Act III
INT. CURWEN HOUSE, ERIC'S ROOM. NIGHT.
ERIC is sitting up on the side of the bed, in his Calvin Klein fitted boxers. GERALD snores away on the other side of the narrow bed. Eric's talking on the phone. Eric's sleepy. Eric's grumpy when he's sleepy.
ERIC
Mmf. Yeah. Liz – (beat) Okay, Liz. But I still don't see – (longer beat) Pickman? The observatory?
CUT TO:
INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, HARLAN'S ROOM. NIGHT.
LIZ is on the cordless phone as she's pulling on a pair of pants.
LIZ
I tried the office number; no answer. (beat) Well, I don't – (beat) Don't get pissy with me. Maybe you didn't – the book's gone, Eric. (beat) He took the book with him.
CUT TO:
INT. CURWEN HOUSE, ERIC'S ROOM/HARLAN'S HOUSE, HARLAN'S ROOM. NIGHT.
Eric's jaw has dropped; he's awake, now. Liz has the pants on; she's tense, nervous. Close-up shots on both, so we can excuse over-hearing the other on the phone; intercut as needed.
ERIC
Oh, fuck. He's going to do it.
LIZ
What? Don't be –
ERIC
That's why you called, isn't it? You think he's going to use that book once and for all. To prove it isn't true.
There's a pause. Eric's tense. Outside, maybe, we can hear the wind has picked up. CUT TO:
LIZ
Yes.
ERIC
Only he doesn't know what the hell he's doing.
LIZ
What is he doing, Eric? I mean, what could happen? What could possibly happen?
ERIC
Best-case? The book's a fake, and nothing happens. Worst? I don't know – there's no telling what he'll call up. The book describes any number of... things. Very old, very powerful. He could...
LIZ
If you believe in that shit.
ERIC
No, Liz. If it's true, it'll happen. Whether you believe in it or not.
The wind has picked up, outside Eric's room. Maybe we can hear the rain. He stands up; Gerald rolls over, halfway waking up.
ERIC
Now think. He isn't there, where would he...
LIZ
The library.
ERIC
Oh.
LIZ
Or the sewers under it.
ERIC
Right. The scene of the crime.
LIZ
As it were.
ERIC
Shit. Okay. Well meet you there.
LIZ
And then what?
ERIC
You think I know? See you in ten minutes.
LIZ
I'll call Jamshid.
ERIC
Good.
They hang up. Stick with Liz a moment, as she looks at the phone suddenly, her mouth crooking up in a distractedly bemused half-smile.
LIZ
"We"?
There is a distant crack of thunder. Odd. She frowns, looking toward the window. Another. She stands, walking towards it. CUT TO Eric and Gerald. Eric's hanging up the phone, calling to Gerald:
ERIC
Hey. Hey you. (beat) Hey, they're burning books! Wake up! Gerald –
When God's Own Thunderclap goes off outside. Gerald shoots up, eyes blinking –
GERALD
What the fuck –
And peers over at Eric, who's run over to the window, thrust open the curtains.
GERALD
Eric?
He stands up. Looking past him, past Eric, out the window, we can see a miniature hurricane swirling through the Miskatonic campus. The rain is nearly horizontal; the wind is lashing the last of the leaves from the trees; lightning is constantly flashing and dancing, and the roll of thunder just won't let up.
ERIC
It's real. It's happening. We're too late.
CUT TO:
EXT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. DAWN.
JANEY approaches the observatory, in the growing, witchy daylight. The sky is a weird mix of storm and clear. The observatory is now the center of an extreme low pressure zone; all the wind and moisture in the air is falling into it and swirling into an extremely localized cyclonic storm. Ripped clouds whip around into spiral walls overhead, but the sky behind her is surreally clear, doing odd things to the light. Lightning flashes. Thunder booms. The wind gusts and howls; the rain sweeps past in staccato waves, but the observatory itself is in the center of the storm, the eye. Janey stumbles into the eye, struggling against the weather, her clothes plastered against her, and she looks around at the sudden stillness, staggered by the fury whipping past just a yard or so away. Her face is full of fear and awe. She raises her hand; its starting to look a little the worse for wear – grey, almost – and she touches the rain, pulls it back. Smiles. Isn't this neat? Then she turns, takes a deep breath, squares herself, walks up to the observatory. CUT TO:
INT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. DAWN.
The camera's low to the ground, dollying slowly around the circle, a low- key, enervated form of the high-energy swirling which characterized the summoning. Janey, walking slowly, tentatively comes up to the edge of the big circle. She's dripping wet. Candles have been knocked over, and there's a scorch mark on the concrete floor in the midst of that big circle. Maybe a puff of smoke still floating in the air above it. Harlan doesn't immediately register her presence. He's just learned what he did night before last, and what he will have to do it he wishes to set it right. So forgive him if he's a little rattled; he plays out this odd little scene with a healthy dose of fatalistic irony.
JANEY
Oh. Oh wow.
He jerks his head up – who in the hell? He grabs the Book and holds it close.
JANEY
You really did it, didn't you. You really did.
HARLAN
You, ah – (his voice croaks a little, he swallows) You just missed him. (he points to the scorch mark)
JANEY
Who? What?
HARLAN
The Nyarlathotep, who goes by many names. Or so he told me, at great length. The Tawil at'Umr, Messenger of the Gods.
Janey looks up at that, eyes bright.
JANEY
Gods?
HARLAN
That's what he said.
JANEY
They're gods?
HARLAN
(lifts the Book a little, suddenly annoyed) Haven't you read this at all?
JANEY
(shakes her head) It was always just something we did, you know. Tradition. Sang the song, read the poem. A little hocus-pocus show. It was spooky – it was always a little spooky. But I had no idea it was... it was real.
HARLAN
Indeed.
JANEY
You know, then? What's happening?
HARLAN
Yes.
JANEY
Tell me.
HARLAN
(deep breath) Last night – or, I imagine, the night before last, at this point – Jamshid and I and a couple of other friends decided to crash your hazing ceremony by playing a little prank.
JANEY
(suddenly losing her temper) Don't say that! That's not what happened! It was real –
HARLAN
(holds up his hand, and she trails off) Somehow. Somehow what we were saying, you, and me – somehow they came together, and opened up – a gate, and called forth... (shakes his head) You've got to understand, I didn't believe any of this thirty minutes ago. (muttered) I still don't...
JANEY
Who? What? What did we call up?
HARLAN
(weary sigh) Shupnikkurat. (closes his eyes, recites from memory) "Hail and give praise to Shupnikkurat, most fecund, who grows without cease, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young. Its form is unspeakable, and its touch unclean, and brings madness beyond all bearing. Tremble at its footfall, for its coming seals your doom."
JANEY
That's not it. She's not like that at all.
HARLAN
(dry) Indeed. You've met her, I take it?
JANEY
Yes. This morning. She. She –
HARLAN
It trapped and killed your friend. Your sorority sister. Pia.
Janey peers at him suspiciously.
JANEY
How did you –
Harlan sighs. One more piece of evidence.
HARLAN
He told me.
JANEY
Oh. Well. It's not, it's not like that. That wasn't her fault. I mean, it was Pia's fault, she got too close to it. You know? You have to be careful, around things like that. Have you seen it?
HARLAN
(sad, and tired; the strain is starting to get to him) No. No, I haven't.
JANEY
It's beautiful. She's beautiful.
HARLAN
"She" is inadequate, somehow.
JANEY
The lights. The way it spins. I can hear it, now. Everywhere I go, I can hear it.
HARLAN
(to himself) ". . .and brings madness beyond all bearing..
JANEY
It's not like that! I'm not – I'm not crazy.
HARLAN
No. Of course not.
JANEY
It's something – beyond everything. Anything that's happened before. It's wonderful.
HARLAN
Of course. Who are we to judge?
He's starting to tremble; to hide it, he turns and starts gathering books and papers. Janey walks up – carefully stepping around the circle.
JANEY
That's mine, you know.
HARLAN
(incredulous) Yours?
JANEY
(pointing to the Book) It's ours. Iota Alpha's.
And we get a close look at her hand, the right hand, seeing it clearly. It's seen better days. The skin has turned grey from fingertips to halfway along the forearm; the skin is cracking and flaking away like old paint. It's frozen; dead; gone. It still moves, but clumsily; Janey is clearly Not Well.
HARLAN
(swallows) You should get that looked at.
JANEY
I'm going to take the Book back. We need it. To welcome her, properly. (beat) Are you going to do anything about that?
Harlan looks at her a moment, then snaps the book shut and holds it out to her. She takes it.
JANEY
It's going to be wonderful. You'll see.
She walks away. Harlan stays where he is. An indescribable emotion passes across his face; something that says, "I really shouldn't, but." He stands.
HARLAN
There's a way to stop her, you know. It.
Janey freezes.
HARLAN
Shupnikkurat. A way to send her back. He told me. He laughed, and then he told me... (deep breath; he turns to face her) All it takes is the willing sacrifice of the one who called her into this world.
JANEY
(frowns, misunderstanding; she thinks he means her) But –
HARLAN
(smiles, a little) No. Not you. Me.
JANEY
You.
HARLAN
I called her. "Iä! Iä! Shupnikkurat, fhtagn!"
Janey clutches the Book to herself, drawing herself up, defiant.
JANEY
I wont let you do it.
HARLAN
Your concern is touching.
JANEY
I won't let you. We're going to welcome her. Show her. You'll see.
And she leaves. Harlan stands there a moment, looking after her, his smile still on his face, but the enormity of it all is crashing in on him. His face, slowly, collapses under the weight of it all, screwing up into a half-sob; he lifts a hand.
HARLAN
Oh, God. Oh God...
CUT TO:
INT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT. DAWN.
It's raining outside, hard, but the door is ajar; weak morning light is leaking in over the utter shambles of her living room. The place has been wrecked. Liz peers in around the doorjamb. Lightning; thunder. There is a keening noise, Jamshid moaning to herself somewhere out of sight, and a rhythmic thumping sound.
LIZ
Jamshid? (taps door) Jamshid, are you in here?
Jamshid takes a breath, then starts moaning again.
LIZ
(worried) Jamshid? Is that you?
She edges into the living room, feeling her way through the debris, peering down the dark length of the place. There's only other room Jamshid could be in, really.
LIZ
Jamshid? Something's going on –
JAMSHID (OFF SCREEN)
(her moan escalates into a shriek, and there's the sound of breaking glass) Oh God stop it stop it stop itstopitstopit! Aeeiaouo! lao! Aoioia! Stop it! Therinops Therinops Therinops! Nopsither! Sabaoth! Oh, God! Stop it! Iä! Iä! Iä! Iä!
At the first shriek, Liz jumps, startled, and then starts to head back there, then stops – she's scared; she reaches back to her pack, fumbling a little, hesitates – then pulls out her gun. Fortified, she heads back to Jamshid's room –
LIZ
Jamshid –
There's Jamshid, spinning around and around like a madly whirling dervish between her bed and her altar. Her mirror's been smashed. She's yelling spouts of glossolalia punctuated with "Oh God!" and the occasional "Ia! Iä!" Liz lets her hands drop and stares.
LIZ
Jamshid? Jamshid!
Jamshid doesn't seem to notice her. She reaches out, grabs Jamshid's arm, forces her to stop. There's blood, on her hand, her face, smeared on the mirror, broken glass everywhere.
LIZ
Please!
And, gasping for breath, swallowing, Jamshid manages to stop.
LIZ
Are you – are you –
JAMSHID
Liz. Oh Liz. Listen. I. Can you hear it? I. I don't know how long I can hold it together. Air pressure. Dropped like a train wreck. Hurricane. Hurricane Harlan. He did it, didn't he?
LIZ
I don't know. Please, Jamshid, we've got to –
JAMSHID
Liz. Stop. I'm trying. But there's a grain of glass, stuck under a flap of skin in a cut on my hand that smashed the mirror that's right over there. I can feel it. (licks her lips) I can taste. Gum arabica, chalk – lipstick. Salt. Mucus – glycoproteins, and now I know what a glycoprotein tastes like. Sugars, sugars – Blood. My blood, iron, alcohol, old pennies. Copper. There's so much copper. Copper and zinc, something about copper and zinc, I know that one, that means something, an imbalance, dopamine, for fuck's sake I can taste dopamine, like licking a goddamn battery –
Liz tried shaking Jamshid during that, calling to her, rattling her any way she can, till there's only one thing left to do: Liz slaps her. Jamshid's head rocks to one side.
JAMSHID
Is that all I am to you people? A punching bag? Ow. Sorry.
LIZ
(edging towards frantic) What's wrong? What happened?
JAMSHID
Janey. She's totally fucking kharob. Doesn't explain me, of course. (laugh) Unless it's contagious. (wags a finger at Liz) Don't catch it! (sees gun) Hey! You've got a gun!
Liz sets it to one side, trying to get Jamshid to sit on the bed.
LIZ
Shh. Come on, sit down. Take deep breaths.
JAMSHID
You pulled a gun on me!
LIZ
I had no idea it was you. Things are a little weird right now –
Jamshid starts to laugh at that. A lot. Too much. Liz shakes her.
LIZ
Jamshid! Deep breaths. (sighs) I'm going to try to find a towel or something.
She gets up. Jamshid eyes the gun a moment, but Liz scoops it up and puts it away; Jamshid pouts. CUT TO:
EXT. ARMITAGE LIBRARY. DAWN.
The rain is less furious here, on the other side of the campus, at the edge of the storm. GERALD and ERIC pause a moment, taking shelter under a tree or an overhang near the modern steel-and-glass-and-concrete behemoth that is the library.
GERALD
This is weird.
ERIC
Yeah... (peers through the rain at the swirling vortex of clouds) It's so small. But it's not centered over the library...
GERALD
Let's be sure to register a complaint, shall we? Come on –
And the rain stops, like turning off a faucet. We can see the last wave of rain crashing to the ground; then silence. The wind has died. rrhey freeze a moment, looking in wonder at the rapidly dissipating clouds, when theres a rimible, a quake. Ominous rumbles and rattles sound from the library itself as the quake dies down. Car alarms are going off, from the near-by parking lot. 3erald looks wild-eyed, frightened, for the first time; Eric is also wild-eyed, but looks more excited than frightened.
GERALD
What on earth...
ERIC
Car alarms. They always go off whenever there's an earthquake.
GERALD
Oh.
ERIC
Come on!
GERALD
(as they push off) Don't tell me you're from California.
CUT TO:
INT. ARMITAGE LIBRARY, MAIN FLOOR.
We see Eric and Gerald come through the outer doors, using Gerald's keys; as they do so, there's another rumble, an aftershock, and the rather distinctive sound of a shelf-full of books tumbling over and falling a great distance. Eric tries to push ahead, but Gerald grabs him. They can see the reflected lights from the Door's surface playing in the main room.
GERALD
Are you nuts?
ERIC
There's something in there!
GERALD
I know!
Eric yanks his sleeve out of Gerald's grasp and pushes on. Gerald rolls his eyes and follows. They step past the front desk and into the money shot.
The Door has grown so large that its bulk has brought down the floor of the library; the floor has collapsed in a large, ragged circle over the storm sewer, we can see the old storm sewer set below us, and beams, pipes, spitting cables, bookshelves collapsed, broken books slipping and falling. The glowing shell of the bubble pokes up over the floor and up to about waist--height or so into the main floor, which makes it, I don't know, thirty or forty feet in radius? Maybe less, I'm horrible with distances. Eric and Gerald stand there a moment, awe-struck. FADE TO:
INT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT. EARLY MORJING.
It's dim. Jamshid submits with little grace to Liz's rough ministrations, as she rubs the dried blood from Jamshid's face with a damp cloth. Jarnshid's nervous, irritable, distracted. Her senses aren't misfiring nearly so badly as before, but her brain is branching out in four thousand directions all at once, like a flash flood pouring down the fractal branches of a dried riverbed; she's jumpy, she's paranoid, she's violent, desperately trying to remember this isn't how things normally are – borderline schizophrenic, in other words, and in danger of tipping over.
LIZ
Hold still.
JAMSHID
God, I'm trying. I can't. Nurse! Helloooo, nurse! 300 milligrams of marzipan, stat! No, wait – clozapine. Marzipan's the stuff made from almonds. What was I saying? Deep breaths, right. Godammit. First thing to watch for, extrapyramidal symptoms. Dangerous with your high-intensity neuroleptics. Short-term memory's the first to go, and then where would we be? Fucking dopamine. I swear, you let one little chemical get out of whack... Schizophrenia and Tourette's share some neurological similarities. Did I ever tell you my mother learned English by watching Perry Mason?
LIZ
(shows up with a towel and starts dabbing at Jamshid's cuts) You're straying again...
JAMSHID
Ow. Ow! She likes old TV shows. They enunciated more clearly back then. Speaking. That's what I'm trying to do. Speak. I can't remember any Farsi. Kharob. Broken. I'm broken. Dammit, Janey, I'm from fucking New Jersey! (takes a deep, sobbing breath) God, I've got to medicate. Sedate myself. (giggles) I wanna be sedated... Do you have a cigarette?
LIZ
What?
JAMSHID
A cigarette?
Liz fumbles in her pocket for one of the ones she's bummed from Eric.
JAMSHID
You're hoarding. Damn, girl, might as well start buying your own. Should I ask myself to step outside to smoke this?
LIZ
You don't smoke.
JAMSHID
Nicotine. Helps you focus. Concentrate. A cigarette is the most efficient delivery mechanism. They tried banning smoking in mental wards, but the nuts went nuts. Riots broke out till they got their smokes back. (frowns) I still cant believe you pulled a gun on little ol' me.
LIZ
(striking match) Enough. Okay. Think. What happened? Did Janey do this? What's going on, Jamshid?
JAMSHID
(puffs on cigarette; stops; her face falls) Oh, Liz. Harlan. Oh, oh, Liz...
CUT TO:
INT. AENITAGE LIBRARY, MAIN FLOOR. MORNING.
Start with a close-up of a reading stick, one of those split-wood jobbies that newspapers are stuck onto for easy reading and filing away in libraries. It's beThg slowly poked out over the gap in collapsed floor toward the pulsing swell of the Door. If you're good, the newspaper on it can be, oh, the Arkham Advertiser, with a headline referring obliquely to a Lovecraft story: "Startling evidence: Feds complicit in 1928 destruction of Innsn-outh?" As we pull back, we see Eric's holding it, lying on his belly at the very edge of the ragged hole in the floor, so he can just reach out and touch the Door. There. The reading stick passes through the outer edge. Nothing happens. Eric looks relieved: no sparks, no explosion, no death, no destruction. All good things. Gerald stands behind him, a safe distance away, flinching.
GERALD
Jesus, Eric.
ERIC
Hang on.
GERALD
Are you done?
ERIC
Something odd...
Eric pushes the stick, it sinks in a little farther. He tries to pull it out, but it doesn't budge.
ERIC
It feels, of all things, like jello. When I push it in. But it's hard as a rock when I try – Maybe some leverage –
GERALD
Careful –
And of course, as Eric braces himself to reach out a little farther, something snaps under him, a bit of floor collapses. He tips forward, toward The Door, starts to slide, but catches himself.
ERIC
Hoo, boy...
GERALD
(bracing to grab for him, but uncertain about the footing) Eric –
The whole piece of floor Eric's on drops, slides down toward the Door and starts to sink into it. Eric frantically tries to backpedal but can't get any purchase. Gerald manages to grab Eric's ankles and pull, hauling Eric up by his pants as Eric pushes at any available handholds. End result? Eric, saved, on the floor, Gerald leaning over him, both panting from the exertion, the shock, the adrenaline.
GERALD
Don't ever do anything like that again.
ERIC
Thanks.
Something groans, snaps; another hit of floor collapses as the Door swells a little more, pulsing, glowing, flashing. They scramble to their feet.
GERALD
Let's get out of here –
But Eric's noticed the reading stick, newspaper still hanging from it like a limp grey flag, impaled a third of its length into the Door, unmoving, right where Eric stuck it.
ERIC
Would you look at that. It's stuck.
GERALD
Eric. Harlan isn't here – let's just get out. Okay? This – whatever it is – This is not my definition of safe.
But Eric's mesmerized by the swirling patterns. Maybe he hears something, lust faintly. A buzzing, a humming...
ERIC
You know, I swear I've seen this before.
A moment of silence, before Eric realizes that Gerald is giving him a Look.
ERIC
Well, not this, exactly! You know what I mean. (frowns) Damn thing's on the tip of my tongue.
HARLAN (OFF SCREEN)
Shupnikkurat.
Startled, Eric and Gerald look up. There's Harlan, sitting on the other side of the Door and the hole in the floor from them.
HARLAN
The word you're looking for. Shupnikkurat. Black Goat of the Woods and all that shit.
His face is dead, emotionless. He's staring at the Door. If he'd been harboring any last hopes that this was some elaborate con, this sight has pretty much dashed them. Eric, of course, doesn't notice; he comes tearing around the hole to Harlan's side.
ERIC
Harlan! Jesus, are you – what the hell – did you – (stops at the enormity of the question, then asks it anyway) Did you do this?
The Door churns a little, spits up some light. Gerald jumps. Harlan laughs, but it's a tentative, shaky laugh.
HARLAN
No. No, we did this. Last night, I mean night before last. The sorority. (muttered) "Light as a feather, stiff as a board..."
ERIC
(steps back, peering at it) So something did happen.
HARLAN
Does this look like a fucking figment of your imagination?
A tense silence, as Eric looks at Harlan, shocked; Harlan looks away, sullen. Somewhere, off in the distance of the library, a phone rings, four times. They look at each other.
GERALD
Harlan? Where's the book? The Necronomicon?
HARLAN
I gave it back to the sisters.
GERALD
What? Dammit, I need that book –
HARLAN
It's useless.
GERALD
I'm not talking about... (gestures at the Door; words fail him) this! I'm talking about studying the damn thing! I'm talking about my career! That book is my ticket!
HARLAN
(a small, self-mocking smile) "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than we were meant to know."
Eric frowns at this.
ERIC
Let's, let's stop this a minute, okay? And try to figure out what we've got here? (he starts to pace around the hole n the floor) Okay. Okay.
GERALD
You want to be careful, there?
ERIC
Somehow the prank we pulled and the sisters' ritual – collided – and we got this. Right?
HARLAN
Pretty much.
ERIC
And we've been running around worried about the damn book, and the whole time this thing has been growing down there, like something from another (beat) dimension. Of course.
Eric turns to look directly at it, staring at it, stepping closer.
HARLAN
What.
GERALD
Hey – be careful, the floor –
ERIC
This thing has too many dimensions. It's like a Julia set.
GERALD
Julia?
ERIC
A three dimensional representation of a four dimensional set.
GERALD
What?
HARLAN
It's math, Gerald.
GERALD
Math always did give me hives.
ERIC
It can't fit comfortably into our little corner of space-time – too many dimensions – but it's trying to cram its way in anyway. Aren't you. I imagine the space around it is getting folded – or unfolded – as it grows...
He reaches out, as if to stroke it. This makes Gerald visibly nervous. But a phones ringing somewhere, nearby, closer than the last. Four rings. Eric frowns.
ERIC
You going to get that?
GERALD
Who knows who it is? Maintenance is due in here any minute, though – we really should get the hell out.
ERIC
You afraid somebody will think we did this?
HARLAN
We did.
The phone on Gerald's Rare Book Counter starts ringing. They all look at each other, then Gerald stomps over to it and snatches it up.
GERALD
Rare books.
He cocks an eyebrow, then holds the phone out for Eric.
GERALD
It's for you.
CUT TO:
INT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT/ARMITAGE, MAIN FLOOR. EARLY MORNING.
Liz is on Jamshid's phone, sitting on the littered floor in the living room; Jamshid lies curled up next to her, her head cradled in Liz's lap. She mutters to herself quietly throughout the conversation.
LIZ
Thank God. I was trying every extension in the library.
ERIC
Harlan's with us, Liz.
LIZ
He is!
ERIC
He's kinda – something's happened, Liz. Something big.
LIZ
That's about all I can get out of Jamshid. It has something to do with Harlan, and Janey, and the Book...
ERIC
And the rest of us. What happened to Jamshid?
LIZ
I'm still not sure. The cigarette helped, though.
JAMSHID
(interrupts her monologue long enough to say) Actually, not hearing all those voices in my head anymore is what's worked wonders.
ERIC
We need to get together. All of us. Figure out what to do next.
LIZ
There?
ERIC
No; this place is going to be swarming with Security real soon. And probably cordoned off.
LIZ
(beat) What's happening?
ERIC
Something... weird.
JAMSHID
Let's go to Bob's.
LIZ
Jamshid's suggesting Bob's.
ERIC
No. Not Bob's.
HARLAN
That's Liz?
LIZ
Put him on, Eric.
Eric gives the phone over to Harlan.
HARLAN
Liz.
LIZ
Hey.
HARLAN
I, um – I don't really know –
LIZ
How are you doing?
HARLAN
(swallows) Well. I, uh, I still say astrology's full of shit.
LIZ
(chuckles, but it's not easy) Something happened?
HARLAN
Yes. Yes, you could say that. (swallows again) Liz, I – uh, I...
LIZ
I know. (they both smile, a little) Hey. Let's go to Bob's, get some coffee, some breakfast. Figure this thing out.
HARLAN
Bob's would be nice.
ERIC
(rolls his eyes) Fuck.
GERALD
Um – What's Bob's?
CUT TO:
INT. BOB'S. MORNING.
A greasy spoon diner on the town square across from Miskatonic's main quad, in that uneasy no-man's land between town and gown, where the hip students who consider it important to pretend to know something about the local community they live in go to hang out. Maybe start with the camera slowly dollying down the aisle between booths and counter, towards the big corner booth at the back, where our unruly menagerie has taken roost. Sound fades in on Eric placing his order as we get closer; maybe we hear a townie say something like:
TOWNIE
Crazy storm this morning.
as we pass. Music: something that would be playing on a jukebox, but a really good jukebox – like something you might've heard in the Brick when Chris in the Morning was spinning disks for KBHR. The long-suffering waitress, who would be played by Conchita Ferrell if it weren't for the fact that all the B-movie junkies everywhere would suddenly sit up and say, "Hey! It's Conchita Ferrell!" (and besides, she's probably out of our budget), gazes down at Eric as she taps her pen against her pad.
ERIC
In that case, could I just get some scrambled egg whites? And dry toast? Would that be too much trouble?
LONG-SUFFERING WAITRESS
Drink?
ERIC
Any herbal tea?
LONG-SUFFERING WAITRESS
Lipton orange pekoe.
ERIC
Water will be fine.
LONG-SUFFERING WAITRESS
All right. Coffee, anyone?
As one, everybody but Eric raises their hand, along with a chorus of Yups, Right heres, and Pleases. The waitress makes a note and leaves. Perhaps we should make a note, as to seating arrangement: Jamshid is safely ensconced in the very middle; Liz and Gerald to either side; Eric and Harlan in the chairs, or on the outermost booth seats, depending on how this booth is set up. Books litter the table, and Eric has a pad of paper and a pen; Liz has pulled out her Levenger materials. And Harlan sits there, his secret doom glooning the air about him. Eric pulls out his tin of Djaruxn cloves (more product placement!) and plucks one.
ERIC
At least they let you smoke.
GERALD
What is with that? You stress over your amino acids, you re eating egg whites, and you smoke.
ERIC
Everyone should have one vice. Besides, smoking keeps you thin.
LIZ
(holding out her hand) It's a foul, disgusting habit.
ERIC
Want one?
LIZ
Please. And one for Jamshid, too.
ERIC
Jamshid?
LIZ
(to Jamshid) How you doing?
JAMSHID
Better. But I probably should have another dose. (to Eric, by way of explanation) My stream of consciousness overflowed its banks.
This explains nothing, but Eric hands over the cigarettes. Liz is playing this up to try to get a rise out of Harlan; his passivity is a little too zen for her liking. But it isn't working; Gerald is the only one to express any disapproval when they light up. Somewhere in here, the waitress who isn't played by Conchita Ferrell shows up with coffee cups and ice water for all.
ERIC
Okay. Talk amongst yourselves; I've got some serious math to do.
GERALD
You can tell it's serious. He's not using any numbers.
Eric shoots him a Look.
LIZ
(to Eric) What are you calculating?
ERIC
I'm trying to gauge the parameters of Shupnikkurat back there. Given that it can be roughly modeled by a Julia set. I mean, I can't do the quaternions in my head, but I can come close...
LIZ
Okay. Harlan? What happened to you last night? I mean, where did you go? (he says nothing) And how did you give up the Necronomicon?
Harlan's uncomfortable. He wanted to talk about this with Liz alone; not in front of all these other people.
HARLAN
I don't – want to talk about it. Not yet. Let's, let's try to figure out what happened two nights ago.
LIZ
(not happy) Okay. Jamshid. Are you holding anything out on us? Out of some kind of loyalty, maybe?
JAMSHID
(laughs) I'm sorry, that's the funniest thing I've heard all day. No. Nothing. It's just like I told you, just like we saw – the weird chorus thing, the chant in Latin, and the poem, you know, This is me, the Mad Arab, telling you if it isn't dead it's lying, and with strange eons, even death will kick it." Whatever. And nothing ever, ever happened.
HARLAN
Until two nights ago.
JAMSHID
Until two nights ago.
GERALD
Actually, I think I have an answer to that. (hefts the binder with the Dee photostat) We bagged the Dee copy of the Necronomicon before leaving the library. It isn't terribly useful – more like a recipe book. Short on theory. I wish we had the Latin one.
HARLAN
(testy) Duly noted.
GERALD
But he does go into the three basic steps of summoning something. An angel, a demon, a Julia set – whatever this thing is. One: draw your wards. Two: open the gate. And three: call out the name of what you want summoned. Of those, the sisters only ever did one step, the second one.
LIZ
Opening the gate.
GERALD
That's what the bit of Latin you quoted is supposed to do.
LIZ
So that when Harlan called out the lines I picked for him –
HARLAN
I called out Shupnikkurat's name into an open gate. And she came.
GERALD
That's, ah, yes. One way to put it.
LIZ
And no one ever closed it. Or drew any wards.
HARLAN
So we're stuck with it. Unless. (closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, mutters) "Tremble at her footfall, for her coming seals your doom..."
LIZ
Harlan?
HARLAN
(opens his eyes) The one way to send her back. While she's still on the threshold. The one who summoned her must willingly be sacrificed.
A good silent moment, as that sinks in, and everyone regards Harlan. Even Eric looks up at that. Broken by – and this is tricky, I think it'll work, but it's a dicey jump in tone – the waitress showing up with food, laying out p:Lates of omelets, pancakes, etc.
LONG-SUFFERING WAITRESS
Okay, who had the rye?
FADE TO:
INT. BOB'S. LATE MORNING.
Later. Breakfast detritus and books litter the table. Eric's screwed up dozens of pieces of paper with graphs, charts, scrawled formulae, trying to work out cfuaternions and octonions in his head. Lots of question marks. Ash tray full of filterless butts; Gerald coughing ostentatiously as someone lights up another.
ERIC
So it worked?
HARLAN
Yes.
ERIC
You did it.
HARLAN
Yes – it was, it was like a dream. It made so much sense... I wanted to prove it, once and for all. So I was going to, I was going to perform a spell. From the book. And when nothing happened, well, then I'd know. For sure. Once and for all. Forget that it's impossible to prove a negative... So I did it. And something worked. And even though it's impossible, there he was.
LIZ
(tiptoeing around his eggshells, and hers) Who?
HARLAN
Nyarlathotep. The Dark Pharaoh, the One Who Stands in Shadows, the Black Wind, et cetera, et cetera. Even though it's impossible. He laughed. Said the Crawling Chaos, Who Gibbers at the Center of it All –
GERALD
Azathoth.
HARLAN
Yes. Said it had been waiting for "fools such as we." All this shit from that damn book. He... "Curiosity killed the cat," he said. Apparently, he finds our aphorisms terribly droll. (deep breath) So. He wanted to know what I wanted, so I told him. I wanted to know what was going on. And I learned. All about how we accidentally summoned Shupnikkurath. About how she would appear and swallow everything, "consume the world, the sun, the sky..." What do we do? I asked. And he laughed again. Strike, he said. While she's on the threshold. And there's only one way to hit her, while she's down – so. So.
LIZ
Harlan –
HARLAN
(shrugs away her attempt to comfort him) So. You see. I've been struggling with this all morning. What to do. Because, for me, it all ends up pretty much the same, either way.
There ensues a long and distinctly uncomfortable silence, before Jamshid – who hasn't really been paying that much attention – says:
JAMSHID
You know, I've been sitting here thinking, which really isn't that hard any more now that I can't hear those fucking voices yelling about books and names and God and this guy's jacket, and anyway the thing I'm wondering (drag on cigarette) is this: Where's the storm?
Blank looks.
LIZ
Jamshid?
Jamshid frowns. This is a no-brainer, folks; they all ought to be getting it.
JAMSHID
The storm. Where is it?
GERALD
(puzzled) It already swept through, this morning –
ERIC
Of course! (scrambles for an earlier piece of paper)
GERALD
What?
ERIC
(to Harlan) You summoned Nyarlathotep around dawn, right? And the storm hit then. A massive discharge of energy.
GERALD
So?
JAMSHID
So where's the storm?
ERIC
Shupnikkurat was summoned the same way. Where's the discharge of energy? Considering how much bigger she is than Nyarlathotep, it would be that much more... son of a bitch, that makes it all work out.
HARLAN
What are you saying?
ERIC
That Nyarlathotep lied to you. Not exactly. (finds his piece of paper) I've been trying to calculate the equations based on the amount of time it's taken, and I couldn't make it work – given that Shupnikkurat is of a higher dimension, and that there's no wards or constraints, once she's here, fft! That's it. We'd know, because we wouldn't be sitting here talking anymore. We'd be... unfolded.
JAMSHID
Sounds unpleasant.
GERALD
So?
ERIC
So she isn't on the threshold yet. She isn't even here!
LIZ
What's that under the library?
ERIC
It makes sense if that's space that's unfolding. Ramping up, slowly, through all the fractional dimensions between the third and the fourth. It isn't an Old One, or an Elder God, or whatever Al Azrad called them – it's a door, slowly creaking open!
LIZ
Are you sure?
ERIC
One way to find out: Go down there and slam it in her face.
LIZ
(grins) "Curiosity killed the cat; satisfaction brought it back."
JAMSHID
What was that?
LIZ
That's how the saying goes. Satisfaction brought it back.
JAMSHID
No shit!
LIZ
Yes.
JAMSHID
But that's totally the opposite of the way everybody uses it! My God, I've been lied to all my life about that! Trying to get me to keep my nose out of their business, when really it's just the opposite –
LIZ
Jamshid. Breathe.
HARLAN
(somewhat over that bit of business) Do we still have time? To close it?
And where there was gloom, there is now hope; eyes shine, even Harlan looks like he's been handed a reprieve – if a gloomy one. Eric gloats.
ERIC
Shouldn't be a problem.
CUT TO:
INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. MORNING.
A number of sisters are pulling on white robes and handing out candles, and shuffling through used xeroxes of the ceremony; others mill about, uncertain about what's going on. This is all too weird. Over in the corner, JANEY, SHANTI, and TRACEY are hissing an argument at each other.
JANEY
I can understand why I might have had to remind a slacker like Jamshid of her oath, but you –
TRACEY
I somehow doubt our founders had this in mind.
SHANTI
Ladies, please –
JANEY
Attitudes are contagious, Tracey. Is yours worth catching?
TRACEY
(snorts) Whered you get that? Off a coffee mug?
JANEY
(glowers) "Sisterhood is sacrificing the betterment of the individual for the betterment of the whole."
TRACEY
Same back at you. You are about to make this house a laughingstock for I have no idea what. This has a hell of a lot more to do with your ego than the good of the house.
JANEY
I'm telling you. It. Is. Real.
TRACEY
(rolls her eyes, looks to Shanti) Shanti?
SHANTI
I – I really don't –
Janey leans in close over Tracey, suddenly calm and quiet in her rage.
JANEY
"We are sisters by heart, not blood. One heart, one way."
TRACEY
Your way?
JANEY
While I'm president. (she turns, addresses the room at large) Ladies! Ladies! (silence falls) We are sisters by heart, not blood. One heart, one way!
SOME SISTERS
One heart, one way!
JANEY
We go now to welcome her. Any true sister of Iota Alpha will march with us.
A moment of tense silence.
TRACEY
You've destroyed the house, Janey. Congratulations.
JANEY
Sisters!
The sisters whove decided to go put on the finishing touches and then take up a ragged Bulgarika chord. Janey begins to march them out of the house, out in a procession down the quad, white robes shining in the watery October light, as students stop and stare at them. Wow. The chord strengthens and becomes the glossolalia, from their summoning; Janey is reciting the poem, from memory.
JANEY
I, Abd Al Azrad, say this unto you:
That men shall die, and cities fall, and time
Shall swallow up the world, the sun, the sky –
And still the star that casts no light shall burn...
CUT TO:
EXT. ENTRANCE TO SEWER SYSTEM. MORNING.
Here we are then, back at that same place. Jamshid, with her excess of energy, isn't helping Gerald and Eric pry up the grate quite as much as she'd like to think. Harlan and Liz stand to one side. Out of the blue, Harlan picks up their inside joke; its an effort, but worth it.
HARLAN
Marry me.
LIZ
Now's not a good time, Harlan.
HARLAN
Oh.
LIZ
We could compromise, and live in sin. See how that works out.
HARLAN
Live in sin. I like the sound of that.
JAMSHID
We're in!
CUT TO:
INT. STORM DRAIN BENEATH MISKATONIC. MORNING.
We can hear that faint pulsing, like the wind's heartbeat. Our heroes stand at the mouth of the fateful room, now; the Door's bulk fills most of it, extending up through the ragged hole in the ceiling to the library above. Books and debris litter the floor. The Door casts plenty of light, to see and read by. Gerald holds the Dee binder. All are awestruck. Jamshid keens, a little.
JAMSHID
(quietly) I don't mean to be a pest, but does anybody else hear anything? Like a buzzing? A humming? Spinning?
GERALD
It's even bigger, isn't it.
ERIC
Yes. Yes, it is.
GERALD
Shupnikkurat's going to come through that. (mocking tone, trying to make light of an utterly horrible situation) Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young. That Al Azrad has a way with words, doesn't he?
Harlan is walking closer to Shupnikkurat, and he repeats the verse he quoted earlier, for Janey, and he takes what Gerald was mocking and makes it scary again, somehow – or chilly, at least. Strips the words of the protective ironic spin that everybody's been using to keep the concepts and ideas at a safe arm's distance. More of a chance for the actor to earn his bucks.
HARLAN
"Hail and give praise to Shupnikkurat, most fecund, who grows without cease, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young. Its form is unspeakable, and its touch unclean, and brings madness beyond all bearing. Tremble at its footfall, for its coming seals your doom."
A moment's silence, as they take this in.
JAMSHID
I'm serious. The humming. Is it just me?
LIZ
No.
JAMSHID
You hear it?
ERIC
I think we all do.
GERALD
Yes.
JAMSHID
Oh. Thank God.
GERALD
So we, uh, we're going to need that banishment ritual.
He flips open the Dee binder. Jamshid, meanwhile, is trying to move through her fear. She's edging closer to the Door.
ERIC
Don't touch it. If I'm right, you'd go in, but we couldn't pull you out.
JAMSHID
Really.
ERIC
You'd be unfolded, into a higher dimension. We couldn't fold you back together again.
JAMSHID
Sounds unpleasant.
Of course, she has to prove herself, so she hangs about close to it, poking at the debris around it. Steels herself to jab something into it, to see what will happen.
GERALD
(flipping irritably through the Dee binder) I knew I should have brought some Post-it notes – here it is. (stumbles over the words) "Na'ghimgor thdid lyrn. Myn thkh –
JAMSHID
(distractedly) Can we do one in English?
GERALD
(frowns) I can't say I have any experience in this sort of thing. Dee's translation is right here –
HARLAN
(sullen) It doesn't matter. Whatever. Sure. Make it easy.
ERIC
(jumping in) English, English is fine. The words don't really matter.
HARLAN
(snorts) They don't?
ERIC
Listen to me. Listen. I know what I'm talking about. The words, the gestures, the drawings, the names – all they're there for is to focus you. Get you past the point where you can believe you can do something like this. Well – there it is. I don't think any of us are having a problem with belief right now, Okay?
HARLAN
So what? Do we lust wish it away?
ERIC
Magic is nothing more than change in accordance with will. The words, the symbols – it's like – a carrier frequency. The actual signal is the intent, the will. That's all that matters. (turns to Gerald) Copy it out. In English. We'll all have to read it.
LIZ
(pulling out her pen and pad, going over to Gerald) I'll help.
Harlan's been looking at the ground, after Eric's tirade; at Liz's words, he looks up, sighs, makes his decision.
HARLAN
Liz. (holds out his hand for her pen and pad)
LIZ
What?
HARLAN
Your handwriting...
LIZ
Oh. (but she grins; he's working with them) Fine.
And so Gerald and Harlan settle down to copy out the passage, as Eric tries to focus them all.
ERIC
Okay. We're just using these words to focus ourselves. The important thing is to believe. To will that thing away. Gone. Disappeared. Evaporated. Dissipated. Shut. That's the important thing. We'll just keep repeating the spell over and over. You might feel foolish. Don't fight that. Let it pass. Let it pass, so that the words end up as meaningless sounds. Move beyond them to the point that you're focussed intently on one thing: shutting that Door. Okay.
HARLAN
Ready.
JAMSHID
We should maybe spread out a little?
They do, each holding a sheet of paper with the spell written on it. Maybe Gerald laughs, a little. Maybe Jamshid.
LIZ
Let it pass...
A moment does. Deep breaths all around.
ERIC
Begin.
ALL
(a little raggedly) "You will leave this spot, which denies the logic of your coming and going. And you will take all your servitors and your devices with you. And even the uttering of your name will be lost to this world until time has eaten its own head."
Jamshid definitely snickers at that eat its own head bit. Nobody snaps. Nobody reprimands. They just do it again. And again.
ALL
(more together) "You will leave this spot, which denies the logic of your coming and going. And you will take all your servitors and your devices with you. And even the uttering of your name will be lost to this world until time has eaten its own head."
And something is happening. The pulsing is slowing; the glow is dying. The sound of the wind's heartbeat recedes. Eric breaks concentration a moment.
ERIC
My God. It's working.
And again.
ALL
(as one) "You will leave this spot, which denies the logic of your coming and going. And you will take all your servitors and your devices with you. And even the uttering of your name will be lost to this world until time has eaten its own head.'
And as they take their breath in unison at the end of that round, it's quiet enough that we can hear, down the tunnels, the sounds of the approaching sisters. The glossolalia. Janey's shouted Latin chant.
JANEY (OFF SCREEN)
Veni, veni, veni!
And all focus is lost.
JAMSHID
Oh, fuck.
HARLAN
You hear that?
ERIC
Focus! "You will leave this spot, which denies..."
Liz is with him. Gerald, bless his heart, takes a stab at it. There's a flash of light from the Door which swells suddenly. Jamshid leaps back, and Gerald, yelling. The sisters are closer.
ERIC
Concentrate! Come on! We can still do it!
The sisters appear, candles lit, Janey at their head. The sound is deafening. Harlan has staggered back, against the wall, eyes closed. Eric is trying vainly to start the banishment again. Gerald helps Jamshid to her feet. And Liz –
LIZ
Shut up.
Liz turns to face them, hands clenched at her sides, furious.
LIZ
Shut up!
Janey and the sisters don't seem to register any of them, anything but the Door. Which flashes, and begins to spin, whirling out thin tendrils of itself.
ERIC
Oh, God.
Janey's marched almost up to Liz. Liz reaches back into her bookbag and pulls out her gun and cocks it and holding it in the proper cup-and-saucer grip, shoves it in Janey's face.
LIZ
SHUT UP!
Janey blinks, and the sisters' concentration falls apart. The glossolalia dies a ragged death. Janey is silent.
LIZ
Shut up or I swear to God I'll shoot you where you stand.
GERALD
Liz?
A moment of silence – or rather, it would be silent, except for the noise from the Door, getting louder, faster.
JANEY
You can't stop us.
LIZ
I am stopping you. Eric! Read it!
ERIC
Um – (he looks down at his sheet)
LIZ
Everybody!
They start to read, but it's ragged, half-hearted. Scared.
ALL (BUT LIZ)
"You will leave this spot, which denies the logic of your –
But Janey jumps in.
JANEY
"Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova, Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton Ou Agla Methon –
Liz's arms tremble, her face screws up, and she jerks her arms up and fires the gun over the sisters' heads. Janey stops; everyone stops. Again, silence, except for the accelerating whirl of the Door, the echoes of the gunshot. Some of the sisters are blinking, starting to realize where they are; what's going on. They stir, scared, pushing back their hoods, lowering their candles. Everyone's scared – but Janey.
JANEY
Why are you trying to stop it? Can't you see? (she turns, spreading her arms) Can't you all see? It's beautiful! Beautiful!
ERIC
Please. Let us close it.
JANEY
(desperately trying to rally her sisters) But Pia's already gone to her!
LIZ
My God.
ERIC
Someone went through that?
JANEY
It was wonderful! Wonderful!
No dice. She's losing them.
JANEY
I'll show you. (deep breath, she squares herself, and marches past Liz) "Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova, Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton Ou Agla Methon –
LIZ
Shut UP!
HARLAN
Liz –
The gun goes off. Janey is hit in her back, her lower back, to one side. She falls, stumbling, at the base of the Door. Her hand, reaching out, brushes the Door.
JANEY
So... so cold...
She lurches halfway up to her feet. Liz, crying, calls out one last time. Pleading. She's let her arms fall, the gun is pointed at the ground.
LIZ
Stop! Please.
Janey does the bravest and the stupidest thing she'll ever do. She steps through, Book and all, and is lost to sight. A ripple wrinkles the swirl of the Door, and with a sudden roar the air pressure drops like a train wreck. People drop to the floor. Debris tumbles into the maw of the Door. It swirls out into a thin circular plane with a dead black center.
ERIC
Oh, God. No.
HARLAN
The threshold. Its coming. It's COMING!
JAMSHID
HARLAN!
HARLAN
LIZ!
Liz looks up, tears in her eyes. Shakes her head. The gun is still in her hand.
HARLAN
Do it, Liz.
Harlan staggers up to the edge of the Door. Liz gets to her feet, slowly. Shaking her head still.
LIZ
No.
HARLAN
Do it. DO IT, LIZ!
Liz slowly raises the gun again. Gerald, huddled on the floor, mutters an appropriate prayer for salvation, or at least one that commends his soul to God; we'll get the Hebrew later. Jamshid stares in wide-eyed horror.
HARLAN
(closing his eyes, spreading his arms) I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Liz holds the gun in the proper cup-and-saucer grip. She aims. She trembles. Closes her eyes. Opens them again. Relaxes.
LIZ
(almost silent) I won't.
She lowers the gun. Harlan opens his eyes, starts in shock.
HARLAN
No! LIZ!
The sound is deafening, a roar of white noise as the wind whips through and the Door seems to take a breath.
LIZ
I won't.
She's almost lowered the gun entirely. Eric's hand catches hers. Their eyes meet. Liz's resolve breaks. Her eyes close as she lifts both hands to her face. Eric holds the gun. Expressionless, he lifts it one-handed. Aims. Closes his eyes. Harlan closes his.
Bang.
And just like that, the Door collapses. The wind dies. In the last gasp, as Harlan stands there, arms flailing from the impact, blood splashing square center from his chest, he falls back into the last whirling tendrils of the Door and is gone. The light dies. The air rushes in to fill the space lost to the unfolding with a shattering thunderclap. We're left in semi- darkness, with the sound of a dozen or so people sobbing, pantLng, gasping for breath. FADE TO BLACK. HOLD. FADE TO:
EXT. QUAD OUTSIDE ARMITAGE LIBRARY. TWILIGHT.
A number of emergency vehicles are parked on the greensward: cops, ambulances, Security, a couple of black Hazmat vans. Every window in the library is blown out, and glass glitters everywhere. And books. Hundreds of books, thousands of books lie everywhere, open, spines broken, pages flapping in the wind. It's like a bomb went off in the library, which, pretty much, it did. The camera wanders among the carnage for a few momenzs, picking out a student here, a sister there, getting treated for a nasty gash in her arm. We find Jamshid getting her head bandaged, looking across at Eric and Gerald. Eric is curled up against Gerald and is weeping like a child, fists curled up; Gerald isn't letting him hit himself. Eric howls. Gerald holds him tightly, kisses the top of his head, tries to make him relax. The camera moves on, looks around – finds Liz. She stands at the edge of the crowd. A cut on her face hasn't been tended to. Her face is utterly blank, utterly expressionless. Her body language says nothing, nothing at all. She's staring at the dark, gutted library. Move in close to her face. The sun is setting somewhere; the emergency lights blink and flash in her eyes. Hold for a moment, as the babble of the crowd, the emergency crews washes over and around her, so much white noise. Hold. When she finally blinks, she closes her eyes, lets her head droop a little. The sounds die away. FADE TO:
INT. LIZ'S ROOM. EARLY MORNING, SPRING.
Close-up of Liz's sleeping face. There's a small scar where the cut went untended. Her expression is ambiguous. A hand reaches over, squeezes her; she smiles.
HARLAN (OFF SCREEN)
I had the worst dream...
Pull back as Liz rolls over, wakes up. There's no one there. Her smile flickers, dies. FADE TO:
INT. DANNSEYS'S OFFICE. MORNING, SPRING.
Liz slumps in a dark wood chair, wearing dark autumnal, almost winter clothes. Outside the trees are in bloom; it's a gorgeously, grotesquely picturesque college campus, as if nothing had happened. Maybe the camera swings around them, in orbit around the two of them, as in the summoning, and its aftermath? Slowly, though. Stately.
DANNSEYS
To be frank, West, your grades this semester are – Well. Unsalvageable, I'm afraid. The best course I can see would be to bag it. As your advisor, I'm recommending that you put in for a personal leave of absence; in light of last semester's... loss, I don't think the Dean will object. Go home. Go back to Virginia. Get over it. Ride your horse - you do ride, don't you?
LIZ
(flat) Is that all?
A beat.
DANNSEYS
Yes.
Liz gets to her feet and heads for the door.
DANNSEYS
There is – one more thing, West.
LIZ
Oh?
DANNSEYS
I understand you've been – making inquiries.
LIZ
I'm sorry?
DANNSEYS
Among rare book dealers? (she doesn't blink) For a certain volume?
But Liz doesn't flinch, even at that. She shrugs, shakes her head.
LIZ
Nope. Sorry.
DANNSEYS
I see.
Liz leaves. Hold a moment, then CUT TO:
INT. MAILROOM./EXT. MAIN QUAD. MIDDAY.
Liz spins the combination dial of her mail box and opens it to pull out a sheaf of mail from rare book dealers, almost all of them postcards which read, "SORRY, can't help you," in one form or another. She flips through them, dumps them in the trash. One is an envelope, though. Her eyes flash. She starts to rip it open.
JAMSHID (OFF SCREEN)
Hey, girl!
Jamshid, utterly unchanged, utterly unfazed, bounces up, startling Liz, who smiles a little. Jamshid gives her a hug. Jamshid's been very concerned about Liz and Eric, realizing that they are both somewhat delicate. Which means she must give them lots of rough affection. They withstand it.
JAMSHID
Brilliant news. I have just had my proposal for a senior thesis accepted.
They're headed out of the mailroom and into the spring sunlight. Liz immediately pulls out a pack of cheap cigarettes, jams one into her mouth, lights it.
LIZ
That's great, Jamshid. What is it?
JAMSHID
Guess.
LIZ
I have no idea.
JAMSHID
No, go on, guess!
Oh, fine. Liz rolls her eyes back, throws her hands up. Takes a wild guess.
LIZ
Studying the effects of nicotine on schizophrenics.
JAMSHID
Phooey. You guessed.
LIZ
(laughs, a little) Hey, you asked.
JAMSHID
It's just a preliminary study. I can't get my hands on some of the drugs I'd need for a real comparison. But. It's still a mystery, how it works. And cigarettes being so unpopular...
LIZ
You'll have the field to yourself. Brilliant. (offers the pack) Want one?
JAMSHID
Certainly not. It's a filthy disgusting habit. Tell you what – stub that thing out, and I'll let you take me to lunch.
LIZ
No can do. (holds up envelope) A possible lead, to check up on.
Jamshid's face falls. She knew Liz was still doing this, but she had hopes she'd given up. Still. She knows better than to fight it.
JAMSHID
Good luck. (as shes leaving) Say hi to Eric for me!
LIZ
I will.
Liz rips open the envelope. Hold on her a moment as she reads. CUT TO:
INT. CURWEN HOUSE, ERIC'S ROOM. MIDDAY.
Actually, the hallway outside. Liz knocks on the door; Gerald, fully dressed, answers it. She raises her eyebrows; she wasn't expectinq him at this time of day.
LIZ
Can I see Eric?
Gerald stares down at her, doesn't say anything. Liz gets a little snotty.
LIZ
I promise I'll bring him back when I'm done.
ERIC (OFF-SCREEN)
(somewhat drunk) Liz? Is that you?
LIZ
I've got a lead to check out!
ERIC (OS)
Let me find my pants.
Gerald sighs, rolls his eyes, his jaw working in obvious anger and frustration, and he ducks into the room. A muted argument follows.
ERIC (OS)
Hey! Hand it over.
GERALD (OS)
I damn well won't.
ERIC (OS)
Don't mother me.
GERALD (OS)
It isn't mothering – Eric –
Things fall silent. Liz peers around the door to see Eric and Gerald locked in an embrace, an almost unpleasant kiss, needy, fierce, as Eric takes a silver liquor flask from Gerald's loosening hand. When he has it, he breaks the kiss off. Buttoning his pants with one hand, he raises the flask to Liz in a mock toast. Gerald looks after them with an eloquent expression of anger and jealousy and longing. Hold a moment, then CUT TO:
EXT. STUDENT PARKING. MIDDAY.
Liz and Eric walk down a line of student beaters towards her VW Bug.
ERIC
Where we going?
LIZ
Amherst. Two-hour drive.
ERIC
We sure this isn't another scam?
Liz waves the letter.
LIZ
If so, he's seen enough of one to fake it really well. We might be able to get out of him where he saw that one.
Liz unlocks doors. They climb in. Liz starts the car. She sits there a moment, before the wheel. Pulls out a cigarette.
LIZ
I saw him again, last night.
Eric looks over at her.
ERIC
Me too. (raises the flask) "That is not dead which can eternal lie..."
He swigs, hands the flask over to her, and punches the cigarette lighter.
LIZ
(mutters) "And with strange aeons, even death might kick it." (swigs) Lousy poetry.
Eric lifts a cigarette to his lips. The lighter pops. He pulls it out, lights his, then hers. An uncomfortable moment. They don't look at each other. Liz throws the Bug into gear, backs out of the parking space. Drives away. The camera watches. We can get a glimpse of the new bumper sticker pasted on the back of her otherwise unmarred car: "Magic is a foot, and it's stuck up your ass." Maybe we hold here, looking out over rows of parked student cars. Robyn Hitchcock's "Underwater Moonlight" starts playing. Credits roll.
THE END
