And the camera drops to the floor.
AUDIO RECORDING
* * *
A.: Niamh! NIAMH!!!
HANK: STOP! Hold it right there!
A.: Niamh! Niamh, you okay?! [Rustling of clothes against the mike; voice very close.] Niamh. You all right!
HANK: Come here—
A.: [Wrestling.] What the fuck—
HANK: Shut up!
DONNA: [Background.] Eighteen! Got eighteen!
HANK: There! On your knees there!
A.: Who are you?!
HANK: Got the other two right here!
A.: Who are—
HANK: Oh, sorry, wanna see my face? No problem now.
[A second’s worth of silence.]
A.: Wait … Scar … The snowplow guy?!
DONNA: [Closer now.] All clear! [Gun cocking.] Was that you whistling? You’re supposed to be mute!
A.: What the—What are you doing here?
KRAUS: [Farther, floorboards protesting, heavy footwear approaching.] Don’t worry, kid.
[Now closer: a lighter. Burned paper. A puff.]
Most of them died in their sleep. A luxury you can’t afford.
A.: Wh—
Wha—
[Gulps.]
Why?
KRAUS: Why, why …
DONNA: It’s nothing personal, honey. We just do the job for a reasonable fee.
[Door opens somewhere in the distance. Another gun’s hammer cocking, much closer: this time sounds like a revolver.]
KLAUS: Silencer off. I think I want to hear this one.
GLEW: Hold it.
[Pause. So that everyone can check who just spoke there.]
A.: YOU!
GLEW: As expected, you fucked up. You got the wrong sphere.
KRAUS: Hank?
HANK: It was in the vault, exactly where he said it’d be. There’s a whole collection.
GLEW: I don’t care where it was; this is not what I’m looking for. The one I want is slightly bigger and it’s supposed to hum.
A.: Glew!
KRAUS: Okay, try the safe again. Last door on the left.
HANK: Fuckin’ blow that bitch away. [Jackboots stomping away.]
A.: GLEW! Look at me!
[A gap of wordlessness.]
GLEW: Oh, shut up. Someone dies, and a brat in Europe wins the jackpot? It was a matter of time before the tables turned.
A.: [Angry.] Why? Just tell me why?!
GLEW: [Impatiently smooth.] Please don’t be pathetic. Let’s just say that some people are ready to pay unimaginable sums for what they believe to be evidence that God exists. And here I am apprised that an idle millionaire who just kicked the bucket held one such object. I looked everywhere for it. But I failed. Even Kraus here couldn’t find it after what he called a ninja break-in.
KRAUS: It was a ninja break-in. Whistle bitch here has Daredevil hearing.
DONNA: Didn’t hear eighteen muffled shots, though.
GLEW: Yeah, well. I hear the first sleep after is pretty deep.
A.: [Appalled.] But … ALL OF THEM?
GLEW: Yes, you see, we had to wait until the one day in the year when the treasure comes out of the chest, even though the house would be—
A.: Who told you about this? Knox?
GLEW: No names. Anyway …
A.: Then who? Nobody outside the Society knew anything, and nobody has parted the Society to this day.
GLEW: God, you just can’t shut up, can you? I’m in the middle of my villain speech and you—
A.: Dänemarr?!
[Standstill.]
[Then, very far, very loud:]
HANK: Fuck!
[In the distance: a body slamming down, vicious snarling, cries of pain.]
GLEW: What the hell is that?!
HANK: [Far away.] Ah! God! My face! AAAAH!
[Snarling approaches at great speed, pawed feet galloping on the floorboards.]
[GUNSHOT.]
NIAMH: [Untranscribable.]
A.: NO, HELP! FUCK!
DONNA: [Bursts out laughing.]
KRAUS: Man, did you hear that?!
GLEW: Jesus Christ, look at this! I have dog brains splattered all over my pants!
A.: [Sobbing.] Oh, God!
KRAUS: Was that you? Is that really your voice? That squeak? [Chuckling.] Did you hear it? Do it again! Come on! Is that really what you sound like? God, you’re disgusting!
A.: SHUT UP, YOU HEINOUS CUNT!!!
[GUNSHOT.]
[A. yells out a gurgling burst of pain. Continues shouting throughout the next lines.]
GLEW: [Calm.] Is this really necessary? I shouldn’t really be here, let alone see this.
KRAUS: Did you see that? She didn’t utter a sound. She squeaked for the dog, but didn’t even moan when I blasted your knee off. How does that feel?
[A blood-splattered, tearful pause.]
Hey. I said, how does that feel?
A.: [Panting, softer than his own breath.]
KRAUS: What? Sorry, I can’t hear you.
A.: [He just pants, words trying to swim out of a pool of saliva. Seconds later, like floating debris from a sunken ship, consonants begin to emerge in a somber line.] … beg for your life.
KRAUS: Sorry, what was that?
A.: [He swallows.]
[Now the words are gurgled out again, louder.] You’ll die begging for mercy, you parent-abused wreck.
KRAUS: Okay, I’ve had enough of you. [Revolver cocking.]
GLEW: Wait!
[…] [Wait.]
We don’t have the Eye yet.
KRAUS: [Bored.] It’s in the safe.
DONNA: [Far.] It’s not in the safe!
KRAUS: Oh, give me a break.
DONNA: [Closer.] Hank doesn’t look very well either.
KRAUS: Oh, he’ll have a new scar to boast about.
DONNA: Yeah, well, he’ll need a new nose and upper lip too.
GLEW: [“Hello?”] Gentlemen?
KRAUS: Yeah, sorry. You. Stop crying. Where’s the ball?
A.: [Snorts.]
KRAUS: Where’s the ball or I blow her head off.
A.: Bedroom. [Swallows.] In the chest.
DONNA: Must be the locked door upstairs.
KRAUS: Okay, raise up; you’re gonna show me.
A.: [Shouts in agony.]
DONNA: He can’t climb upstairs; he has no knee.
KRAUS: [The voice of resignation.] God, one of these days …
[Brainstorming.]
Okay. You, Squeaky, come with me. Show Uncle Kraus your room.
A.: Don’t fucking touch her!
DONNA: Man, come on.
KRAUS: [Easy.] What? We’re gonna get the client’s stuff. He can’t come upstairs, but she has nice working legs.
DONNA: Yeah, but … I mean, c’mon. She’s like … fourteen.
KRAUS: So what? I’m just going upstairs. Besides, she’s more like … fifteen. Can you squeak your age, sweetie? Anyway, I mean, fourteen, fifteen, she already bleeds.
GLEW: Great, very glamorous. No wonder you were the cheapest on the list.
KRAUS: You’re coming too; see the dragon balls for yourself.
DONNA: Man, we really should drive the fuck out.
KRAUS: It’s okay; we’ll be out in a minute. Take Hank to the van; we’ll be right there. Come on.
A.: If you so much as touch her—
[WHACK!]
KRAUS: SHUT UP!
GLEW: Just—hold yourself, until I’ve got the ball!
KRAUS: Okay, okay! Donna, put him in the basement. He can’t climb stairs, but he can roll down some. I’ll deal with him when the client’s satisfied.
A.: You fuck—
DONNA: Up!
A.: [Shouts through gritted teeth.]
—coming nearer, and then the female, even closer: “Yes, please, tell me if I’m too rough,” and footfalls approach the blank wall where the wooden paneling is interrupted by the slit of the door, which now is pulled open,“Aw, God!” a
nd unfocused and somebody grabs the camera “Up, I said!” and paws the microphone and STOP.
VIDEO RECORDING
* * *
BEDROOM FRI DEC-22-1995 06:45:13
The lamp on Niamh’s side of the bed is on.
On the right half of the picture, GLEW holds a sports bag. KRAUS—big man dressed in military surplus—holds a revolver in one hand, NIAMH in the other.
The latter glares at the lawyer as only lawyers can be glared at.
The chest is open.
[Glew, using a scarf as an insulator, reaches into the sports bag.]
GLEW: This is it.
[He zips it closed.]
KRAUS: Good. Go now; I’ll catch up with you.
[Glew stops halfway to the door. He looks questioningly at the mercenary. His hand on Niamh’s shoulder is twice as big as her hairless head.]
GLEW: Are you serious?
KRAUS: [Easy.] Yeah, go with Donna and Hank. I’ll take care of these and take one of the cars outside. See you at the meeting point.
[Glew waits for a dismissive laugh.]
Would you rather see me execute them now?
[But no. He’s serious.]
GLEW: Jesus Christ.
[Exit.]
Paws on the microphone and smudgy shadows, the lens waking and sobering up, finally making out his contused face, a large bruise summoning on his left cheekbone, sharper now, open pores shiny with smeared blood, then zooming out a little and booming up, revealing his right wrist handcuffed up high to the steel shelves in the basement, his chest heaving with panic.
Eyes look into the camera, one of them still red.
“Niamh.”
Tongue swipes the bottom lip for blood. Outside, water drops click the seconds away.
“If you get to see this,”
A pattern of blue-green undulations reflects on his skin.
“… the following will have been worth it.”
The camera is shelved away, now spying him from his right side. A pipe overhead drips water seconds on him. He’ll have to stand up to reach it, but keeps tilting to his left as he tries. He pants.
“Come on,”
he whispers, not for the camera anymore, and he tries to crawl up the wall, with his back to it, from sitting to standing position, without standing, because the knee that has just come into frame is torn apart, and he winces when his weight falls on it, so he must take a leap of faith and grab the pipe and hang from it, let his body loose, which is little relief, until the pipe finally snaps with a sound of coughing metal and he falls back and water pours over his head, and he immediately shouts, and restrains a second shout, because the water is cold as December outside, and his panting increases in volume and speed, for he needs some strength to reach to his left and drag over a box that was lying there all the time, body tilting for it, both arms stretched out, left hand pining for the damn thing, lips summoning it, already changing to purple-blue. But finally the fingers touch it, pull it, manage to tip the box over, and then run for the top edge again and tip it once more, make it roll over until he can finally draw it next to him, and then open it and extract something from it—a smaller box. And he stabs the sealing tape with his fingernails in a frenzy before the cold eventually congeals his blood and the adrenaline stops rushing, and his fingers pluck through the cardboard, and he tears the box open; he thrashes the box. And inside, he finds a third box.
BEDROOM FRI DEC-22-1995 06:48:43
KRAUS stands by the window, glancing outside, listening for car engines. Golden Gate–size tendons anchor his neck to his shoulders.
NIAMH stands, head held high, back turned three-quarters, naked legs under a loose shirt. Ninety pounds, being generous.
[Kraus looks down to her.]
[He holsters his revolver, making sure Niamh gets the point. He takes his beret off.]
KRAUS: Okay, here’s the deal.
NIAMH: [She won’t blink.]
KRAUS: Do that sound again. The squeaking thing. And I’ll spare him.
[Niamh darts for the door; the soldier blocks her in under a second, both falling to the floor; the camera trembles.]
And a crystal ball rolls out of the torn box, and he grabs it, but his fingers whip back at the zap from the crystal ball soaked in ice water, its surface the color of a large emerald, charged like a cattle prod, he just realized, and he has to pant three times to realize that he shouldn’t care, and grab it again, shout in consonants, command his fingers to stick to it, his hand to raise it, lift it in the air, strike it on the floor crying, “BREAK”—optic nerve snapping—and then lift it again—a spit dropping toward the planet—“BREAK”—pitchfork driven through the rib cage—lift it—the highest altitude a pair of Puma shoes ever reached—“BREAK”—the hotel explodes—lift it—free-falling at flesh-tearing speed—“BREAK”—two policemen down—lift it—a tropical island and seagulls watching—and “BREAK!”—watching Betty kaboom-land on the roof!
The ball’s smashed to pieces.
And as he grips a shard of emerald glass, amid the lingering visions in his eyes he finally sees it—through a seagull’s eyes.
And the epiphany catches up.
“Oh, fuck me.”
And a late, sick smile lights up his face.
“FOUND.”
—and the woman in lingerie smiles.
BEDROOM FRI DEC-22-1995 06:49:17
[KRAUS and NIAMH struggling on the floor, her back against the wall, bile oozing through her gritted teeth.]
KRAUS: What, you angry? You think you scare someone with that bald head?! You think you look tough?!
[Niamh manages to set her hand free, throws a slash at his face.]
Gaaah!
And with the victory smile still on his lips, he wields a shard of glass and stabs his handcuffed wrist with it, once, twice, thrice, laughing like a maniac, until blood spurts out of the sliced vein, and the frenzy still lasts enough for him to grab the shard between his teeth and tear open his free arm, the first squirt of blood splashing on the lens, all this in hardly ten seconds before the adrenaline flows out of the body, and he’s left sitting in a corner of a basement, handcuffed to the shelves, burning-cold water pouring onto his head, soaked shirt squirted with blood stuck to his chest, blue skin showing through, blood flow slowing down, organs shutting down, lungs and vocal cords now running on pure inertia through a mindless, exhausted mantra: “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
BEDROOM FRI DEC-22-1995 06:50:03
[KRAUS has his back turned to the camera now; NIAMH is cornered against the foot of the bed. She has lost her shirt. But not her defiance.]
KRAUS: Last chance. Do the sound.
NIAMH:
[He stands up, breathing hard.]
KRAUS: Okay. I’ll squeeze it out of you.
[He grabs her and slams her down on the mattress.]
The wavy reflections appear more excited as the pool on the floor grows, and water keeps chugalugging onto his head, now turned away from the camera, fallen.
Blood has long stopped flowing out of his handcuffed arm.
Lights flicker.
The head moves. The fluorescent tubes now drone louder, glow brighter, light shining on the blood streams on his skin. He opens his eyes to an expected view. A nive on his purple lips.
The first time they articulate the words, no sound comes out. He notices that. Then he tries harder.
“Help her.”
Water keeps pouring out, like a chirping fountain outside a Moorish window.
“Don’t just stand watching. You can do something. Please.”
The light is brighter now; the waving wall is electric blue.
“You’ve done this before. Go.”
The lips keep quivering between sentences.
“Go. I beg you. Go.”
The head can no longer hold its own weight.
The lips mutter, “Go,” one last time.
And he sinks a little deeper into the blue-green pool.
BEDROOM FR
I DEC-22-1995 06:50:32
Mattress screaming; NIAMH squirms under KRAUS’ weight, her fists pounding his back.
The bedside lamp flickers.
KRAUS: [Muffled.] Stay put, you fuck—
[The bedside lamp lights up, a hairstring of sound just this side of the audible spectrum growing suddenly so loud that it deafens the camera. Kraus looks up, immediately driving a hand to his eyes.]
What—
[The light pulsates, as if trying even harder, before Kraus stomps in that direction and slaps the whole appliance off the table; the bulb explodes.]
[The lamp on the other side (which was off) is now coming to life.]
What the fuck.
[And so is the ceiling light, first blinking itself awake, then growing brighter, screaming on the verge of ultrasound—]
Who is this?!
[—white sheets welding into whitened walls, spreading to the whole room ablaze, inflamed, nuked out, supernovaing, and in the blaze of released energy devouring the bodies you can guess the adumbrated skeletons of the three people in the room: Niamh rolling off and under the bed, the mercenary peeking over his arm at the third one, a residual shadow staining the left side of the picture.]
Stay there!
[A bulb explodes.]
The Supernatural Enhancements Page 24
