HELEN
Helen Sweeten ... What's that? ... I'm sorry, I can barely hear you ...
INT. DINER - BATHROOM
The sound of BRADY URINATING echoes against the tiled walls.
CU ON BRADY - his face goes from slack contentment to a scowl. His nose twitches as he sniffs the air.
BRADY
(to himself)
Aw, Christ!
(calling out)
Hey, you all right in there, buddy?
His face screws up as another wave of the stench hits him.
BRADY
Oh, mother of god!
INT. DINER
Helen on the phone.
HELEN
... I'm losing you, could you ... ah, shit!
She snaps the phone closed.
INT. DINER - BATHROOM - ON BRADY
Brady is holding his breath now. He shakes off and leaves the stall without flushing. He quickly runs his hands under some hot water.
BRADY
Mister, I think you need to see a doctor about that.
He grabs a few sheets of paper towel and leaves.
The CAMERA PANS DOWN to peer under the stall door. In the still occupied stall we see a pair of shiny black shoes, like the kind that come with a rented tuxedo. They FLOAT STRAIGHT UP AND OUT OF SIGHT.
INT. DINER
Brady comes back, drying his hands with the paper towel. Helen is obviously upset--somewhere between worried and pissed off.
BRADY
What's the matter with you?
HELEN
I got a call from the section chief, but the connection was pretty bad and he got cut off.
BRADY
Did he have any news?
HELEN
He sounded pretty shaken up, something about the Syrian situation. And I'm pretty sure I heard the word "nuclear."
BRADY
Nuclear ... as in nuclear bomb nuclear?
HELEN
I don't know.
Helen crinkles her nose and then looks at Brady.
HELEN
I guess that bran muffin finally kicked in, eh?
BRADY
What?
(he sniffs his jacket)
Aw, man! It's in my goddamn clothes!
HELEN
I think I might have to move down one seat. No offense.
BRADY
It's not me. Some guy in the bathroom. You know how they say red meat stays in your colon for seven years? I think this guy was letting all his go at once.
He removes his jacket and places it several seats down from them.
The countergirl arrives with a cup of coffee and a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. It looks pretty good for diner food.
COUNTERGIRL
You folks enjoy your dinner.
HELEN
Excuse me, do you have a public phone I could use?
COUNTERGIRL
I'm sorry--we do, but it's broken.
BRADY
Can I ask you something? How do you--the town, I mean--stay in business? It doesn't seem like there's enough people around here to support it.
COUNTERGIRL
Oh, tourists, mostly.
HELEN
Tourists?
COUNTERGIRL
Oh, sure. We get lots of people Just like you passing through here.
The countergirl nods in the direction of a table toward the back where a OLD COUPLE Is seated. Judging by their colorfully patterned clothes, sunglasses, and cameras, they are tourists. They are scooping chunks of meatloaf and lumps of mashed potatoes into their mouths, seemingly not pausing between bites to swallow. They turn to Brady and Helen and smile, their chins dripping gravy.
Brady looks at his plate.
BRADY
You know, on second thought--
Helen's CELL PHONE RINGS.
HELEN
That's probably the section chief calling back--maybe he got a better connection.
(she answers the phone)
Helen Sweeten.
RICKY (ON PHONE)
Are you two still in town?
HELEN
Yes.
RICKY
Get out. Get out while you still can.
HELEN
What do you--
Ricky hangs up. Helen closes the phone.
HELEN
Wells, that was Ricky Smith. I think something's wrong.
BRADY
Let's go.
EXT. MAIN STREET - EVENING
The agents' car pulls out, then drives past the diner and out of town. A few seconds later, out of the agents' view, ALL THE LIGHTS GO OUT, as if someone pulled the plug on the whole town.
CUT TO:
INT. YELLOW HOUSE - KITCHEN
Brady, Helen, and Ricky talking again in the kitchen. Ricky is agitated.
RICKY
You shouldn't have come here. You should have driven right past and not looked back.
BRADY
No more of this crap, Ricky. If you've got something to tell us, then Just fucking tell us.
RICKY
This came through my mail slot about an hour ago.
He unfolds a sheet of paper and holds it up for them to see: "Spectacular Display of Illusion and Ventriloquism."
HELEN
They're all over town.
RICKY
This is bad. This is very bad. You don't want to be around tomorrow when this thing happens.
HELEN
We checked out the Masonic Hall. I don't see any spectacular displays happening in that place. Not tomorrow, not next week, probably not ever.
RICKY
I thought the same thing the first time I went in there.
BRADY
(figuring it out)
You were still investigating the Mystery Line case. Even after you quit the Bureau.
Ricky nods.
BRADY
But, I would have thought that, after ... what happened--
RICKY
After my crack-up? That I would have let it go?
BRADY
Something like that, yeah.
RICKY
Just the opposite. Cases like that were the whole reason I joined the FBI in the first place. The ability to point my finger and say, with all the authority of the Justice Department behind me, "None of this is real. It's all a con." That was what I lived for. When we looked into the Mystery Line, Larry and I, we could tell it was a front for something, but none of the pieces seemed to fit together. After Detroit, Larry had had it--too many dead ends. But I was in too deep.
BRADY
What happened that night?
RICKY
I got a glimpse of something. Something big. Maybe it was a warning, telling me to back off. Or maybe it was a dare, to see if I'd keep going. Doesn't matter--I've never responded with much wisdom to either warnings or dares. I quit the Bureau and made the Mystery Line my purpose in life. Eventually I ended up in here. Just as you did. I snooped around for while, and like you I went into that old ruin of a hall. And there it was.
HELEN
What?
RICKY
The curtain. The same fucking curtain from the warehouse. And that same sound.
(he bows his head and holds his hands over his ears)
Except this time it almost sounded like a voice ... or maybe more than one voice. Telling me things that didn't make any sense. Telling me to look behind the curtain. (Beat) So I did.
BRADY
Ricky, there was no curtain in the Masonic Hall. Just an empty stage and an old office, kind of like the one...
Brady trails off, but Ricky knows where he's going.
RICKY
Like the one in the Mystery Line commercial?
HELEN
I'm sure it's just a coincidence.
She sounds like she's trying to convince herself of this, and Ricky's not buying it.
RICKY
There is no such thing as coincidence.
No fate, no h
appenstance, no such thing as good luck or bad luck. Do you think you came to this town by virtue of your own investigative skills? Fuck that. You were brought here.
BRADY
That's a lot of horse shit.
RICKY
Oh, you don't realize it at the time. One thing just sort of leads to another. A map, a murder, a phone call, a message in a fortune cookie. They've got all the gimmicks. You think you're heading in one direction, and the next thing you know you're here--about as far as you can get from where you thought you were going.
HELEN
Let me get this straight--you think there is some kind of conspiracy or something that lured you ... us ... to Crampton?
BRADY
What the hell for?
Ricky sighs.
RICKY
These things I've told you so far, these are true things. You may not believe them, but I know they're true, because they happened to me. But the how's and the why's ... I can only speculate. I could say it's the Illuminati, or the Trilateral Commission, or the Freemasons, but really it's all of that. Every conspiracy theory you've ever heard is Just one little piece of what they can do. Nothing's too small, nothing's too big. You lose your car keys, your wife gets run over by a semi, some nut blows up the capital of Pakistan. Einstein said he didn't believe that God played dice with the universe. Do you understand what he meant by that?
HELEN
He meant that there was order in the universe--there was a comprehensible reason for everything that existed and that everything obeyed certain laws, even if we didn't understand all of those laws yet.
BRADY
Why are we talking about Einstein?
RICKY
Einstein's god may not play dice with the universe ... but They do. They play all kinds of games, maybe just with the world that we know, maybe with the whole fucking universe. Prom our point of view Their power is unthinkable--literally. Our brains just aren't wired to handle it. Maybe there is some kind of purpose and order, some kind of sense to the game They play. But that's not how it seems to me. To me it just seems like this insane power at work at the heart of things ... no, not at work--at play. Putting on a flimsy, pointless stageshow. And the only thing that keeps the show going is this crazy, relentless urge for more play. Just to play and play and play. Pure play for the hell of it. All for Their private amusement. That's what killed those people who called the Mystery Line. They wanted the truth, and they got it.
HELEN
What truth did they get?
RICKY
That nothing is real--nothing but Them. And They can do anything They want. They can change the entire landscape of things--make things happen that couldn't possibly happen. Or even undo something that's already happened. Not just here, but anywhere, everywhere they can put on the act. What do you do when you can do anything? Eventually you go insane, until all you want to do is play. Push a button, pull a string, just to see what moves on the other end. That's what the truth is, Agent Sweeten. That the world as we know it is nothing hut a cheap little circus
(he holds up the magic show flyer)
... and this is going to be the center ring. Unless you want to end up like me, you'll get as far away from here as possible.
HELEN
If it's going to he as bad as you say, why are you still here?
RICKY
(with a humorless smile)
Because there's nowhere to go, not for me. Besides, I think my part of the game is just about played out.
(he looks at his watch)
It's getting late. If you two are going to make Cincinnati tonight, you'd better leave now.
EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - NIGHT
A strong wind has kicked up. Brady and Helen get into their car.
INT. CAR
Brady and Helen both need a few seconds to get their thoughts straight.
BRADY
Well, Sweeten, what do you think of that?
Silence from Helen.
BRADY
Yeah, that's what I think, too. So what do we do now?
HELEN
I say we bag it and head home.
BRADY
What do we tell the chief?
HELEN
Fuck him. I've had it with this case. I'm tired.
BRADY
Okay. We'll just report that Ricky was a dead end. All right?
HELEN
Just drive.
EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - NIGHT
The agents' car pulls out of the driveway just as the rain starts. Ricky watches from the doorway. A look crosses his face--hope, perhaps--and a second later is gone, replaced by weary resignation. He closes the door.
EXT. ROUTE 7 - NIGHT
The rental car, heading out of town, away from Crampton. The storm has gotten pretty bad--rain is slashing across the road nearly horizontally, throwing bits of debris around.
Helen turns on the radio. STATIC. She zips up the dial.
Nothing hut SQUELCH and SNOW, with vague hints of VOICES underneath.
HELEN
Looks like we're out of luck with the--
A BOLT OF LIGHTNING smacks into a tree ahead of them with a BOOM. The trunk nearly EXPLODES, hits of wood fly everywhere. The tree drops into the road.
Brady SLAMS on the brake. The tires lock up. The car skids on the slick road, toward the fallen tree.
Wrenching at the steering wheel, Brady manages to guide the sliding car toward the shoulder, but not quite enough--the front bumper grazes the tree, turning the car sideways in the road. Finally it stops.
Brady and Helen are frozen, their bodies still locked in crash positions. Slowly they loosen up.
HELEN
(looking out the window at the front bumper)
I hope the Bureau sprang for insurance.
BRADY
Christ, look at it out there.
Outside the windows, it looks like the apocalypse--rain pounding down, wind tearing at the land. As they watch, hailstones begin to THUMP against the car's body.
HELEN
Is that hail?
BRADY
That's it--I give up. There's no way I'm driving another three hours to Cinci in this shit. And then get on a fucking plane? Fuck that.
HELEN
Listen...
They sit, silent, still for a few seconds.
BRADY
I don't hear--
HELEN
SHHH!
From outside we hear a FAINT ROARING sound, slowly increasing in volume.
HELEN
I know that sound.
The ROARING gets a little louder. Brady recognizes it, too.
BRADY
Okay, let's go. My obit is not going to say "FBI agent was too stupid to get the fuck off the road."
He gets the car turned around and starts heading back toward Crampton.
EXT. ROUTE 7 - NIGHT
The rental car's headlights barely cut through the torrential rain.
INT. CAR
Brady concentrating on the road. Helen drifting off. Through the windshield, we see the yellow house, brightly lit, like a beacon in the storm.
BRADY
Sweeten?
HELEN
What?
BRADY
Do you think we should pick up Ricky?
HELEN
Why? So the two of you can swap Freemason theories? I don't feel up to another performance of the Ricky Show tonight. Besides, he said it himself--he's not going anywhere.
BRADY
I guess. We can swing by and pick him up on our way out of town tomorrow.
EXT. ROUTE 7 - MIGHT
The car drives past the yellow house, its tail lights disappearing into the storm. A second later, the lights inside the yellow house ALL GO OUT.
EXT. OASIS MOTEL PARKING LOT - NIGHT
The rental car pulls into the parking lot, dripping with rain. Crampton is bone dry, like the storm never even happened.
INT. OASIS MOTEL LOBBY
A c
igarette machine, the kind with the pull-knobs. Two faux-leather chairs, cracked by age and sunlight. A gumball dispenser, with a small sign saying the proceeds benefit the local Knights of Columbus.
Brady and Helen enter, their overnight bags over their shoulders.
HELEN
We'll be lucky if anyone's here to check us in.
Brady RINGS the service bell.
TOURIST WOMAN (O.S.)
(in a British accent)
Excuse me, could we take your picture?
Brady and Helen are a little startled--they didn't know there was anyone else in the lobby. Standing across the room from the agents is the OLD COUPLE from the diner.
HELEN
I'm sorry?
TOURIST WOMAN
We, my husband and I, are on a photographic excursion. We'd like to take your picture--you and your husband.
BRADY
We're not married.
TOURIST MAN
(also in a British accent)
But you make such a lovely couple. So natural together.
TOURIST WOMAN
May we take your picture? We're on a photographic excursion, you see. My husband and I.
TOURIST MAN
It would go so nicely in our collection. You make such a lovely couple.
HELEN
I'm not sure that's--
Too late--the woman's camera FLASHES, an explosion of white light. Brady and Helen blink in the glare. By the time they've gotten their vision back the tourist couple is gone, the door slowly closing.
The MANAGER appears from a back room. He's wearing a drab suit with a drab tie. He speaks in quiet, sonorous tones, like an undertaker speaking to the bereaved.
MANAGER
Good evening. How can I help you?
HELEN
We'd like two rooms please.
MANAGER
Certainly. Would you like them adjoining?
Helen looks at Brady, who is fiddling with the gumball machine, trying to get a gumball without paying.
HELEN
That won't be necessary.
MANAGER
All right. Have you stayed with us before?
BRADY
Sweeten...
Helen looks toward Brady. He's holding up a leaflet, an advertisement for the magic show. There's a stack of them on a small table near the entrance.
MANAGER
Ah, yes. Our little magic show. You don't want to miss that. It's the only show in town ... so to speak.
(Flipping open a large ledger book)
Would you please sign here? I'll get your keys.
The manager disappears through a curtain into a back room. Helen takes the pen that is chained to the counter and starts to write in the ledger, then stops.
Crampton Page 6
