doesn’t get away. In a PLAYYNE!

That’s right, big guy.

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JACK dive-bombs another bite into BUSTER’S mouth and ruffles his hair, then looks seriously at ANGELA.

This is a bad situation, honey. Everybody’s got to do his part. Besides, I’ll be with Kirk. It’s the buddy system.

Don Beals is my buddy! He knows how to be a monkey!

Ayuh. Trick he learned from his dad, most likely.

ANGIE laughs and covers her mouth. JACK smiles at her. BUSTER starts making monkey sounds and scratching at his pits. Typical five-year-old dinner behavior. The parents treat him with absentminded love.

If you hear the whistle, take Buster and go. Hell, go before then, if you get nervous--bundle up and take the snowmobile.

Are you sure?

Ayuh. Fact is, the earlier you go, the better bed you and Buster are apt to have. People headed that way already. I seen the lights.

(lifts his chin toward the window)

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You be here or there when my watch is over--don’t matter. I’ll find you.

He smiles at her. She smiles back, reassured. The WIND SCREAMS. They listen, smiles fading. FAINT, we hear the SOUND OF POUNDING WAVES.

Town hall basement’s probably gonna be the safest place on the island for the next forty-eight hours. There’s going to be one helluva storm surge tonight, tell you that.

Why did that man have to come today, of all days?

What did the bad man do, Mommy?

Here we are again--little pitchers and their big ears. ANGELA leans over and kisses him.

Stole the moon and brought the wind. How about another sandwich, big boy?

Yeah! And Daddy can fly it!

186 EXTERIOR: GODSOE FISH & LOBSTER--DARK.

The waves are crashing higher than ever.

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187 EXTERIOR: THE LIGHTHOUSE--DARK.

Now just a vague shape in the storm, illuminating a WILDERNESS OF SNOW each time the light comes around.

188 EXTERIOR: MAIN AND ATLANTIC INTERSECTION--DARK.

The WIND tears the darkened blinker loose, and it goes flying to the end of its cord, like a yo-yo to the end of its string, before finally thumping down into the snowy street.

189 INTERIOR: THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE JAIL CELL, WITH LINOGE--DARK.

LINOGE is sitting as before, with his feet up and his hungry face framed by his slightly spread knees. He’s intent, focused, still wearing the shadow of a smile.

190 INTERIOR: ANGLE ON THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE, WITH HATCH AND PETER.

HATCH has got a PowerBook open; its glow shines on his rapt face. He’s running a crossword puzzle program and is deep into it. He doesn’t notice PETER, who is sitting below the bulletin board and staring back at LINOGE, slack-faced and wide-eyed. PETER is hypnotized.

191 INTERIOR: LINOGE, CLOSE-UP.

His smile widens. His EYES DARKEN TO BLACK, and that red starts to roll into them again.

192 INTERIOR: RESUME HATCH AND PETER.

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Without removing his gaze from LINOGE’S, PETER reaches behind him and pulls an old Department of Fisheries red-tide notice from the board. He turns it over. He has a ballpoint in his flap pocket. He now clicks the tip and puts pen to paper. He never looks down at what he’s doing, though; his gaze never leaves LINOGE.

(not looking up)

Say, Pete--what do you s’pose this one is? “Yodeler’s perch.” Three letters.

193 INTERIOR: LINOGE, CLOSE-UP.

Smiling, he mouths a word that looks like a gulp.

194 INTERIOR: RESUME HATCH AND PETER.

Alp.

Coss it is.

(types it into the grid)

This is a great program. I’ll let you try later, if you want.

Sure.