Storm of the Century (27 page)

Teams of grim-faced EMERGENCY MEDICAL TECHNICIANS are carrying four stretchers down to the POLICE BOAT that has tied up to the stump of the dock. Each stretcher bears a zipped body bag.

TV REPORTER (voice-over)

Four corpses have been found so far on Little Tall Island. Two of them may have been suicides, police sources say, but the other two are almost certainly murder victims, bludgeoned to death by what was probably the same blunt object.

209 EXTERIOR: RESUME MAIN STREET, WITH REPORTER.

Oh-oh. He’s still wearing the purple ski suit, still clean-cut and as chipper as a chickadee, but the purple gloves have been replaced by bright yellow ones. If we didn’t recognize LINOGE before--and hopefully we didn’t--we do now.

(LINOGE)

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Identities of the dead have been withheld pending notification of next of kin, but all are said to be longtime island residents. And baffled police are asking themselves one question, over and over: Where are the other residents of Little Tall Island? Where is Robert Beals, the town manager? Where is Michael Anderson, who owned the island market and served as Little Tail’s constable? Where is fourteen-year-old Davey Hopewell, who was at home, recovering from a bout of mononucleosis, when the big one hit? Where are the shopkeepers, the fishermen, the town selectmen? No one knows. There has only been one case like this before, in all of American history.

210 INTERIOR: MOLLY ANDERSON, SLEEPING, CLOSE-UP--NIGHT.

Her eyes move rapidly back and forth beneath her closed lids.

211 INSERT: A DRAWING OF AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY VILLAGE.

WOMAN TV REPORTER (voice-over)

This is how the village of Roanoke, Virginia, looked in 1587, before everyone disappeared--every man, woman, and child. Their fate has never been discovered. A single possible clue was discovered, a word found carved on a tree-212 INSERT: A WOODCUT OF AN ELM TREE.

Carved into the bark is the word “CROATON.”

WOMAN TV REPORTER (voice-over)

--this word. “Croaton.” The name of a place? A misspelling? A word written in a language lost over the centuries? No one knows that, either.

213 EXTERIOR: RESUME MAIN STREET, WITH WOMAN TV REPORTER.

She is very pretty in her purple Therma-Pak ski suit; it goes well with her long blonde hair, flushed cheeks . . . and her BRIGHT YELLOW GLOVES. Yes, it’s LINOGE again, now speaking in a
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woman’s voice and looking very pretty. This isn’t transvestism played for laughs, but a guy who really looks like a young woman and speaks with a woman’s voice. This is deadly serious.

This reporter has picked up exactly where ROBBIE’S version left off, now doing a walk-and-talk (a walk-and-ski, in this case) up Main Street, toward the town hall.

(LINOGE)

Police continue to assure reporters that a solution will be found, but even they are not able to deny one essential fact: hope is dimming for the missing residents of Little Tall Island.

She skis on toward the town hall, which is also buried in drifts.

(LINOGE)

Evidence suggests that most or all of the islanders spent the first and worst night of the storm here, in the basement of the Little Tall Island Town Hall. After that ... no one knows. One wonders if there was anything they could have done to change their strange fate.

She skis onto what would be the town hall lawn in summer, toward the little cupola with the bell inside. THE CAMERA REMAINS STATIONARY now, watching her go.

214 INTERIOR: DAVEY HOPEWELL, CLOSE-UP.

Sleeping uneasily. Eyeballs moving. Dreaming while the WIND SHRIEKS OUTSIDE.

215 EXTERIOR: IN FRONT OF THE TOWN HALL--DAY.

The REPORTER in the purple ski suit reaches the cupola, and even with his back to us, we can tell that
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DAVEY’S version of the REPORTER is a man. He turns. He is BALDING, BESPECTACLED, wearing a MUSTACHE ... but it’s LINOGE again.

(LINOGE)

One wonders if, in their insular selfishness and Yankee pride, they refused to give something . . . some simple thing . . . that would have changed matters for them. To this reporter, that seems more than possible; it seems plausible. Do they regret it now? (pause) Are any of them alive to regret it? What really happened in Roanoke, in 1587? And what happened here, on Little Tall Island, in 1989? We may never know. But I know one thing, Davey--you’re too damn short to play basketball . . . and besides, you couldn’t throw it in the ocean.

DAVEY’S version of the REPORTER makes a half-turn and reaches into the shadowy cupola. Here is the memorial bell, only in DAVEY’S dream, it’s not a bell. What the REPORTER brings out is a BLOODSTAINED BASKETBALL, and he heaves it DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA. As he does this, his lips part in a grin, revealing teeth that are really FANGS.

Catch!

216 INTERIOR: RESUME DAVEY, IN THE TOWN HALL BASEMENT--NIGHT.

Moaning, he turns back the other way. His hands come up briefly, as if to ward off the basketball.

No ... no ...

217 INTERIOR: THE TV AREA OF THE BASEMENT, FEATURING MIKE--NIGHT.

His head is dropped and limp, but his eyeballs are moving behind his closed lids, and like the others, he is DREAMING.

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PREACHER (voice)

Be sure that your sin will find you out, and that your secrets will be known. All secrets will be known . . .

218 INTERIOR: PREACHER ON SNOWY TV, CLOSE-UP.

Yes, now we see it; the TV PREACHER is LINOGE, too.

(continues)

. . . can you say “hallelujah”? Oh, brethern, can you say “amen”? For I ask you to behold the sting of sin and the price of vice; I ask you to behold the just end of those who bar the door to the wandering stranger who comes, asking so little.

THE CAMERA MOVES IN on the SNOWY TV. THE PREACHER melts into DARKNESS ... but a snowy DARKNESS, because the wind has blown down the town hall antenna and there’s no good reception. Only now a PICTURE starts to appear, anyway. The snow is real snow now, snow that’s a part of the Storm of the Century, and PEOPLE are moving in it--a dark snake-dance line of PEOPLE

floundering their slow way down Atlantic Street Hill.

219 INTERIOR: ATLANTIC STREET, CLOSER--NIGHT.

PREACHER (voice-over)

For the wages of lust are dust, and the wages of sin are death.

Passing us is a nightmare procession of DAZED, HYPNOTIZED ISLANDERS in their nightclothes, oblivious of the HOWLING WIND and SHEETING SNOW. We see ANGELA with little BUSTER in her arms; followed by MOLLY, in her nightgown and carrying RALPHIE; followed by GEORGE

KIRBY . . . FERD ANDREWS . . . ROBERTA COIGN . . . well, you get it. They’re all here. And tattooed on each forehead is that strange and ominous word: CROATON.
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PREACHER (voice-over)

For if the supplicant is turned away and the seeker given no respite, shall not the hard-hearted be sent hence?

220 INTERIOR: MIKE, CLOSE-UP.

(sleeping)

Hallelujah. Amen.

221 INTERIOR: THE STUMP OF THE TOWN DOCK.

They march toward THE CAMERA--and their death in the frigid ocean--like lemmings. We don’t believe it ... and yet we do, don’t we? After Jonestown and Heaven’s Gate, we do.

(first in line)

I’m sorry we didn’t give you what you wanted.

He topples off the jagged end of the dock and into the ocean.

(second in line)

Sorry we didn’t give it to you, Mr. Linoge.

He follows ROBBIE into the ocean. Next is ANGIE and BUSTER.
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I’m sorry. We both are, aren’t we, Buster?

With the child in her arms, ANGELA steps from the pier. Next is MOLLY, with RALPHIE.

222 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE, IN THE TV AREA.

He is growing steadily more restive ... as who would not, if subjected to such an awful dream as this?

No . . . no, Molly . . .

PREACHER (voice-over)

For so little is asked of you, can you say “hallelujah” . . . and yet if you harden your hearts and stop up the porches of your ears, you must pay. You must be branded as one of the ungrateful and sent hence.

223 EXTERIOR: MOLLY, ON THE PIER--NIGHT.

She is as hypnotized as the rest, but RALPHIE is awake and afraid.

We hardened our hearts. We closed our ears. And now we pay. I’m sorry, Mr. Linoge-

Daddy! Daddy, help!

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--we should have given you what you wanted.

She goes over the edge and into the black water with RALPHIE SCREAMING in her arms.

224 INTERIOR: THE TV AREA, WITH MIKE--NIGHT.

He snaps awake, GASPING. Looks at the TV.

225 INTERIOR: TV, FROM MIKE’S POINT OF VIEW.

Nothing but snow. The station has either lost its tower to the storm or ceased broadcasting for the night.

226 INTERIOR: RESUME MIKE.

He sits upright, trying to get his breath back.

Mike?

SONNY lumbers over, looking disheveled and puffy with sleep, his hair sticking up in the back.

Man, I just had the most awful dream . . . this reporter . . .
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Now UPTON BELL joins them.

On Main Street . . . talkin’ about how everybody was gone . . .

He stops. He and SONNY look at each other in mutual amazement.

Like in this little town in Virginia, a long time ago.

MELINDA (voice)

No one knew where they went . . . and in the dream, no one knew where we went.

They look toward the draw curtains. MELINDA is standing there in her nightgown.

They’re all dreaming it. Do you understand? They are all dreaming what we dreamed!

She looks back toward:

227 INTERIOR: THE SLEEPING AREA--NIGHT.

The sleepers are in SLOW, TWISTY MOTION on their cots. They moan and protest without waking.

228 INTERIOR: RESUME TV AREA.

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But where could two hundred people disappear to?

SONNY and UPTON shake their heads. TESS conies halfway down the stairs. Her hair is mussed; she still looks half asleep.

Especially on a little island, cut off by a big storm . . .

MIKE gets up and snaps off the TV.

Into the ocean.

MELINDA (shocked)

What?

Into the ocean. Mass suicide. If we don’t give him what he wants.

How could he-

I don’t know . . . but I think he can.

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MOLLY comes through the draw curtains, holding RALPHIE in her arms. RALPHIE is fast asleep, but she can’t bear to let him go.

What does he want, though? Mike, what does he want?

I’m sure we’ll find out. When he’s ready.

229 EXTERIOR: THE LIGHTHOUSE--NIGHT.

The light swings around and around, briefly cutting through the DRIVING SNOW on each swing. In one of the shattered windows at the top, a SHAPE stands.

THE CAMERA MOVES IN ON LINOGE, who stands looking out at the town with his hands behind his back. He has the air of a ruler surveying his kingdom. At last he turns away.

230 INTERIOR: LIGHTHOUSE CONTROL ROOM--NIGHT.

LINOGE, little more than a shadow in the RED LIGHTS of the control panels, crosses the circular room and opens the door to the stairs. THE CAMERA MOVES IN on the computer screen we saw before. Marching down from the top, replacing the storm surge warning for the morning’s high tide, is this message, repeated over and over: “GIVE ME WHAT I WANT.”

231 INTERIOR: THE LIGHTHOUSE STAIRCASE--NIGHT.

We’re looking down this dizzying spiral at LINOGE, who is descending rapidly.
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232 EXTERIOR: THE LIGHTHOUSE--NIGHT.

LINOGE comes out, wolfs head cane in hand, and moves off into the snow, headed God knows where to do God knows what mischief. We HOLD on the lighthouse, then

FADE TO BLACK. THIS ENDS ACT 6.

Act 7

233 EXTERIOR: THE DOWNTOWN AREA--MORNING.

The snow is falling as fast and hard as ever. Buildings are half-buried. Power lines disappear into the snow. It looks like the newscast walk-and-ski we saw in the dreams, only with the storm still going on.

234 EXTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL--MORNING.

The cupola with the memorial bell in it is almost buried, and the brick town hall building itself looks ghostly. The WIND HOWLS, unabated.

235 INTERIOR: THE TOWN MEETING HALL--MORNING.

About half of the folks who took shelter in the town hall are here, sitting on the hard wooden benches with plates on their laps, eating pancakes and drinking juice. A kind of buffet has been set up at the back of the hall, with MRS. KINGSBURY (wearing a brilliant red hunter’s cap with the bill turned around backward gangster-style) and TESS MARCHANT officiating. There’s juice, coffee, and cold cereal in addition to the pancakes.