Sept. 28, 2022

Part 26 "The Bedrock"

Part 26

An unrelenting force, a breaking point, a way forward...

Malevolent follows Arkham Investigator Arthur Lester as he unravels the mysterious circumstances that have befallen him.


In Episode 26 Arthur is on a path of destruction. Hellbent on destroying the man who threw him into the mines, the Entity struggles to convince Arthur of the danger in his thirst for blood. In the Estate, the two silently move towards their goal however, with this man being such a force in and of himself, will they survive the encounter or will they become another one of Larson's victims...


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Original transcript by Jack! Reviewed by Tony


(BEGIN Episode 26.)


ARTHUR (going up stairs, out of breath): It feels like the steps here are… are wood.


(A melancholy piano tune starts to play. A flame is faintly audible.)


JOHN: They are.


ARTHUR: Brilliant, brilliant. The wall feels like… like, like wood paneling, also. Are, are we in the estate?


JOHN (quietly annoyed): I don’t know. I think so.


ARTHUR: Okay, okay.


JOHN: It looks like a dead end at the top of the stairs.


ARTHUR: No doubt it’s a hidden doorway. We had found one previous. 




ARTHUR: Yes, Yellow and I. It was - it was part of a bookshelf, I… I bet this is the same, to… to hide this path down from prying eyes. Those who… would wish to stop what they’ve done here.


JOHN: You think people tried to stop them?


ARTHUR: Sure. Obviously this cult is bent on power and dominating, and if –


JOHN: Based on what?


ARTHUR: Based on everything that person said.


JOHN: Matthew?


ARTHUR: Yes, yes. He said that… they sought out the Black Stone, an all-powerful object. I’m sure others sought it, too. You, you need to hide that, u-unless you…


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: If this place was abandoned, if that Black Stone room wasn’t used anymore, I… I wonder if they found it.


(He comes to a stop.)


JOHN: We’re at the top.


ARTHUR: Right. Is there any… any pull cord or-or knob here that looks like it opens the wall?


JOHN: Yes. There’s a thick braid of rope hanging from the – (Arthur pulls it open, to howling wind.) Right side. 


ARTHUR (whispering): Okay. Larson isn’t expecting us, which gives us the advantage. First, we find our things. I have a dagger in there.


JOHN: The one Kayne gave you.




JOHN (quieter): The one you stabbed yourself with to save me.




JOHN: You’re going to kill him with that?


ARTHUR (under his breath): Jesus Christ. (Normal volume, annoyed. Wood creaks.) Yes, John. Where are we? Describe it.


JOHN: We’re in a side room, maybe off the kitchen. There are bags of flour and potatoes. Gourds hang from the ceiling. Maybe a pantry.


ARTHUR: Good. Good. No light?


JOHN: It’s dim. There’s a thin blue light coming from a window. I can’t quite see it. Drop the torch. (Arthur drops the torch to the ground.) Yes. A pantry, for sure. Well-used, by the looks of it.


ARTHUR: Is it still raining?


JOHN: I can’t see the window, Arthur.


ARTHUR: Well. Seems empty in here. (He grunts, going closer. The wind falls quiet as he shuts the door behind him. Melancholy piano continues.) 


JOHN: The window faces out to a thin, frost-covered garden. The sky is clear. The moon is bright and full.


ARTHUR: It’s still night? It’s not dawn yet?


JOHN: Not yet.


ARTHUR: Good, good. There’s still time. (Under his breath.) Still time.


JOHN: Still time for what?


ARTHUR (as of it’s obvious): T-To make it right, you d-?


JOHN: What are you talking about? 


ARTHUR: Nothing, just – I’m going to kill Larson. Tonight. (Suspenseful music rises, mingling with the piano.) And tomorrow. Tomorrow, I can start fresh.


JOHN (what is wrong with you): What the fuck.


ARTHUR: Tomorrow is a new day, John. It’s almost over, this – this… it’s almost done. Then tomorrow, I, I wash my hands of it. A… A clean slate, that’s –


JOHN: Do you not hear yourself?


ARTHUR: This is no different than you killing Eddie! You fucking hypo –


JOHN: I killed Eddie because he attacked us!


(Suspenseful music rises again. Arthur continues to walk.)


ARTHUR: Oh, that’s fucking rich. You lavished taking his life. 


JOHN: Of course I did.


ARTHUR: So who are you to be all high-and-mighty with me?


JOHN: Because I’m recognizing that’s wrong.


ARTHUR: But you still liked it. You want this. Admit it. This is Faust, all over again.


JOHN (in horror): What? (Sad piano music continues.)


ARTHUR: This-th – No, this is – I-I mean, the woman, the woman in the –


JOHN: What do you mean, Faust?


ARTHUR: I mean the woman! The witch in the cave –


JOHN: You said Faust, Arthur.


ARTHUR: Whatever. Faust, the witch, Eddie, Kellin - do you not remember telling me to shoot Kellin?


JOHN: This isn’t a reactionary kill. This isn’t trying to save our life, Arthur, or an accidental mishap. You are hunting.


(A pregnant pause.)


ARTHUR (quiet): Predators need to be hunted.


(A chilling piano tune.)


JOHN: You’re so convinced he deserves this.


ARTHUR: I know he does.


JOHN: I’m through trying to reason with you. When you kill him, it’ll be on you.


ARTHUR: Happily. And when you come to realize the countless lives that we’ve saved by eliminating this threat… that’ll also be just on me. Now, where’s the door to the kitchen?


JOHN (dangerously): Behind you. 


(Arthur starts to walk. He opens a door.)


ARTHUR (whispering): Look, I get that you’ve decided to be a petulant child right now, but if you don’t tell me what I see, then we’re both at risk.


(Faroe’s Song starts to play.)


JOHN: It’s a kitchen. A large island in the center of the room, a bank of stoves on the right along with a number of cupboards There are two doors that exit: one straight across and one to the left of it, on an adjacent wall. There’s no one in here, nor any light beyond what’s being illuminated by the door we hold open.


ARTHUR: Okay. Good. I’ll stay to the left and we’ll try one of those doors. 


(Arthur walks, occasionally nudging by the wall.)


JOHN: I think you’re at it.


ARTHUR: Okay. (Fabric rustling together.)


JOHN: What are you doing?


(Arthur starts to fidget.)


ARTHUR: I’m removing my shoes.


JOHN: Why?


ARTHUR: Because I don’t want to be heard.


(The shoes are put onto the floor. He opens the door.)


JOHN: It’s a long hallway that heads to the left and right. Farther to the right, there’s a large set of stairs that lead to the first floor, presumably. The hallway is bathed in blue light from the moon. It’s quiet, and it’s still.


ARTHUR: Okay. (He starts to walk, quietly. The floor squeaks. Arthur winces audibly as he continues.)


JOHN: You’re heading upstairs.


ARTHUR: We’re going to kill him in his sleep.


JOHN: The stair case turns both left and right, both sides heading upward. I don’t know which you expect to be towards his room –


ARTHUR: Try left first. It would be near his study.


JOHN: His study?


ARTHUR: Yes. (Faroe’s Song starts to play.) Facing the house, I awoke in a room in the right wing. There’s a banister to the foyer in my right, and I was heading to the front of the house. Next to the room I started in was a guest room, then a hallway, then a storage room, then I walked the length of the facade towards the left side of the house which exited into a study. 


JOHN: You explored a fair bit.


ARTHUR: I was motivated.


JOHN: This was before or after you decided to kill him?




JOHN: Were you not thrown down to the mines because you tried to kill him and failed?


ARTHUR: No, I – I didn’t want to kill him, until…


JOHN: Until what?


(A pause.)


ARTHUR: Where’s the door?


JOHN (displeased): To your left. Keep moving. (Arthur moves forward, floor squeaking.) Here.


ARTHUR: This room? (Whispering.) Does it have a keyhole?


JOHN: Yes.


(Arthur gets down to peer through the keyhole.)




JOHN: It’s a large bedroom, bathed in darkness. The moon illuminates it, but only slightly. I can’t see the bed fully.


(Suspenseful music starts to rise.)


ARTHUR: Right. Well. Here it goes.


JOHN: The dagger, Arthur.


ARTHUR: Fuck! Right.


JOHN: Are you so consumed with bloodlust that you were planning on killing him with your hands?


ARTHUR:… The study. 


(He walks forward, opening the door.)


JOHN: The embers of the fire dimly shine in this room. It’s empty. 


ARTHUR: There should be a desk. It had a flute on it, originally, it –


JOHN: I see it. And there’s our bag, too. 


ARTHUR: Yes! Brilliant. 


(Arthur takes his bag, rifling through it.)


JOHN: You’re taking the flute?


ARTHUR: Yes. Now. Where is the, uh…


(He unsheathes the dagger.)


JOHN: It still has some of your blood on it.


ARTHUR: Ah. I’m glad. It’s very sharp. 


JOHN (pleading): Arthur… please. Listen to me. You have a choice. (Sad piano music plays.) Like I did. You don’t need to head down this path. We can leave this place. Larson is just a man. And killing him won’t –


ARTHUR: Killing him will save countless lives, John. You have no idea what he’s done.


JOHN: Maybe not. But you still have a choice.


ARTHUR: No. I did have a choice, and I’ve made it.  (He starts to walk.)


JOHN: Arthur!


ARTHUR (scathing): No! Stop. Stop with the ‘Arthur’s, with the pleads, with the appeals to my humanity.


JOHN: What else am I supposed –


ARTHUR: Larson isn’t worth my humanity, John. Understand that. (A pause.) Blood will be shed this night. (He starts to gather his things as Faroe’s Lullaby starts to play.)


JOHN (deliberate): I’m sorry, Arthur.


ARTHUR: What? For what?


JOHN: For failing you.


ARTHUR: You didn’t fail me.


JOHN: I must’ve. Otherwise –


ARTHUR (snapping): Fuck off with this guilt-tripping, you-… you’re just trying to manipulate me, always trying to manipulate me!




ARTHUR: You are! You think because you have the moral high ground here that you’re justified in manipulating me, that - that… that you’re disappointed in s –


JOHN (growling): I am disappointed!


ARTHUR: Yes. I get that. From the moment we’ve met, it’s about manipulation. And you… you think because it’s right, now, that you’re okay to do it, but you… can’t just let it go. Can you?


JOHN: Not when I see you walking such a path as I did! You didn’t have –


ARTHUR: As you did? 


JOHN: As I… had! Your nature, Arthur, it’s changed. You –


ARTHUR (exasperated): So fucking what? Is there any room in that sordid history for learning? 


JOHN: What? Of course, there’s –


ARTHUR: Then what mistakes have you made?


JOHN: Thousands.


ARTHUR: Exactly.


JOHN: What are you… (A pause. In realization.) You know you’re making a mistake. 


ARTHUR: I know that I didn’t hold your feet over a fucking fire to get you to change.


JOHN: I don’t… (He exhales.) You’re aware that you’re –


ARTHUR: I’ve told you! I can feel it. 


(A melancholy piano tune starts.)


JOHN (confused): Feel it? I…


ARTHUR (deliberate): I need to do this. I am going to do this. You don’t need to understand or support, but this is happening. And the more you fight it, the more difficult it becomes.


(A long pause.)


JOHN: Okay. I don’t understand, but I can accept it. 


ARTHUR: Thank you. (He continues rummaging through his things.)


JOHN: Then we kill Larson.


ARTHUR: Yes. (Arthur opens the door and walks, grunting in exertion.)


(The ticking of a pendulum clock can be heard.)


JOHN: Here’s his room.


ARTHUR (whispering): We’ll be quiet, now. 


(The door creaks open. The wind howls outside. Arthur steps forward, footfalls creaking against the wooden floor. Suspenseful music starts to rise as Arthur grows closer, breathing shakily…


Discordant string music erupts as Arthur stabs the bed, over and over.)


JOHN (muffled, distorted, growing clearer): Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. No one is here. (Someone rifles with the bedding.) The bed is empty.


ARTHUR (aghast): No, no, no!


JOHN: There’s a light by the bed. (Arthur exhales shakily and flicks it on.) Arthur, this bed is still made. He’s not here. 


ARTHUR (breathless): Is it – is this even his room, or, are we  –?


JOHN: I don’t know. But it’s definitely the most lavish room. There’s a desk. To the left. There! (Arthur starts to rifle through papers.) Papers on it here are addressed to Larson, and they’re opened. I – I think this is his room, Arthur.


ARTHUR: (Frustrated grunt) Fuck! (Arthur kicks something.)


JOHN: Matthew said he was gone already. (Arthur kicks again.) There’s no reason to – (Arthur shatters some glass.) 




JOHN: Arthur, it’s fine.


ARTHUR (growling): No! It’s not fucking fine. (Arthur starts to hyperventilate, sounding near tears.) He needs… he needs to pay.


JOHN: For what?


ARTHUR: For… (He’s unable to finish or control his breathing. A distant slamming noise in the background and suspenseful music starts to rise.)


JOHN: Movement.


ARTHUR: He’s still here.


JOHN: The door! (Breathing shakily, Arthur pushes it open.) There’s already more light out here. It must be close to dawn.


ARTHUR: Larson, John! Where is he?


JOHN: I can’t see him. There – wait. 




JOHN: The door is ajar, further down the hallway. On the left side. (Arthur quietly moves through, trying to suppress his breathing.) Quietly. (He continues.) The door is coming up on our left. A thin light leaks out. (A loud creak.) Wait. It’s a large man! With horns.


(Uncle’s heavy breathing becomes audible.)


ARTHUR: Uncle.


JOHN: I suppose so. His back is to us, sitting on a bed. Looking at something in his hands.


ARTHUR: Fuck! (He rifles through his bag. Faroe’s Lullaby starts to play as background music.)


JOHN: I don’t think Larson is home, Arthur.  (The music box clicks open and Faroe’s Lullaby starts to play in reality. In confusion.) Is that…? 


ARTHUR (quiet): What is he holding in his hands?


JOHN: I don’t know. I can’t see. (Arthur moves forward, creaking the floor.) Arthur! What are you doing? Arthur! You said you wanted to kill Larson, Jesus Christ!  (The noise of a knife being withdrawn.) Arthur!


(Arthur stabs Uncle. Both Arthur and John groan in pain as violent music swells.)


ARTHUR: You took her from me!


(Uncle throws something wooden at Arthur, which splinters. John groans in pain.)


JOHN: Arthur! The knife is still in his shoulder-blade! (Arthur spits.) Arthur, what the fuck are you doing?


ARTHUR: Come on, you fucking monster!


JOHN: Arthur, duck! (Another smash of wood. Arthur groans in pain.) Arthur, he’s… he’s moving for the door. Get out of his way!


ARTHUR (darkly thrilled): No, you don’t! Come on.


JOHN: Arthur, get out of his way!


ARTHUR: Come on!


JOHN: What are you doing? He’s going to fucking kill you.


ARTHUR: So fucking what?


(Faroe’s Lullaby plays as background music, overcome by the shattering of wood. Arthur groans in pain again.) 


JOHN: He’s broken through the door!




(Uncle’s breathing fades.)


JOHN: Arthur, stop! You’re bleeding –


ARTHUR: I don’t care! 


JOHN: You don’t care? Let him go.


ARTHUR: No! (Metal rattles to the floor.)


JOHN: Arthur, for fuck’s sake! You have a large piece of splintered wood in your arm from the chair he threw. (Seriously.) You need to stop the bleeding or you will bleed out.


ARTHUR (strained): He can’t leave!


JOHN: We won’t let him leave.


ARTHUR (a pause, wincing): Promise it.


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: Promise we will not let him leave alive.


JOHN: Jesus Christ, Arthur! Just sit down!


ARTHUR: Promise it! Or I go after him right now. 


JOHN: Fuck, Arthur! Fine! I promise.


ARTHUR: You… you promise we will stop him?


JOHN: Yes! I fucking promise. Now stop and fix your arm before you get us both killed. (Arthur grunts, starting to move.) Near the shoulder, Arthur. (It squishes. John groans in pain.) You’re going to –


ARTHUR: I need to pull it out. 


JOHN: How are you going to staunch the bleeding?


ARTHUR: I don’t know! I don’t know.


JOHN (growling): For fuck’s sake, Arthur! You are running around, wielding a knife as if you’re trying to die! 


(A sad piano tune starts to play.)




JOHN (desperately): Is that what you want? 




JOHN: Is it!?


ARTHUR: No! Help me stop this bleeding, then!


JOHN: The bed, Arthur! On the far wall of this room. Tear some of the sheets. (Arthur hurries over and grabs the sheets.) There. (They rip. Arthur pants hard.) Quickly. 


ARTHUR: This will hurt.


JOHN: Okay.


ARTHUR: Three… two – (Tinnitus effects play as John makes noises of pain. After, he continues to pant heavily. Arthur is breathless.) There. (The wood falls to the floor.) I can… oh. 


JOHN: Fucking hell. There are splinters of wood in the wound. I can still see them.


ARTHUR (dizzy): Ooh – (He falls to the floor.)


JOHN: Arthur! (Disappointed.) Jesus Christ. 


ARTHUR (woozy): Oh. We’ll just wait. A minute, and…


JOHN: You can barely stand. Take a moment.


ARTHUR (grunting): I… we can’t let him.


JOHN: We won’t.


ARTHUR: You better not.


JOHN: What has happened to you?


ARTHUR: Don’t –


JOHN: You’re run ragged, Arthur.


ARTHUR: I’m not.


JOHN: I’m not talking about your decision to kill Larson, or your decision to fight Uncle, just now. I’m talking about being willing to die, just to chase him down.




JOHN (somber): You want to die, don’t you? Are you trying to touch bedrock?


ARTHUR: Bedrock?


JOHN: Yes. Rock bottom, Arthur. 


(Arthur starts to chuckle softly. He doesn’t stop.)


JOHN: What is…?


ARTHUR: I wish… I, I could remember. I…


JOHN: Remember?




ARTHUR (amidst rustling fabric): What it was called… it was a movie, uhm. It was ‘Blood…’


JOHN (what?): Blood?


ARTHUR: Blood and Salt? No, no, no. Blood and Sand. 


JOHN: What are you –


ARTHUR: You… have you ever had a, a blood and sand – no, of course you haven’t. We haven’t, I…


(Sad music starts to play.)


JOHN: What the fuck are you talking about?


ARTHUR: The night I met Parker… he bought us two drinks. Both Blood and Sand.


JOHN: Parker?


ARTHUR (quietly pleased): Yes. Yes. Why did that pop into my head? You – You said bedrock. That’s something that Parker would say. I hadn’t heard it before him. (In a deeper, less accented tone, as if mimicking Parker’s voice) ‘You look like you’ve hit bedrock, friend.’ (Returns to normal voice.) I wonder why that popped in…


JOHN: Arthur, I…


ARTHUR: He… you know, we met after all my, uh… after, uh… I didn’t give up. Not when Bella… not when…


JOHN: I know.


ARTHUR (thoughtful): But maybe I should’ve.


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: Maybe I should have. (In realization.) Jack’s Bar! That was it. God, it’s been a long time since I’ve been home.


JOHN: Jack’s Bar.


ARTHUR: I was at the worst of it. Couldn’t keep my head on straight. Most nights I was pouring myself into bed and pickling my liver at Jack’s. (Fond.) Parker was so nosy,  he… he just saw me. He wanted to… help, I - I think. You know. I guess I never realized that. (He chuckles in realization.)


JOHN: Realized what?


ARTHUR: I’m so stupid, I…


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: He wanted to help me. Just like he did all of his… clients, I guess - I guess he saw me as a… I guess he saw me as a charity case. He, he annoyingly would come by the bar, night after night, slowly getting me to spill my guts… used the guise of a music-related case to get closer, but…


JOHN: But?


ARTHUR: But he just wanted to help. 


JOHN: Maybe he saw something in you. Something different. A cold, calculated demeanor. 


ARTHUR: Maybe. (Arthur fidgets.) But he never pushed. Not about my past. Not about my… my –


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: He never pushed. He knew not to push. 


JOHN: He sounds like a good man.


ARTHUR: He was. And an even better friend. And you killed him.


(A low note.) 




ARTHUR: You took what had been the only thing in my life that had cared about me. Without reason or motive. You took it.


JOHN: Arthur. That was –


ARTHUR (quickly): Only a few months ago? 


JOHN: Yes. 


ARTHUR: Parker didn’t deserve to die. 


JOHN: I’m sorry.


(Suspenseful music rises. Arthur’s voice grows darker.) 


ARTHUR: Larson does. Uncle does. And you will make it happen. Or else…


JOHN: Or else?


ARTHUR (angrily): You will make it happen. (He rises to his feet, painfully.)


JOHN: Alright. 


ARTHUR: Now where is my –


JOHN: Your knife is on the floor.




JOHN: There. (The door opens.) The blood trail leads out into the hallway. It heads left, to the end of the hall and back down the main staircase. The light is growing… dawn approaches. 


ARTHUR: So do I. 


(Faroe’s Song starts to play.) 


JOHN: It heads back up to the other side and turns right at the top of the stairs.


ARTHUR: Is it the last door on the left?


JOHN: Yes, but the door is shut.


ARTHUR: I know another way in.


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: Through the window, at the end of the hall.


JOHN: Outside? Are you mad?


ARTHUR (defiantly): Yes. I am. 


(Arthur unlatches the window. The wind howls.)


JOHN: Arthur! How high up are we?


ARTHUR: High enough. (He shuts the window behind him.)


JOHN: Arthur! Jesus Christ, Arthur, this is near the edge of the mountain. Why are you –


ARTHUR: I don’t want him to see us coming.


JOHN: He’s not going to see us at all if you fall to your death! (Arthur starts to walk, grunting loudly in exertion. John makes a noise of fear.) Arthur! Watch the – fucking hell. (Scared.) Oh. You’re far above the ground. Jesus, I can see the tops of the trees. The ledge runs the length of the wall. You’re moving so quickly – slow down!


ARTHUR: This isn’t my first time.


JOHN: What? You’ve climbed this before – why?


ARTHUR: Because I had to!


(Arthur stumbles.)


JOHN: Arthur, slow down!


ARTHUR: We need to move quickly, before he leaves the room. (He continues, grunting in exertion.)


JOHN: Stop! The ledge, it doesn’t wrap around the corner.




JOHN: You’ll need to… make a fairly large step to catch the other side.


ARTHUR: I know. I can do this.


JOHN: I know, but… you’ll need to swing your right leg out and to the side, around the corner, and… jump. If you miss, I can grab the ledge and hold on, but. 


(Arthur starts to laugh again. Sad piano music starts to play.)


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: Nothing. I… I’ve come so far. 


JOHN: And?


ARTHUR (a sigh): And nothing.


(He prepares to jump… and falls. John groans in exertion as Arthur makes noises of fear.)


JOHN: Arthur! 


ARTHUR (breathing hard, pleading): Don’t let go! Don’t let go!


JOHN: Arthur! (Both exerting themselves, Arthur is pulled onto the ledge again.) Damn it. 


ARTHUR (shocked): You… you… you… you grabbed on!


JOHN: I told you I would!


ARTHUR (emotional): You… you saved me.


JOHN: What?




JOHN: I saved us. (Arthur groans and continues onward.) Not ready to die. Arthur, just… (He groans in frustration.)


ARTHUR: The window should be next to us.


JOHN: If it’s latched, you’ll need to find a way… (Arthur rummages through his bag.) What is that?


ARTHUR: A straight-razor. 


JOHN: Okay. I see him inside, he’s… he’s facing the door. (Arthur jimmies the window open with the straight-razor.) Away from us. Waiting. 


ARTHUR: It ends here. 


(Arthur enters. The floor creaks. As Arthur approaches, breathing shakily, Uncle’s breathing becomes audible. Arthur unsheathes the dagger and plunges it into Uncle’s neck – a mixture of Uncle roaring and Arthur breathing hard as they fight.) 


JOHN (groaning in pain): Arthur! He’s on his back! (Arthur stabs him, over and over, before letting the dagger fall to the floor.) His neck is thick, Arthur, he’s not going to –


ARTHUR (groaning like an animal): Fuck! Your! Eyes! (Arthur gives one final grunt.) 


JOHN: Arthur! (He starts to make noises of terror.) Oh! Oh!


ARTHUR: You killed her! (Amidst John’s noises of distress. Arthur starts to growl.) She did nothing and you murdered her!


JOHN (pleading): Arthur! (Something in Uncle squishes wetly. Arthur hyperventilates and begins to sob.) Arthur! 


ARTHUR (weeping openly): You - you killed her, you - you fucking -


JOHN: Arthur, he’s dead!


ARTHUR: She – she was innocent! (He speaks in accordance with his breathing: sometimes barking out the words, sometimes barely finding breath. His voice is high-pitched, almost hysterical.) And young, and she – she trusted you! And you, you, you, you… she… she – she didn’t deserve it, she didn’t, she didn’t know! She… she needed you! And she – she trusted you, and you… and you… she couldn’t fend for herself! She… the wolves are supposed to be out there, Larson. They’re not, they’re not here… she – she trusted you. She loved you, and you… (Sobbing hard, barely audible.) you f-failed her… you failed, you failed her. 


JOHN (gently): Arthur… (Gentle piano music plays.)


ARTHUR (trying, and failing, to put himself together): Don’t! Don’t, don’t.


JOHN: You’re not Larson, Arthur. 


ARTHUR (crying, voice a whisper): She… she was so young. She trusted me. My baby…


JOHN: You want to die. You feel like that will even the scales.


ARTHUR: I deserve… I deserve to die.


JOHN: No, you don’t. Faroe wouldn’t want that. 


ARTHUR: You don’t know that. 


JOHN: I do. 


ARTHUR: Larson killed his daughter. He… he sacrificed her. For power. Addison. 


JOHN: I’m sorry.


ARTHUR: Don’t say sorry to me. Don’t –


JOHN: I’m sorry.


ARTHUR (growing frustrated): Don’t, stop –


JOHN (emphatically): Arthur. I am sorry.


ARTHUR (stronger voice): Don’t pity me. I am not… I am the one at fault, John. She did nothing wrong. She didn’t – she didn’t know. I was… I am…


JOHN: Human. You are human. (A gentle, happy piano melody starts to play.) Along with all the failures and terrible mistakes that come with being human. 




JOHN: You made a mistake, Arthur. You’ve paid your dues. You have suffered long enough. This guilt… you’ve re-ignited, this anger for Larson. It hasn’t helped you. It hasn’t brought her back.


ARTHUR: Don’t you –


JOHN: Your hands, Arthur. You’ve broken pieces of his eyes under your thumbnails. 


ARTHUR (shaky): I…


JOHN: Imagine what she would think. Faroe wouldn’t want her father to be this. To lose himself, in this way.


ARTHUR (sniffling): I’m lost… I’ve lost… I’ve sunk too far.


JOHN: No. I know you, my friend. You are in there. You saved me before. I will not let you drown. (Arthur starts to sob again. John soothes.) Don’t be scared.


ARTHUR (through shaking sobs): They’ve won, John. He won. Faust. I - I wanted to kill him, I - I wanted to fill his blood within my hands, I - I  wanted to feel the crunch of his bones beneath my palms, I… (In despair. Amidst a heartbeat sound effect) They won… John?


JOHN (quietly defiant): How could they have won? We’re nowhere near finished.


ARTHUR: You… this…


JOHN (slowly, amidst Arthur’s shaky breathing):

Whose woods these are… I think I know. His house is in the village, though. He will not see me stopping here… (Arthur breathes shakily, soon falling quiet.)  To watch his woods fill up with snow. My horse must think it queer, to stop without a farmhouse near… (Fabric rustles.) Between the woods and frozen lake, the darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bell a shake, to ask if there is some mistake. And only other sounds to sweep, of easy wind, and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep… (Arthur sobs again.) But I have promises to keep. 


And miles to go before I sleep. 


(Quieter.) And miles to go before I sleep.


ARTHUR: I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry. For everything.


JOHN: I’m sorry, too. 


ARTHUR: Why? For what? You-


JOHN: For leaving you for so long. (Arthur sighs in determination.) Now. Let’s leave this place. 


ARTHUR: No. No. (He moves.)




ARTHUR: No. We need to help those people. Down in the mines.


JOHN: You – you want to go back down there?




JOHN: Arthur, I- (sigh) I appreciate the desire, but you are right. That creature is… horrific. I don’t know what chance we stand. 


ARTHUR:  Look, look. I’m not ready to give up on fixing my mistakes. I don’t want to give up on this. I’m not ready to. It may be risky, heading back down there… but it’s better than their chances if we do nothing. 


JOHN (in acknowledgement): Huh.




JOHN: Dawn. (A gentle, upbeat piano tune begins to play.)




JOHN: The sun is rising. Amber slices of morning light are cutting their way through the window and into the room.


ARTHUR: Tomorrow came.


JOHN: It’s a new beginning, Arthur. A clean slate.


ARTHUR: No, no. Not a clean slate. 


JOHN: No? I thought that’s what you wanted.


ARTHUR: That was easier than to remember what I’ve learned, what I’ve preached, not only to you but myself that… that we can’t escape these things we’ve done.


JOHN: Okay. 


ARTHUR: But it still is another. And I’d rather… greet a new day like an old friend. With fondness… and appreciation.


JOHN: Okay, Arthur.


ARTHUR (serenely): My friend. Let’s leave this place. (Arthur grunts, getting up.)


JOHN (not terribly alarmed): Jesus.


ARTHUR: Uncle?


JOHN: Yes.


ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah. (A little aghast.) I… lost –


JOHN: You’ve beaten yourself up enough over this, Arthur. It’s fine.


ARTHUR: You’re right.


JOHN: Oh! There’s a corpse in the bed.


ARTHUR: Yes, yes. This is the guest room, I suppose.


JOHN: You’ve been here?


ARTHUR (grunting as he moves): Yeah, with… we… yes. He died, in this bed. I don’t know, I - I thought it was Wallace Larson at first, back when I didn’t realize his age, but. I don’t know who this is.


JOHN: Seems like there are many stories not told here. Including the halls under the estate.


ARTHUR: Yes. Actually, this body wore a medallion, even. 


JOHN: Did it?


ARTHUR: Yes! I’m wondering if it’s matched anything. (He starts to rummage through his bag.) Obviously, Yellow didn’t recognize it, but. Here, here. This feels like it.


JOHN: Oh! 




JOHN (in awe): I do recognize this. 


ARTHUR: Ah! Is it part of the three soldiers, something we’ve seen in the hallways beneath the –




ARTHUR: Well. Where, then?


JOHN: Jesus, Arthur… back in Arkham. We pulled off the side of the road, to help a car?


ARTHUR: Right?


JOHN: There was a woman, in the woods. She gave us an infant. A baby. 


ARTHUR: Yes. Yes, I remember her. What about her, I…


JOHN: That child… she had a symbol drawn on her. It was rubbed off, but. I think it was this symbol.


(A quick-paced piano melody plays, mysterious.)


ARTHUR: How? What does that –


JOHN: I don’t know.


ARTHUR: They’re connected?


JOHN: I don’t think so.


ARTHUR: Well, I don’t –


JOHN: People worship in many different ways.


ARTHUR: Worship?


JOHN: Whatever sect this symbol belongs to at least has two followers. And we know that they’re willing to hurt people.


ARTHUR: You think… the Order of the Fallen Star?


JOHN: Likely. Unless you’ve seen anything to the contrary.


ARTHUR (a sigh): Wouldn’t know even if I have. 


JOHN: Fair.


ARTHUR: Okay. Well, I need my shoes back. (He gathers his things.)


JOHN: Yes, I think so. 


ARTHUR (chuckling): But we have a moment. Is there anything else we’ll need? Obviously the flute, but. 


JOHN: The flute?


ARTHUR: Yes. I’m convinced I heard it before the creature attacked me the first time. I think it… I don’t know. Controls it, in some way. 


JOHN: We could scour this house from top to bottom. I’m sure there are plenty of things worth finding.


ARTHUR: Yes, but I suppose it’s not the best use of our time. 


JOHN: We will eventually need to leave.


ARTHUR: A vehicle, yes. First things first… let’s see if there’s a way to get home. If Larson left a car.


JOHN: Well, let’s see. The door’s to your left.


ARTHUR: Right. (Arthur opens the door. The steady tick of the pendulum clock.)


JOHN: The morning light is welcoming. The hallways are a deep red, the walls a dark wood, and yet… it seems less intimidating in the sunlight. 


ARTHUR: As most things do. Stairs?


JOHN: To your right.


ARTHUR: Right. (He continues to walk.)


JOHN: Straight from the bottom of these stairs are the double front doors. Here.


(Arthur unlocks and opens the large wooden doors. Outside, the wind blows.) 


ARTHUR (chilly): Ooh! Still brisk out.


JOHN (excited): There’s a black car in the driveway to the left of the front door, Arthur! We can leave this place.


(A hopeful piano theme plays.)


ARTHUR (also excited): Yes! Yes. Head back to Arkham, find –


JOHN: Or New York!


ARTHUR: New York?


JOHN: Yes, remember? That’s where Matthew said the Order of the Fallen Star was.


ARTHUR: Right. Sure. I guess he did say he spent some time at the lodge in New York, but - but why would –


JOHN: Well, either way, it doesn’t matter. Not right now. 


(The door creaks shut, Arthur retreating inside. He starts to laugh to himself, quiet.)


JOHN: What? (Deeper.) What’s so funny?


ARTHUR: I, I… I haven’t felt this in so long. 


JOHN: What?


ARTHUR: Hope, John. (He starts to walk.) Feels as though a weight has been lifted. Ever since we left the prison pits, I - I haven’t felt this… I feel… (He chuckles.) I feel… 


JOHN: You feel…?


(Arthur’s stomach growls loudly.)


ARTHUR: Starving! 


JOHN: Starving?


ARTHUR: Oh my god, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry before! 


JOHN: Well, the kitchen is on our way.


ARTHUR: Yes! God, yes. (He starts to walk, still laughing to himself.)


JOHN: There’s a door to your left. (The door squeaks open.)




JOHN: This is the kitchen. An island sits in the center. Well… (At a loss.) What do you want?


ARTHUR: What do we have?


JOHN: I don’t know.


ARTHUR: Maybe… cheese? Or, oh, meat? I haven’t had meat in…


JOHN: How about… bread?


ARTHUR (delighted): Bread! Oh, god. Oh, honey, nuts, wine, roasted pork, figs. Jam.


(John starts to laugh in delight.)


JOHN: Arthur, you can’t eat everything.


ARTHUR: I can bloody well try.


(They laugh together.)


JOHN: Your hands, first. 


ARTHUR: Right, right. Yeah. 


(The sink starts to run as Arthur washes his hands.)


JOHN: Well, the icebox is in the corner. And if you think you…


ARTHUR: No! No, no. No, no. I want… an apple. 


JOHN (surprised): An apple?


ARTHUR: Yes, yes. I want a fucking apple. 


JOHN: There’s a bowl of them in the center of the island. (Arthur walks over.) There. (Arthur lets out a sigh of relief and bites in, chewing the apple.)  I – hm. Enjoy, Arthur. (A long pause of silence. The only sounds are a gentle piano melody, and the sounds of Arthur chewing.) Better?


ARTHUR (mouth full): Incomparably.


JOHN: Well. Nuts, wine, cheese.


ARTHUR: Yes, yes, yes! (He laughs again.) But not yet. 


JOHN (disappointed): No? Arthur…


ARTHUR: My shoes are… oh!  (He finds them and puts them on, grunting in exertion.)


JOHN: Why not more, Arthur? Why not take a break? Eat something proper.


ARTHUR: There are people down there that need us. And I feel like… I feel like I’ve been snapped out of whatever daze I was in, like I’ve broken whatever hold was on me, I… I can’t lose this momentum. There will be time to dine. I promise. Properly, even. 


JOHN: Properly?


ARTHUR (laughing): When we’re back in Arkham. I’ll take us out. 


JOHN (confused): Out? 


ARTHUR (eagerly): Dinner. Steak, a pint, a potato. Maybe even at Jack’s, er.  Maybe not.


JOHN: That sounds nice.


ARTHUR: It sure does. But we haven’t earned it yet. Those people need us.


JOHN (agreeable): Okay. 


ARTHUR: (Grunting to a stand.) Alright. Let’s head back into the pantry, and then… back down below, I suppose. (He walks, shutting the door behind him.) Well. I suppose this is…


JOHN (interrupting): Wait.




JOHN: We know this way leads out, and back into the halls below.




JOHN: If we’re planning on fighting this thing, properly trying to end it… we should think of an alternate route.


ARTHUR: I hear you, I hear you. Hm. (He starts to walk.) This pantry. You said it led outside?


JOHN: There’s a window. And a walkway into a mudroom.


ARTHUR: Mudroom. (Thoughtfully.) Mudroom… uh. Here? (The door opens quietly and Arthur heads in.)


JOHN: Yes. 


ARTHUR: Is there anything… any rope in here?


JOHN: Shovels, a rake, a jacket, bags –


ARTHUR: A jacket! What color?


JOHN: A black rain slicker.


ARTHUR: Where? I want to take that.


JOHN: There. (Arthur does so.) Oh, there’s rope as well.


ARTHUR: Oh! Here?


JOHN: There. 


ARTHUR: Yes, this is perfect, yes. (He fidgets with the rope between his hands.) Alright, where was the dining room…?


JOHN: I’d imagine past the kitchen. (Arthur walks through the door again.) What are you thinking?


ARTHUR: Look, I want another way down. So we have another option to get out… we’re ready, this time. Prepared. I want to make sure we… we go about it in a smart way.


JOHN: The far side. Yes. There. (Arthur opens a squeaky door.) We’re in a large room with a piano. Wait, this is the –


ARTHUR: Yes. Where we… reconnected. 


JOHN: This is where the hatch let down. Where Uncle threw you.


ARTHUR: We need to tie this onto something, so…


JOHN: There’s a large column to the right of the door. It supports the floor above. It’s not going to move anywhere.


ARTHUR: That’ll be perfect. (Arthur starts to tie the rope, grunting softly in exertion.) 


JOHN (at a certain emotional distance): So. A dinner out, huh?


(A gently upbeat piano tune plays.)


ARTHUR: With drinks, music, dancing. 


JOHN: Dancing? I can’t imagine you dancing. 


ARTHUR (laughing): Me neither. I’ve never been one for it. I can’t think of a better time in my life to start dancing more.


JOHN: Agreed. It’s tied. The hatch to the mines was in a small closet in the corner. There. (Arthur walks over.) Yeah, right here. 


ARTHUR: Okay. 


(He opens the hatch with a loud grunt of pain. Wind howls down below.)


JOHN: It’s dark down here. It’s a long climb.


ARTHUR: It is. 


JOHN: We may not make it out of there a second time, Arthur. 


ARTHUR: You’re right. 


JOHN: Well. (Confidently.) I for one would love to try one of those Blood and Sand drinks that Parker liked. 


(A warm piano tune plays.)


ARTHUR: Well, my friend. Sounds like you and I have plans. Let’s make sure we keep them. 


JOHN: It’s a deal.


(Arthur grunts and starts to climb down the rope, making grunts of exertion. The sound fades into nothing as Arthur descends into the pit below.)

(END Episode 26.)