Storm of the Century (34 page)

57 EXTERIOR: THE GENERATOR SHED BEHIND THE TOWN HALL--NIGHT.

It’s barely visible, almost buried by drifts, but it’s impossible to mistake the ENGINE ROAR. Then the ENGINE COUGHS . . . SPUTTERS . . .

58 EXTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL--NIGHT.

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The lights flicker on and off . . .

59 INTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL KITCHEN--NIGHT.

TESS MARCHANT, TAVIA GODSOE, and JENNA FREEMAN are taking BOXES OF

CANDLES out of the supply closet adjacent to the pantry and stacking them on the kitchen counter. The overhead lights CONTINUE TO FLICKER. TAVIA and JENNA look up, nervous.

(nervously, to TESS)

Are we going to lose the generator, do you think?

Ayuh. It’s a miracle it’s run as long as ‘t ‘as, with no one able to keep it dug out. Wind must have kept the exhaust pipe clear, but now it’s shifted. In a way, that’s good news. Means the storm’s almost over.

She hands several stacked boxes of candles to JENNA and gives more to TAVIA. She takes a third stack for herself.

Main meeting hall?

Ayuh, shoah--Mike wants that ready first. There’s a couple of emergency lights in there, but that isn’t enough for him. Let’s get as much done as we can while we can still see to do it, ladies.

60 INTERIOR: A CORRIDOR LEADING TO THE FRONT OF THE TOWN HALL.
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Up ahead are URSULA GODSOE’S glassed-in office and the stairs going down to the basement. To the right is the main meeting hall, visible through the corridor windows. Through these we can see perhaps a hundred and twenty ISLANDERS, some grazing the buffet (scant provisions there by now), most sitting on benches and talking as they drink coffee.

There are chairs lining the corridor; these are used in less disastrous times by people waiting their turn to do some bit of town business--licensing a car, a dog, a boat; paying property tax; checking the voter rolls; perhaps renewing a commercial fishing or clamming permit. In these are sprawled another two dozen ISLANDERS, some talking quietly, some dozing. It’s the storm they’re waiting on now.

TESS, TAVIA, and JENNA come hurrying along with their bounty of candles. Up ahead, HATCH

comes out of URSULA’S office.

I just caught a little bit of the latest NWS bulletin on the shortwave. They say we may see the moon tonight.

That’s wonderful.

Those sitting in the hall like patients in a doctor’s waiting room think so, too--MANY APPLAUD, waking the dozers, who look around and ask what’s up.

Where’s Ursula, do you know?

Downstairs, with Sally and the others. Sleeping, the last I saw. (pause) But not like the kids’re sleeping. You know?

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Yes . . . but I’m sure they’ll be all right. They’ll wake up and be just fine.

I hope you’re right, Tavia Godsoe. Pray you’re right.

He goes downstairs. The THREE WOMEN watch him with deep sympathy, then go on their way. As they reach the stairs and turn right to go into the meeting hall, JOANNA STANHOPE comes up the stairs.

Can I help?

Go down to the kitchen and get the rest of the candles, if you want. I’m afraid we’re going to lose the generator.

TAVIA, TESS, and JENNA go into the town meeting hall. JOANNA (who has gotten over the shock of her unpleasant mother-in-law’s death in record time) heads down to the kitchen.

The overheads FLICKER, go out, then COME BACK ON again. The ISLANDERS sitting in the chairs along the walls of the corridor look up and MURMUR QUIETLY.

61 INTERIOR: THE KIDS’ SLEEPING AREA OF THE BASEMENT--NIGHT.

Except now it looks like Intensive Care in a children’s hospital; this could be the aftermath of some hideous tragedy, like the shooting of all those kids in Scotland.

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URSULA has drawn a cot up next to SALLY’S and sleeps, holding both her daughter’s hands in both of her own. MIKE and MOLLY are with RALPHIE, and MELINDA is with PIPPA, brushing her hair back from the child’s brow. The ROBICHAUXES are with HARRY, the CARVERS are with BUSTER, the BRIGHTS are with FRANK, LINDA ST. PIERRE is with HEIDI. Next to her, also alone, is SANDRA BEALS. She’s got a washcloth and is gently and lovingly wiping the doughnut crumbs from around DON’S mouth. Fast asleep as they are, you’d think them heaven’s smallest angels. Even DON. Sitting in the corner, hands clasped and PRAYING UNOBTRUSIVELY, is REV. BOB

RIGGINS.

HATCH slips through the makeshift draw curtains, then stops and looks up as the LIGHTS FLICKER

AGAIN. They come back, and he comes over to the KIDS and PARENTS.

(to MELINDA)

Any change?

(she shakes her head)

Any change in any of them?

(soft, despairing)

No.

But their respiration is normal, reflexes are normal, and if you roll back an eyelid, their pupils react to light. All that’s good.

HATCH sits next to MELINDA and looks closely into PIPPA’S face. He sees her eyelids TWITCH

and MOVE.

She’s dreaming.

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They all are.

MIKE and HATCH exchange a look, then HATCH glances toward SANDRA.

Where’s Robbie, Sandra?

Don’t know.

“And don’t care,” her tone implies. She goes on wiping at DONNIE’S mouth. The crumbs are all gone now; she’s only caressing him, loving him as best she can.

62 INTERIOR: A TOWN MEETING HALL BENCH, WITH ROBBIE BEALS--NIGHT.

He’s sitting by himself--elected official or not, few people care for ROBBIE on a personal level. In the background, people TALK TOGETHER. Some are helping TAVIA, TESS, and JENNA put up candles in the ornamental holders along the walls. ROBBIE is wearing a sport coat. Now he reaches into the right-hand pocket and brings out the PISTOL we saw in his possession in Part One. He holds it in his lap, looking at it thoughtfully.

The overhead lights FLICKER OFF. The emergency lights on the walls FLICKER ON in corresponding pulses. People LOOK UP NERVOUSLY. The three WOMEN go a little faster with their candle placement. More folks drift over to help.

ROBBIE isn’t in a helpful mood and doesn’t react to the imminent departure of the electric lights. He’s off in his own little world, where thoughts of revenge are all that matter. He looks at the little gun a second or two longer, then tucks it back into his jacket pocket, where it will be near to hand. Then he
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goes on sitting and staring off into space. Just a pissed-off town manager waiting for LINOGE to show up.

63 INTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL KITCHEN.

JOANNA STANHOPE comes in and LOOKS UP UNEASILY as the LIGHTS FLICKER.

64 EXTERIOR: THE GENERATOR SHED--NIGHT.

The engine COUGHS . . . SPUTTERS . . . and this time doesn’t catch again. It CHOKES AWAY TO

SILENCE, leaving only the HOWL OF THE WIND.

65 INTERIOR: THE KIDS’ SLEEPING AREA--NIGHT.

The overhead LIGHTS GO OUT. After a moment of BLACK, one FEEBLE EMERGENCY LIGHT

comes on, shining from a box mounted high up on the wall at the very back of the room.

(to HATCH)

Want to help with the candles?

Honey?

Go ahead.

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MIKE and HATCH get up and leave.

66 INTERIOR: THE TV AREA OF THE TOWN HALL BASEMENT--NIGHT.

MIKE and HATCH come out through the makeshift draw curtains and head for the stairs.

Radio says the storm’ll be pretty much over by midnight. If Linoge intends to do something-

I think you can pretty much count on that.

67 INTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL KITCHEN, WITH JOANNA--NIGHT.

The kitchen is VERY DIM: there are two battery-powered emergency lights, but one is not working at all and the other is putting out the thinnest possible thread of YELLOW GLOW. As JOANNA starts across the room, it goes out entirely.

JOANNA, now just a shadow among other shadows, makes her way past the table in the middle of the room to the counter. She bumps her hip and CRIES OUT SOFTLY--more in impatience than in pain. She reaches the counter and takes one of the candles out of its box. There are also stacks of boxed wooden matches beside a cluster of candle-holders, and she uses a match to light her candle. When the flame is high, she takes a holder and sticks the base of the candle on the prong.

She takes the rest of the candles, stacking the boxes carefully in the crook of one arm, and turns. Lying on the table, which was all cleaned up for the night and quite bare when she came into the room, is LINOGE’S wolf’s head cane.

JOANNA GASPS, TURNS . . . and LINOGE is standing right there, his smiling face underlit by her candle. It looks like the face of a goblin. She gasps, INHALING A SCREAM, and all the candles--the lit one and the boxes of unlit ones--drop from her hands. The lit one WHIFFS OUT, leaving her (and us)
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in SHADOWY DARKNESS once more.

Hello, Joanna Stanhope. Glad the old bitch is dead, aren’t you? I did you a favor there, oh, ayuh. You kept a straight face, but inside you were dancing a jig. I know; I can smell it on you like musk.

JOANNA begins to SCREAM--this time the right way, with the breath going out. Then she claps both hands over her mouth before she can do more than get started. Above them, her eyes bulge in terror, and we know she didn’t shut herself up of her own free will.

(tenderly)

Shhhh . . . Shhh . . .

68 INTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL CORRIDOR, FEATURING MIKE AND HATCH.

The place is dim, lit by a couple of underpowered emergency lights on the wall, plus a few candles, flashlights . . . maybe even an upheld cigarette lighter or two. Through the windows, we can see the women lighting the meeting hall.

What about the generator, Mike?

Is the power off for the rest of the storm, do you think?

What about heat? They took the damn woodstove out three years ago! I told ‘em it was a mistake, they’d want it come blizzard season either one year or the next, but nobody listens to the old-timers no
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more-

(not stopping)

We’ll have plenty of light and heat, don’t worry. And the worst of the storm will be over by midnight. Right, Hatch?

Right.

REV. BOB RIGGINS has followed MIKE and HATCH, falling a little behind on the stairs (RIGGINS

is a portly soul) but now catching up.

REV. BOB RIGGINS

It’s not light or heat these good people are worried about, Michael, and you know it.

MIKE pauses in his march toward the kitchen and turns. All the WHISPERED CONVERSATIONS in the hallway cease. RIGGINS has touched a bare nerve, is speaking for everyone, saying what the rest can’t, and MIKE knows it.

REV. BOB RIGGINS

When this fellow conies, Michael, we must give him what he wants. I’ve prayed on it, and this is the guidance the Lord has-

We’ll listen and then decide ... all right?

A DISAPPROVING MURMUR greets this.

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How can you say that when your own kid--?

Because I don’t believe in blank checks.

He turns to go.

REV. BOB RIGGINS

There’s a time to be stubborn, Michael . . . but there’s also a time to let go of the reins and look toward the greater good, hard as that may be. “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

Book of Proverbs.

“Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.”

Book of Matthew.

REV. BOB RIGGINS is angry that MIKE would try to outscripture him. When he moves to follow, and perhaps continue the argument, MIKE shakes his head.

Stay here, please--we’ve got this under control.

REV. BOB RIGGINS

I know you believe that . . . but not all of us are convinced.

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You want to remember that this is still a democracy, Michael Anderson! Storm or no storm!

MURMURS OF APPROVAL.

I’m sure that if my memory wavers, you’ll refresh it, Orv. Come on, Hatch.

69 INTERIOR: THE KITCHEN DOORWAY, WITH MIKE AND HATCH--NIGHT. They start inside, then stop, HORRIFIED AND AMAZED.

LINOGE (voice)

Come in! Come in!

70 INTERIOR: THE KITCHEN--NIGHT.

Lighted candles stand on the table and the counter. We can see LINOGE, looking dapper with his cane planted before him and his hands (the yellow gloves have disappeared again, for the time being) folded over the wolfs head. We can also see JOANNA STANHOPE. She is floating against the far wall, with her head almost touching the ceiling and her feet dangling down on thin air. Her arms are outstretched so that her hands are on a level with her hips--a posture that does not quite mimic crucifixion but at least suggests it. In each fisted hand, JOANNA holds a LIGHTED CANDLE. The melting wax has run down over her fingers. Her eyes are wide open. She can’t move, but she’s aware . . . and she’s terrified.