Part 60 "The Final Act"

PART SIXTY: THE FINAL ACT

Transcript made and edited by jack

CWs: sounds of gore/blood, character death, corpse mutilation, body horror, discussion of brainwashing, bone breaking, threats of murder, assault, knife violence, discussion of child/parental death

(BEGIN Part 60.)

 

(Polite applause. A band starts up.) 

 

ANNOUNCER (over a microphone): Ladies and gentlemen, next up to the mic is a newcomer here at the Waylay… please put your hands together for… Kanye!

 

(Kayne cackles, half-suppressing it.)

 

KAYNE: It’s Kayne, actually! And wow. You, you have… such… a setup here. So, I thought maybe… I could join. Hit it, boys! (A smoother melody starts. More applause.) I know I’m new here, but I want to dedicate this one to… to all of you! 

 

(Applause. Kayne starts to sing, occasionally suppressing laughter.)

 

‘If you can find it in your heart…
To just forgive
I’ll come back and live the way…
You wanted me to live.
All I want is just to be your… girl

Please come get me…
And take me to your world.’

(A whoosh. Growing calls of ‘get off the stage!’, boos, and jeers.) 

‘Take me to your world
Away from bars filled with smoke…’

 

(Kayne starts to laugh.)

 

Hey, hey! Come now! I’m just up here, trying to entertain! Alright, stop, stop the music. (The band stops.) Well, now! This… this is disappointing. I think… that I’d like to speak with the Manager. Anybody know where he is? No? Well! Let’s see if we can get a few of you… 

 

(A shimmering noise. The audience reacts in fright.)

 

PATRON: The hell’s with his face?

 

KAYNE: To open up. Shall we?

 

(The audience begins to panic. Sounds of a commotion. Kayne cackles. All goes quiet. Arthur and John wake with a gasp.)

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

(The band starts up, jazzy.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh, god. The cold…

 

JOHN: We’re… We’re alive. 

 

ARTHUR: In a way, we’re…

 

JOHN: In the Waylay, y-yes.

 

ARTHUR: The table, we’re… I hear… is there… is that music? 

 

JOHN: A small… band onstage, but… god. Oh, god, Arthur, it… get up. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN (urgently): Get up. (Arthur grunts in exertion.) The tables, most are… they’re all turned over, and… oh, god.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Arthur, they’re all… dead. Arthur, all except a band onstage.

 

ARTHUR: Are they, uh… all…

 

JOHN: Not – not you. The band was the one that backed Vic Tenetta, who is also… oh, Jesus. 

 

ARTHUR: Kayne kept them alive. Is there anyone –

 

JOHN: No. I can’t… I can’t discern pieces from… they’re just piles of dripping viscera, Arthur, oh god. (Sounds of blood.) Some are… some are stuck in the ceiling.

 

ARTHUR: Jesus.

 

JOHN: He’s been here for… only a short while, and yet… 

 

ARTHUR: The carnage.

 

JOHN: Indescribable. Worse than Carcosa. (Footsteps.) Where are you –

 

ARTHUR: We need to stall him, until…

 

JOHN: R-Right, but.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Say nothing.

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: So how to find him?

 

JOHN: Follow the carnage, I suppose. (Arthur makes a noise of disgust. Shifting. Sounds of blood.) Careful! There’s a… body to your… there. Yes. (Footsteps.) Tell me you have an idea.

 

ARTHUR: I have many ideas. About many things. 

 

JOHN: Unh. Oh! The kitchen. The door is open, and uh… the blood seems to lead back there. 

 

ARTHUR: Wonderful. (He grunts in exertion. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The kitchen is a scene of… violence. It looks like he used the butcher’s block to, uh… butcher. 

 

ARTHUR: Of course. 

 

(Sounds of persistent bubbling.)

 

JOHN: We’re flanked on our left with an array of stoves and ovens. Pots burble away, some filled with food… a myriad of half-finished dishes and lit burners, but… no… no one’s alive. Dozens of knives have been thrown at the galley opening, embedded into the wooden frame of the window. Some are… red with blood, having caught a cook… or… having been used to slice flesh before being thrown.

 

ARTHUR: The blood, the trail…?

 

JOHN: Yes. Out the back, into a hallway of sorts. An employee area, I think. This hallway is empty. The red drag marks of blood lead off to the right. 

 

ARTHUR: This is just… recreation for him. More killing for more killing’s sake.

 

JOHN: This world is going to be either erased from existence or re-forged in his image. Nothing here holds any value for him anymore. 

 

ARTHUR: I’ll attempt to make the case, nonetheless.

 

JOHN: You’re going to try to convince him? We’ve tried that before, Arthur, we’ve told him –

 

ARTHUR: We’ve told him about the dangers of his desire. I want to focus on the benefits of this existence, maybe.

 

JOHN: Benefits? (Metal jangling.) A can, it rolled out ahead of us. There’s another hallway up ahead. Presumably for patrons of the Waylay, it… runs perpendicular to this one. 

 

ARTHUR (calling out): Kayne? 

 

JOHN: He’s either not here right now or toying with us. 

 

ARTHUR: My bet is on the latter. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: This hallway branches off to the right and the left again. It looks like the hallway ends in a gallery to the left, and to the right, it should lead us back to the lounge… though there is a large room between us and the lounge that seems to be the bloodstained destination.

 

ARTHUR: The gallery?

 

JOHN: Bloody footprints head in that direction, but no drag marks.

 

ARTHUR: The gallery is a dead end.

 

JOHN: It looks like it.

 

ARTHUR: Well, let’s rule it out, at least.

 

JOHN: Alright. 

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): It’s quiet.

 

JOHN: Eerily. I’ve never known Kayne to be so quiet.

 

ARTHUR: His… smile. The way the Blackstone has affected him…

 

JOHN: It seems no one is immune. Not human… nor god.

 

ARTHUR: Why?

 

JOHN: I have no idea. If I had to guess… I suppose… well, Azathoth is a god to all things. The only one of his kind in a universe of many. 

 

ARTHUR: Universe of many?

 

JOHN: Variants. Different versions of you, Kayne, myself. 

 

ARTHUR: Do you think that’s why Kayne wants to kill the Manager?

 

JOHN: I suppose… that must be part of it, yes. Obviously, he believes his plan can only work if he’s the last remaining Nyarlathotep.

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

JOHN: So him being the last of his kind must, in some way, make him capable of donning the mantle of Azathoth’s role in creation. The uniqueness of him, the unrivaled nature of being the last.

 

ARTHUR: Kayne said something about Shub-Niggurath. The…

 

JOHN: Yes, how she was removed from existence by essentially consuming herself.

 

ARTHUR: In a way, I suppose, Kayne’s plan… is the opposite. 

 

JOHN: I suppose. The gallery is just ahead. There are no doors, just an open archway to its interior.

 

ARTHUR: Alright. 

 

JOHN: So… what if he should fail to find the Manager? 

 

KAYNE (suddenly): That is a question you don’t want to know the answer to! (Arthur jolts in fright. Kayne cackles.) 

 

JOHN: Kayne. He sits before a large painting, leaning back on his arms as if… bathing in the sun.

 

KAYNE: Ooh! Well said! So evocative! So much color in your descriptions, bumblebee.

 

ARTHUR: Kayne, listen to me.

 

KAYNE: Ah, tt-tt-tt-tt! Hold on now. I heard your little plan to convince me, and… sure, sure, sure. Look, I am not an unreasonable man. You can make a little argument, in a second, but first! Look at this. Will you? Look at this… piece! 

 

JOHN: He gestures to a large canvas before him. It’s an abstract piece of art. Shoots of yellow and red cover the canvas with brushstrokes that seem… 

 

KAYNE: Unconventional? Unconcerned? Uncouth? 

 

JOHN: Unstable.

 

KAYNE: Oh, is it? Really? You know, I thought the artist showed some real potential here! Clearly, they’re expressing a great deal of anger, resentment, frustration… and such passion! Such potential. Why, the creator of this work could create such wonderful things, when not restricted to a canvas. Don’t you think? Artie?

 

ARTHUR: I’ve never had an eye for art.

 

KAYNE: And yet, art is in your name! (He cackles, suppressing it.)

 

ARTHUR: Funny.

 

KAYNE: Come now, sponge. Surely you can see the kind of potential this artist has!

 

JOHN: It is the unfettered scribblings… of a mad god. 

 

KAYNE: God! Art is really in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it? Or maybe I’m just seeing things the way I want to see them. (Fake earnestly.) I do want to be able to take criticism, you know. For so much of my existence, this… oh, this reality, it’s felt a lot like a canvas. A great big… beautiful glorious canvas! One with near… infinite potential. 

 

With such… possibility, a-and yet! I’ve been restricted to painting in nothing but yellows and… imagine how frustrating that is. To be a being of such… immense power… having to exist in such a finite space. A landscape laid out before me. And yet, being so limited in tools. 

 

ARTHUR: Is that so?

 

KAYNE: Yes, it is! Hell, I could only get so many colors from Daddy Daniel, over there.

 

JOHN (in horror): Oh… Jesus, it’s… it’s Daniel. His body… (Arthur gasps.) It’s been pulled apart and… torn… his stomach… is open… and in pieces. Jesus. H-He’s been plucked… apart, Arthur, and…

 

KAYNE (duh): Well, of course. No other hue could match the perfect off-white of the inside of an eye! Or the putrid green that comes from squeezing a gallbladder! (He giggles.)

 

ARTHUR: God… damn you.

 

KAYNE: Oh, come now, Artie. This isn’t your Daniel. This is another poor bastard who… happened to know you.

 

JOHN: Daniel.

 

KAYNE: But I hear what you’re saying! I can read between the lines. You’re saying, a poor craftsman blames his tools. And I shouldn’t blame poor Daniel over there for the ichor that’s a little too green for my liking. After all, it is art. Art is about expressing oneself.

 

ARTHUR: This is not expression!

 

KAYNE: Oh, but it is! And what’s more… that’s what this new reality will become. You know, I made my pitch previous by painting you a word picture, but… I don’t think you truly understand.

 

ARTHUR: I do –

 

KAYNE (urgently): See, see, you say that! But what are words? Just a poor excuse for the real thing.

 

ARTHUR: The real thing?

 

KAYNE: Look. Each of us wants our turn at convincing the other that our way is the right way. So. I’ll show you mine… and then you can show me yours. 

 

JOHN: No deal.

 

KAYNE (simpering): Oh… please? 

 

ARTHUR: Why do you care what I think?

 

KAYNE: I don’t know! You know, I feel this… pull towards you, Arthur! Some call it… connection. Some call it… fate, hell! Some call it madness. But I… Arthur, I want you to get it. To understand, to feel what I feel! For just one moment. Please?

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR: You’re asking me.

 

KAYNE: I mean, look! (He chuckles.) We both know, at this point, I will do what I want. So maybe the better question is… you want to feel it alone? Or… do you want to bring Johnny boy as well? Your choice!

 

(Arthur sighs.)

 

JOHN: We are in this together.

 

ARTHUR: Damn straight.

 

KAYNE: Well, alright then. Let’s go. (An otherworldly zap. Shimmering noises. Echoing.) Do you feel that? This… is my grand… design. (A sad melody begins.) And that feeling… that… is meaning. That sense of belonging, as if a part of an organ fulfilling the needs of an endless wall of flesh. Pulsing… and beating as blood flows through you against the infinite tapestry of stars. (Sounds of bubbling.) In my new reality. But. It isn’t the coffee or the corn or… or the wink from a pretty girl that gives you meaning here. No! You are part of something. An intricate… piece. How many mouths are unfed in this world? How many terrible families leave their children orphans? That petty… drudgery, that day-to-day nonsense, it’s gone here. All you have… in my dream… is unending… uninterrupted… purpose.  Now tell me. Doesn’t that feel… amazing?

 

ARTHUR (weakly): I… It does. It does. 

 

KAYNE: John?

 

JOHN (slowly): I feel… like I belong. 

 

KAYNE: Because you do! None of this can exist separate. Without each vital part! Without you. I can give you purpose. I can give you new existence. All you have to do… is let go of this one. I… I can give you meaning. 

 

ARTHUR: Meaning?

 

KAYNE: It’s a sacrifice! I admit it. 

 

ARTHUR: Sacrifice. What do you know about… sacrifice? I… 

 

KAYNE: What do I know? Look at me! (An otherworldly zap. John and Arthur react in shock.)

 

JOHN: We’re… We’re back in the lounge again, o-of the Waylay. (Footsteps.)

 

KAYNE: Look at this smile. Do you see this? This… is the grin… of Azathoth. Stuck upon my face like a brand! On his own flesh and blood! Can you imagine? (Frenzied.) You want to talk about bad dads, o-oh! Azathoth! He takes the cake. 

 

JOHN: The band is still here. Frozen, too afraid to move.

 

ARTHUR: You… blame him?

 

KAYNE (passionate): Azathoth is everything, my dear! And therefore, he holds the only possible blame. He is every terrible cancer, every scorched planet! Every broken dream, every sinister thought, everything everything everything!

 

ARTHUR: Then… then he is everything good, too! (He exhales. A sad melody begins.) He’s the reason for every… child’s laughter… every warm greeting on a cold day, every… every moment of peace within those terrible moments that you… you… happily cling to, you…

 

KAYNE: God, you’re so… (A noise of frustration.)

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

KAYNE: He doesn’t make those moments! Those happen because he is indifferent. To all of you. To all of us. He’s not the reason for them. But he does hold the blame. 

 

ARTHUR (fed up): What’s the fucking difference!? If he’s indifferent to the good, then he’s… indifferent to the evils, as well! Not the cause of them.

 

KAYNE: Are you not angry at his indifference!? Are you not frustrated by an indifferent god? 

 

ARTHUR (scoffing): An indifferent god, well, that’s just… that’s… that’s not a god. 

 

KAYNE: Come again?

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR: That’s like… That’s like calling me the father of a forgotten apple seed that grew into a tree. Azathoth… dreamt us. This, a-all of this…. by… accident. He isn’t the Christian God, or any god that claims to have designed our creations. This existence, this reality… it isn’t even an afterthought, it’s an accident. An unintentional side effect of… of an alien entity… with immeasurable power. Maybe the word ‘god’ is definitionally correct, but… it wins only by technicality, and it is one I choose not to accept. Gods… care. They’re angry, jealous, egotistical, and selfish. And… yes, benevolent, but… they are not… whatever Azathoth is. 

 

However, y-you… ironically, are. You are perhaps the greatest example of a god that cares. And I wondered why. But I think I see it now. You spent a long, long time amongst humans. You’ve seen the hole left by your father. You’ve seen the need in people, to seek a higher power. To… scour the skies for answers, and you… you somehow decided it was your job. I don’t want a god to save me. I don’t need that. I don’t need a god to pray to, to worship, to lean on. Whether it be Azathoth or you or anything in between. I want to find my own meaning in life. And what’s more… I think most people feel the same. 

 

So you may have convinced yourself that this world, or whatever world you plan to create, needs a god. But I am here… as the only human standing between you and that reality, saying ‘we don’t’. We don’t need… a goal. We don’t need to be given a purpose, we don’t need carrots or sticks. Life… can not be controlled in that way. It is exactly what you can’t comprehend. And everything John learned… to understand. That’s not what life is. Life exists… between the cracks of what you call ‘A Grand Design’. Or what I call ‘the deranged ramblings of a malevolent god’.

 

(Footsteps.)

 

KAYNE: Fair enough! (A sigh.) Well. It looks like we’re at an impasse. See, I don’t want to get close to you that read that little brain again, because w-well! (He chuckles.) I don’t know what tricks you have up your sleeve. Yet! I’m counting on the fact that my lovely daughter told you where this Manager ran off to, after I left you two on the ice. Did you want to just… tell me, maybe? 

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): I don’t know. That’s the truth. You can try to read my mind again, you can do whatever you want, but I swear to you. I have no idea. 

 

KAYNE: Well. That truly is… a disappointment. 

 

JOHN: Is it? 

 

KAYNE: I told you. You didn’t want to know the answer to the question, Artie. 

 

ARTHUR: Which question?

 

KAYNE: What would I do… if I couldn’t find the Manager? 

 

JOHN: And?

 

KAYNE: See… you are closer than you think, little ducky. Not being the last Nyarlathotep means… I’m not immune to his effects. Which means… my wager… it has no way of paying off. 

 

ARTHUR: Wait. Wait, what are you saying, y-you’re saying – ?

 

JOHN: That if you can’t kill the Manager, then…?

 

KAYNE: My plan… is… kaput. I cannot sit upon that throne. (Suddenly passionate.) My dream reality, my vision… of a new and beautiful future… is no more.

 

JOHN: I…

 

KAYNE: Well… okay.

 

ARTHUR (suspicious): Okay? Is that… Is that it? 

 

KAYNE (brightly): Yeah! Yeah, we’re done. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: What are you… we’re done? 

 

KAYNE: Yeah. Go, go home. I give up.

 

JOHN: Well, I…

 

KAYNE (dramatically): Go… I want to be alone.

 

ARTHUR: I… uh. I… okay? Okay.  

 

KAYNE: Oh! Wait a minute. (Arthur and John exhale.) Oh. You know what? Heck. Even if I lost my wager… let’s do it anyway. 

 

ARTHUR: Do it anyway?

 

KAYNE: Yeah.

 

JOHN: You’re going to kill Azathoth?

 

KAYNE (eagerly) : Let’s wipe the whole slate clean!

 

ARTHUR: No. You…

 

KAYNE: Ever heard of the atom bomb?

 

ARTHUR: The what?

 

JOHN: Kayne, this is madness!

 

KAYNE: Look. Let’s just say. That bomb will wipe out everything and everyone. But you know what? (Facetiously.) At least we’ll all go together when we go. Right? (Sounds of shifting at a distance.) Boys! That was your cue. 

 

(The band starts to the tune of ‘We Will All Go Together When We Go’ – rhythmic and grandiose.)

 

JOHN: Kayne, this is insanity –

 

KAYNE (warming up): Mi mi mi mi.

 

ARTHUR: Kayne!

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘When you attend a funeral

It is sad to think that sooner or

Later those you love will do the same for you… oh.’

 

JOHN: Arthur, he’s –

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘And you may have thought it tragic

Not to mention other adjec-tives,
to think of all the weeping they will do

But don't you worry

No more ashes, no more sackcloth

And an armband made of black cloth

Will some day never more adorn a sleeve

 

For if the bomb that drops on you

Gets your friends and neighbors too –’

 

ARTHUR: Fuck!

 

KAYNE (more frenzied): ‘There'll be no one left behind us to grieve

For we will all go together when we go!’

 

JOHN: He’s dancing on the table! 

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘What a comforting fact it is to know

Universal bereavement

An aspiring achievement

Yes, we all will go together when we go!’

 

ARTHUR: Augh!

 

JOHN: Kayne!

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘And we all will bake together when we bake

There'll be nobody that’s present at the wake –’ (John grunts.)

‘With complete participation

In a grand incineration

Nearly three billion hunks of well-done steak!’

 

ARTHUR: I don’t expect you to see reason, but –

 

KAYNE (singing, French accent): ‘Oh, we’ll all fry together when we fry

We will be French-fried potatoes by and by –’

 

JOHN: T-To your right! Move!

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘There will be no more misery
When the world is my rotisserie

Yes, we all will fry together when we fry!’

 

ARTHUR (desperate): Kayne, there is no reason to do this! Think of all the madness you can bring to this world, to this reality, you –

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘Oh, we all will char together when we char

There’ll be no more moaning at the bar

Just sing out a ‘Te Deum’

When you see that I.C.B.M. –’

 

JOHN: Kayne!

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘And the party will be – hah! – come-as-you-are

Oh, we all will burn together when we burn!’

 

JOHN: To what end, Kayne!? (He grunts in frustration.)

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘There’ll be no need to stand and wait your turn
When it’s time for the fallout
And St Peter calls us all out
Well, we’ll just drop our agendas
And adjourn!’

 

ARTHUR: Kayne!

 

KAYNE (singing): ‘And we all will go together when we go!
Every tiny tot and every one you know
When the air becomes uranious
And we all go simultaneous!
Yes, we all will go together
When we all will go together–’

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

KAYNE (singing, low register): ‘Yes, we all will go together when we go!’ (The band stops. Kayne cackles. Arthur reacts in fear. An otherworldly woosh, and Arthur reacts in pain.) Oh, well now!

 

JOHN: Arthur. Do you feel…

 

KAYNE: Do you feel that?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Is that…?

 

KAYNE (excited): The Obelisk! Oh. Seems like the Manager sensed my plan. Time to put this all to an end! Say goodbye to the Waylay, boys! No one is coming back here again. (He cackles. Sounds of destruction.)

 

JOHN: Arthur! The Waylay is… it’s falling apart. Kayne is closing it in on itself. The space is… moving inwardly. The walls are growing closer. The ceiling is shrinking. We’re going to be crushed.

 

KAYNE (fake-singing): We’ll all go together when we go! (He cackles. An otherworldly zap. Sounds of gentle waves and gulls calling.)

 

JOHN: We’re… 

 

KAYNE: Ah. Peaceful. Isn’t it? 

 

JOHN: We’re… We’re on a beach, somewhere. (Arthur gasps.) Where the hell are…?

 

KAYNE: Shame about the Waylay. No safety net anymore. Won’t matter, either way. (He inhales.) I’ve got a talk with Dad. You two… you just… you two just stay here. Okay? I want you… I want you two to watch it all from here. At peace. You deserve that much, Artie. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, this is… peaceful. I…

 

ARTHUR: A beach?

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: I’ve… I’ve been here before. 

 

KAYNE: You sure have, Artie. (Tearfully.) You sure have. 

 

ARTHUR: I know this place.

 

KAYNE: And Artie? She’s here, too. (‘Faroe’s Lullaby’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR (breathless): She’s…? She’s here? 

 

JOHN: Arthur, I…

 

ARTHUR: She’s here.

 

JOHN: I see her. She’s… She’s here. 

 

FAROE (at a distance, babbling): La, la. La la. 

 

KAYNE: Enjoy your time. (Otherworldly zap. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Kayne’s… standing up, walking toward a… a portal. 

 

ARTHUR: Faroe. 

 

JOHN: We’re all together. At the end. 

 

ARTHUR (emotionally): This… This isn’t right. 

 

JOHN (shaken): I know, but the…

 

ARTHUR: No. No, but this isn’t… this is something… the prison pits, a dream, I-I…

 

JOHN: What?

 

KAYNE: So long, Artie! Parting is such… sweet sorrow!

 

JOHN: Kayne’s exiting through the portal, Arthur –

 

ARTHUR: Wait wait wait wait wait, no no no no no. No. We need to run.

 

JOHN: What? Arthur, even if we did, we wouldn’t make it –

 

ARTHUR (gasp): We need to run. We need to run. Get up.

 

FAROE: Daddy.

 

JOHN: Run?

 

ARTHUR: We run!

 

JOHN: Okay! (Sounds of exertion.)

 

ARTHUR (shouting): Run! (‘Faroe’s Song’ swells.)

 

JOHN: Kayne is at the portal! He’s exiting through the portal, Arthur! We won’t make it.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll make it!

 

JOHN: I don’t think we will.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll make it!

 

JOHN: Arthur! Jump, Arthur! Jump! (Sounds of exertion. An otherworldly whoosh. John and Arthur groan in pain.)

 

ARTHUR (shivering): Oh, God… it’s cold.

 

JOHN: Your body is freezing. You’re wet. What…?

 

ARTHUR (in pain): Aw, fuck. Aw, god damn it. (Sounds of shifting.)

 

JOHN: We’re… through. We made it. (Arthur laughs, overwhelmed.) How did you…? You knew. How did you know?

 

ARTHUR (emotionally): We… We had to. S-She told us. 

 

JOHN: She?

 

ARTHUR: Faroe. Don’t you remember? No. No, you wouldn’t. I had a dream, in the prison pits. On a beach. A beach… a beach I took Faroe to. Long ago. I could sense it. It was that same beach, and… in my dream, she yelled… she yelled ‘run!’.

 

JOHN: She told you… she warned you.

 

ARTHUR: She’s with us, John. (John exhales.) She’s with us ‘til the end. (Sounds of thunder.)

 

JOHN: And what an end it will be. Jesus. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Where are we?

 

JOHN: We’re back in… Arthur, we’re in Arkham. We’re home. (A mysterious melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Home again, eh?

 

JOHN: No. I mean… we’re outside, on the street. Out in front of your office. On Moseby. Where it all began.

 

ARTHUR: Moseby. 

 

JOHN: The street is… desolate. Vacant. There’s no one around, it’s… it’s like a ghost town. The sky, Arthur, the… the sky is… red. 

 

ARTHUR: Red?

 

JOHN: A crimson shade, darker than blood. It ripples and moves, as if angry… agitated. Like silt, stirred at the bottom of a still water. It expands upon itself, blooming ever greater. Like the clouds themselves breathe. An organic sky, one of sinew and flesh… just as he imagined. 

 

ARTHUR: He’s going to do it, John. He’s going to end everything. He’s mad. I don’t know whether it was the grin, or what, but… we cannot let him wake Azathoth.

 

JOHN: I know! 

 

ARTHUR: We cannot let him kill him. We –

 

JOHN: I know! 

 

ARTHUR: No matter the cost. 

 

JOHN: No matter the cost. 

 

ARTHUR: We need to find the Obelisk. We need to find a way to –

 

JOHN: It’s here… as well. 

 

ARTHUR: It’s here?

 

JOHN: In the center of the street. Bathed in the blood-red hue of the sky. It sits… the Obelisk. (Quiet chanting in the background, repeated: ‘Come, King, thy kingdom come’.) The ground surrounding it, and underfoot, is covered in a vine-like growth that snakes its way between the sidewalk along the pavement… and between the surrounding buildings, like the rotten roots… of some corrupted tree. As if searching for water, the thick, dark appendages sprout from the base of the Obelisk, making it appear… almost alive. 

 

The Obelisk itself is… alien, in the truest sense of the word. It stands… impressively tall, at least as tall as the first floor of your building, and… perhaps twenty feet wide, i-it’s difficult to tell. We’re still a fair distance from it. And yet… I can see it so clearly. It widens at the waist, but only slightly. The entire Obelisk is covered in… long, dripping spikes. 

 

ARTHUR (scared): God.

 

JOHN: Boney protrusions that are… bent, or broken at the halfway point, like… elongated fingers beckoning one to come closer. A viscous slime seems to drip off the grisly object. And the air between the sharp, stiff arms seems almost… electrified, as if the Obelisk is generating an incredible amount of heat.

 

 ARTHUR: Oh, God.

 

JOHN: Small arcs of… deep orange energy jump between the fingers… but the true monstrous quality of this… thing… lay in its base. The base… which widens and again seems to have a great number of… teeth… formless faces, devoid of features save the mouths, offer mocking smiles, sinister expressions, sharp… jagged grins like the one plastered upon Kayne’s face. The grin… of Azathoth… is displayed proudly and prominently on this… ungodly… artifact. 

 

ARTHUR: My God. John? John? (Rising otherworldly whispers.) John!

 

JOHN (as if awoken): S-Sorry, I… believe me when I say… I don’t think you would be able to survive… witnessing this object. I can feel my own mind fighting…

 

ARTHUR: Stay with me. 

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: Look away if you have to.

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

KAYNE: Oooooh, Artie! (A loud thunderclap.)

 

JOHN: Kayne.

 

ARTHUR: Where?

 

JOHN: The sky. The… oh, God. Oh my God.

 

KAYNE: You should’ve stayed on the beach! 

 

JOHN: It’s Kayne, Arthur, only… he appears… as a silhouette against the red sky, his… 

 

ARTHUR: God.

 

JOHN: Shadow fills the city block… with a wingspan that covers the sky. 

 

KAYNE: You know! In a way. I suppose I’m glad I have a living Arthur with me. (Sounds of wingbeats.)

 

JOHN: With wings as wide as the buildings that surround us, he… slowly descends. And as he does… the crimson light of the sky illuminates his… inhuman grin. Arthur, it’s… it’s, it’s…

 

KAYNE: Tell him, John! Tell him.

 

JOHN: I can’t describe it, Arthur. (In growing disgust.) I can’t… I… oh, God. 

 

ARTHUR: John, just –

 

JOHN: I can’t –

 

KAYNE: Ah-ah-ah! Don’t you close your eyes, Artie. I want John to see this!

 

JOHN: I can’t, don’t open them! Please.

 

ARTHUR: You have to, John, you need to.

 

KAYNE: I only let a select few see my true face. You two should be… honored! Of course. It’s still sporting the grin of Azathoth. But… I think you can manage to make out my… winning smile. (He cackles monstrously.)

 

JOHN: Please.

 

ARTHUR: I need you, John. We need you. Faroe and I. Please. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

KAYNE (emphatic): Open… your… eyes!

 

JOHN: You’re, You’re right. Okay. Okay. (A horror sting. Rising background whispers.) Oh, fuck. 

 

KAYNE: There are those beautiful yellow eyes.

 

JOHN: He descends on wings of… oh. (Kayne cackles.)

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

KAYNE: Oh, tell him! He’s dying to know. 

 

JOHN: The wings… they’re made out of you, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: Me?

 

KAYNE: Millions of you, Arthur! (He cackles.) I had to break up the band, sadly. But I managed to make use of their skin. I wanted my apocalypse suit to be… thematically relevant, you know. (A faint noise of impact.)

 

JOHN: Ah. He lands, softly. On the vine-covered ground. His hands are still… stained red, his feet… still bare, but his black suit looks…

 

KAYNE: Freshly cleaned! As I said. (Squelching noises.)

 

JOHN: The wings fold up behind him, but only slightly, giving him a…

 

KAYNE (innocently): Angelic appearance? 

 

JOHN: Demonic… appearance.

 

KAYNE: Same difference. (He cackles.) Well, boys. We’re here at the end. Aren’t we? You know. In a strange way… I’m glad you’re here. (Faux emotionally.) It wouldn’t be Arthur Lester if he didn’t fight ‘til the bitter end, would it? I should’ve been smarter than to assume you’d take the easy, quiet way out of this. But alas! I wanted to give you one last chance. At peace. 

 

ARTHUR: You didn’t offer peace! You offered a lie. It’s what you do.

 

KAYNE: None of what I offered were lies! 

 

JOHN: He grimaces. 

 

KAYNE: But you never saw it that way, did you? You only saw what you wanted to see. Or rather… what you couldn’t see. (He laughs.) And such a shame, because this… oh… this is quite the sight to behold. (Footsteps. ‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

JOHN: He’s reached behind his back and produced… the Blackstone. 

 

KAYNE: So much power… such a little stone. Don’t you wish… you could see it, Artie? 

 

ARTHUR: No.

 

KAYNE: Aw. Okay. Alright. I won’t make you look. Was it worth it? Losing your sight again? To be… reunited?

 

ARTHUR: Yes.

 

JOHN: Of course.

 

KAYNE: Still! You had it all, Johnny-boy. You could’ve stayed in the Dreamlands, completely unaffected! Avoiding all this… eugh. Horribleness. Weren’t… tempted? 

 

ARTHUR: It doesn’t matter.

 

KAYNE: Huh. Well. I mean. (Regally.) The King still lives on. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

KAYNE: Oh, as long as the King in Yellow proper is still there, you aren’t really risking it all, are you? Not in the way Artie is. Right?

 

JOHN (angry): Of course I am. I’m –

 

KAYNE: No no no no no no. You misunderstand. The Waylay is gone! Bye-bye. No save point for Arthur. But you? You still have your… lineage, your… history. Your kingship. 

 

JOHN: I don’t care about that. 

 

KAYNE: Oh. Good. ‘Cause I’ve been wanting to show you what’s in store for you in just a minute, Artie! But I was thinking, and wondering, and just – you know – trying to come up with the perfect person to show you the power of the Blackstone. Not just tell you… o-or see the result on my face, but really show you two! So if you don’t mind, then… I suppose we have our example. 

 

JOHN: You… 

 

(A fingersnap and otherworldly zap. The King in Yellow breathes heavily.) 

 

KING IN YELLOW: What…?

 

ARTHUR: Yellow.

 

KING IN YELLOW: What is this? 

 

JOHN: King.

 

ARTHUR: Yellow, I…

 

KAYNE: Say yellow, King! (He cackles.)

 

KING IN YELLOW (confused): Kayne. Arthur. John. Are you…?

 

JOHN: Kayne has brought the King in Yellow proper here. To Arkham. He’s… he brought him here like it was nothing.

 

KAYNE (passionate): Because it was nothing! Do you not get it yet? This power has… no equal. No comparative. It is all consuming, all corrupting. And I can show you.

 

ARTHUR (growing more panicked): Yellow. Yellow, no! No!

 

KAYNE: Here, would you hold this for me?

 

KING IN YELLOW: What are you – (Otherworldly zapping. The King in Yellow’s sounds of pain. Kayne cackles.)

 

JOHN: No! No! Arthur, Kayne has thrust the Blackstone into the King in Yellow’s hand. Yellow is… frozen, his… his cloak upturned toward the sky! The end of his cloak… our cloak, i-it… it’s changing! (Electric noises.) Dyeing a darker shade from the yellow hue to a… a red. The color spreads up the cloak, like… blood soaking into a cloth. (The King in Yellow makes noises of distress.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh, God. Fuck.

 

JOHN: It covers him in crimson, hiding all that was once yellow until…

 

KAYNE (happy): Yes… yes…

 

JOHN: His face, Arthur… my face, i-i-it’s…

 

ARTHUR: You have no face. There is no face, remember? You can’t –

 

JOHN (overlapping): From the darkness of the hood that was once yellow… now red… a grin appears. 

 

(A thunderclap. Kayne and the King in Yellow laugh.)

 

ARTHUR: No. 

 

KAYNE: See! No one is immune.

 

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

KAYNE: Not even the King in… Red, here! (He laughs.) How ya feelin’, you little red devil?

 

KING IN RED (distorted): Hungry. (Kayne cackles.)

 

KAYNE: Oh, do you see now? I made my point. Right, boys? 

 

ARTHUR: Yes.

 

KAYNE: Perfect! Now. What to do with you? Well, it’s all about to come to an end, anyway. So I’ll let you two choose. Do you want me to send this guy back to the Dreamlands before the end comes? Let him die upon his throne in dignity? Or… (An otherworldly zap.) Do you want me to waste him right here? Right now? A mercy-killing. (Metal clicking.)

 

ARTHUR: Send him home. (Breathing noises from the King. Thunder rumbles.) Don’t… Don’t kill him. Let him leave.

 

KAYNE: Very well! You’re lucky this one has such a heart. Home you go! King in Red. (The King chuckles.) Go home and hug a wasp. (A snap and an otherworldly zap.)

 

JOHN: The King is… gone. Back to the Dreamlands. I… his face… it was as though he lost all his… sense of self. I… all we’ve done… all that’s… happened, it’s… it’s all… it’s all undone.

 

ARTHUR: It’s not. It’s not undone. 

 

JOHN: Because of you. Kayne. You… bastard.

 

KAYNE: Oh, weep not for him, Johnny! You’ll be joining him soon. 

 

ARTHUR: You just can’t help yourself, can you?

 

KAYNE: Like that’s a bad thing! Limitations are for the weak and powerless! Oh, you’ll see. Once I open your eyes… once you touch this Stone… without gloves, this time… you’ll see it. You’ll both see it… and understand. The way I do. The way the King now does. 

 

JOHN: See what? Azathoth?

 

KAYNE: Sporting this grin is more than just… feeling your Creator! More than just a corrupted version of what you were. Why, it’s… it’s a new way of looking at life. Untethered! Unrestricted. It’s freedom, boys! This grin… is like the opening of a third eye! No more doubt… or hesitation. Simple… and meaningful… drive. In my case… to fulfill my dream of killing Azathoth. You know, even I had my doubts. But once I held this Stone…

 

ARTHUR: You never struck me as someone who was tethered.

 

JOHN: Touching the Stone… freed you. So you could kill Azathoth.

 

KAYNE: Ironic, isn’t it? Of course, I had always intended to do it, but that final push…! Perhaps… had your Manager held this Stone… things would be very different for him as well. But! As I said. We’ll see what that means for you. 

 

ARTHUR: So… you want me to touch the Stone? 

 

KAYNE: To touch it! To have it change you! To understand, accept… and rejoice. And! To put it in the Obelisk yourself, along with its brothers. See? (Theatrically.) The Crimsonstone and the Graystone are already within, waiting… for the final piece. 

 

(A mysterious melody begins.)

 

JOHN: I see them. The other two Stones are… nestled into the base within the gaping maw of two discolored toothy grins. 

 

KAYNE: So! Are you ready… to meet the Maker?

 

ARTHUR (quoting): ‘Because I could not stop for death’… it’s an inevitability, John. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) We can run and hide… we could take this Stone and throw it into the ocean, but we’ll still end up right back here. And in worse shape. With more scars. 

 

JOHN: Our plans… we have people relying on us.

 

ARTHUR: I know. I know. And I’m hoping… that what Alia said to us… that two souls were needed… means that when I touch this Stone… 

 

JOHN (softly): It will only affect you.

 

ARTHUR: We’ve gambled on greater. 

 

JOHN: If you touch this… there’s no coming back.

 

ARTHUR: We both knew that there was no coming back. Not for me. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, I… 

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): We’ve said goodbye so many times now. Has it lost all meaning?

 

JOHN (exhaling): Not for me. 

 

ARTHUR: Not for me, either. We don’t end our lives with completed stories. But we can sure as shit choose when we end them. 

 

KAYNE: Lovely sentiment! And some of the best lying to oneself I’ve ever heard. But I promise you. The corruption won’t just be skin-deep. 

 

JOHN: He holds the Blackstone at arm’s length. 

 

KAYNE: So what do you say, Artie!? (Arthur exhales.)

 

ARTHUR: Sure. I could use a smile. (Footsteps.)

 

KAYNE (stopping him): A-bup-bup-bup-bup! Hold on. Do you think I’d forgotten about you getting a little too close? So long as that lighter is there, and those hands of yours are in play… you keep your distance. (John huffs.)

 

ARTHUR: Well, how am I supposed to –

 

KAYNE: Catch!

 

JOHN: Kayne’s thrown the Blackstone! It…It… (A tapping noise.) It lands by our feet. 

 

KAYNE: Score! (He cackles. Arthur huffs.) Oh, worry not. That bad boy is indestructible. And do you know why? 

 

ARTHUR: Why?

 

KAYNE: It’s indestructible… because it’s the only one. A pure… original. To destroy it… would mean to remove it from existence. See… you had it right, as you pontificated while wandering the halls of the Waylay. Something that exists in all realities… can be removed as if it never existed… like your friends did with Shub-Niggurath. But with true originals… like these Stones… they can’t be replaced. You cannot destroy… what there is only one of. Now pick it up and embrace your new freedom.

 

JOHN: It lay just below us, between our feet. Something so… powerful, so… dangerous. Just laying on the street, as if… another forgotten stone. 

 

ARTHUR: Whatever happens… whatever happens, know that it’s not the real me.

 

JOHN: I… know, but… Arthur, are you sure?

 

ARTHUR: No. But we… we have no choice.

 

JOHN: Don’t we? I mean, maybe we could run!

 

ARTHUR: It’s too late.

 

KAYNE: Grab it!

 

JOHN: Arthur, I’m not so sure. What if Kayne is right?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know.

 

KAYNE (more insistent): Pick it up.

 

JOHN (more desperate): But can we risk it? Could – Should we?

 

KAYNE: Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: There’s too much at stake. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, maybe we should think this through. 

 

ARTHUR: I –

 

KAYNE: Do it!

 

ARTHUR: I –

 

KAYNE: Do it!

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: I… I trust Alia knows.

 

KAYNE: Fucking do it!

 

JOHN: Arthur! (He grunts in exertion. Arthur gasps. Thunder booms.) 

 

KAYNE: Ah. 

 

JOHN (shocked): You… you’ve picked it up. You’ve picked it up. Arthur? 

 

ARTHUR: Yes?

 

KAYNE: Well? 

 

ARTHUR: I… I don’t know. 

 

JOHN: Do you feel… anything? Any… different? (Sounds of shifting.)

 

ARTHUR: Not really, no. You?

 

JOHN: Not really. No.

 

KAYNE (flabbergasted): What? (A whimsical tune plays.) What? (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Kayne is… walking over. He’s… (Disappointed.) He stops, far enough away to –

 

KAYNE: Look at me.

 

ARTHUR: Do I look… different?

 

JOHN: I don’t think so.

 

KAYNE: No. What the fuck. What the fuck. Are you doing it wrong?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know. How am I supposed to be doing it? I…

 

KAYNE: I don’t know. (Mystified.) But! I don’t… understand. For the first time. In a long, long, long time. I don’t understand. 

 

JOHN: Kayne looks… confused.

 

KAYNE: No shit I’m fucking confused! This… feeling… I’ve never felt this feeling before. Not in this way. I’ve always had suspicions about things I was unsure of. Lillith’s interference with you, and… why you’re so… (He growls.) Eurgh. But… But this? What is this?

 

(An otherworldly noise.)

 

LILLITH: Well, this… is what you call… a cosmic evening of the scales.

 

JOHN: Lillith!

 

KAYNE (less pleased): Lillith.

 

JOHN: She stands on the sidewalk, appearing as Larson.

 

LILLITH: ‘You cannot destroy what there is only one of’… is not exactly correct, Father. Hell, your whole plan hinged on killing Azathoth, and there’s only one of him. So, how does that make sense? (Footsteps.) But of which there is only one… can certainly destroy.

 

KAYNE: What?

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Kayne’s face…

 

ARTHUR: I don’t…

 

JOHN: Is twisted… in confusion.

 

LILLITH: You know less about people than you do about being a god. And now that it’s over, and let me say what I wanted to say on the ice, but needed to wait until this moment… checkmate. 

 

KAYNE: What?

 

LILLITH: I’ve made Arthur your lure since before this game began. I know that’s no surprise. You obsessed over him for years all because of two tiny words I whispered to him… my favorite. But what you fail to realize was why. All this time with no idea why… was because I know you, Kayne. Because I know… your nature. Your true nature. Is he bored while waiting? Kayne will slaughter a city. He looking for the Manager? Well, Kayne will gut every patron. Need information about a boy? Kayne would torture his parents. And give Kayne a puzzlebox he can’t solve… well! He’ll just smash it when he can’t find the solution.

 

All I needed was to give you time. Time enough to have you create… the architect… of your own ruin. Someone who would become… through your own violent vindictive nature… the only one of his kind. The last… Arthur Lester. I planted the seed, but you killed your own crop, Father. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) 

 

JOHN: The Blackstone won’t affect you because…

 

ARTHUR: Because I am the only one left.

 

LILLITH: Precisely. Now, Mister Lester. If you’d be so kind. Break it. 

 

KAYNE: What?

 

JOHN: Do it. (A thud, and an otherworldly shimmer. Arthur makes noises of exertion.)

 

KAYNE: No! 

 

JOHN: You’ve done it, Arthur. The Stone… it broke in half. Like a clump of mud, it’s… it’s over! The Blackstone is in pieces! Azathoth cannot be woken and… and Kayne’s plan has… 

 

LILLITH: Failed. 

 

KAYNE (barely restrained): Well… well done, you two. Or three, I suppose. You’ve foiled the villain’s plans. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, the sky is… is changing. The red is, is changing –

 

KAYNE: You, my daughter, have exposed me… as the violent savage I am… and used my own bloodlust against me. My own nature. Brava. And bravo.

 

JOHN: A pale moon grows, bathing… us in an eerie… ghostly white… draining the street of color… save the red on… Kayne’s hands.

 

KAYNE (more distorted): And so… little frogs… this scorpion may not have his purpose-filled reality. But. He will have you two. (Sounds of an impact. Lillith's grunt of pain. Sounds of rubble and destruction.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, down! Kayne has sent Lillith flying back into the building with one of his arms!

 

KAYNE: Oh, Lillith!

 

JOHN: Stretched out, elongated and tentacle-like! (Continued sounds of destruction.)

 

KAYNE: I cannot wait to kill you!

 

JOHN: The other swiped at us, nearly missing!

 

KAYNE: But first!

 

JOHN: Run, Arthur! (Sounds of running. Arthur pants.)

 

KAYNE(more distant): Oh, Artie! Now…

 

JOHN: Here, here! The left of the street. Into the building.

 

KAYNE: You run?

 

(Arthur grunts in exertion. A thud of a door.)

 

JOHN: We’re in the lobby, of Moseby. Your building.

 

ARTHUR: The stairs! The stairs! (Sounds of breaking wood.)

 

JOHN: He’s broken through the door!

 

KAYNE: Would you deny me this, too? 

 

JOHN: Move! Go go go go!

 

KAYNE: You deny me everything!

 

JOHN: Jesus, Arthur!

 

KAYNE: My vision!

 

JOHN: Kayne is…

 

KAYNE: My plan! 

 

JOHN: A mass of fleshy tentacles.

 

KAYNE: My future! (Sounds of crashing.)

 

JOHN: They extrude from his back!

 

KAYNE: And now!

 

JOHN: He floats up the stairs like…

 

KAYNE: You run?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t need descriptions, just directions!

 

JOHN: Right, right. 

 

KAYNE: Oh, Artie, Artie, Artie!

 

JOHN: Here! Move, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: Okay, okay! I know the way from here.

 

KAYNE: The last of your kind!

 

JOHN: Up! Up!

 

KAYNE: What a treat! 

 

ARTHUR: No! To my office.

 

JOHN: But the roof!

 

KAYNE: I wonder what you taste like. 

 

JOHN: Distance, no?

 

KAYNE: I really should’ve seen this coming. How could I have been so blind?

 

JOHN: He’s close! Okay. Here, here! (A door opens and slams.) Now what?

 

ARTHUR: The lighter is still the plan. 

 

(Kayne’s ranting continues, muffled on the other side of the door.)

 

JOHN: So where are you heading? (Arthur’s sounds of panic.) This isn’t even your desk!

 

ARTHUR: I know! (Frantic rummaging noises.)

 

JOHN: Oh.

 

ARTHUR: Understand?

 

JOHN: Oh. I think…

 

ARTHUR (desperate): Do you understand?

 

JOHN: I do, I do.

 

ARTHUR: If you need a distraction…

 

JOHN: I’ll know what to say. 

 

ARTHUR: Good. (Sounds of breaking wood and destruction.)

 

JOHN: Kayne is through. 

 

KAYNE: Time to stomp out the last… of the Lester line. Hey. Nice digs. (As an aside.) Though the sign on the door is a little out of date. (Glass clinking.) And in pieces.

 

ARTHUR: Don’t come any closer. 

 

KAYNE: Or what?

 

ARTHUR: Or I will use this. (The lighter flicks. ‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

KAYNE: Ah. So… what? An unstoppable force is simply meant to yield… to the immovable object? 

 

ARTHUR: You… You think you’re the unstoppable force? 

 

KAYNE (duh): I mean… 

 

ARTHUR: Well, what do you mean? (Calmer.) What… What do you mean? I don’t… I don’t need to check the scorecard to count which of us has… risen from the dead. Which of… which of us has survived a car crash. Multiple gunshot wounds. A drowning. Suffocation, choking. Torture. And a slew of other inhuman, absolute mind-breaking sights. The least of which… were created by you. I have felt… incomparable loss, unforgiving shame… and scraped my way across the barren desolate fields of the Dark World and climbed from that black pit, clawing my way out of my own grave, to stand here. Again. Unscathed, before… you. 

 

You… a vacuous, selfish, power-hungry alien with a god complex who would rather break his own toys than watch another play with them. You are no… unstoppable force. I am. 

 

I… am the unconquerable. The unyielding. The relentless, grim shadow that clings to you. I held the stone that corrupted your face… and broke it into pieces. You think you’ve chased me into my office? You think you’ve cornered me? Kayne… I… am the last Arthur Lester. I brought you in here. 

 

JOHN: What’s the matter, Kayne? Lost your nerve?

 

KAYNE: Listen, kid. You’re speaking to a god that was ready to kill himself, along with the rest of existence. You think I’m scared of you? 

 

ARTHUR: Then come here. Unless you’re afraid to put your money where your mouth was. 

 

(Heavy, plodding footsteps.)

 

KAYNE: I don’t think… you have the stones… 

 

ARTHUR: Not stones, no. Bedrock. 

 

(Arthur groans in determination. An impact. Sounds of flesh and gore. Kayne screams.)

 

JOHN: Arthur! You’ve grabbed Kayne… in his jaw! Pull, Arthur! 

 

(Sounds of cracking. John grunts in exertion. Arthur chuckles. Sounds of blood.)

 

KAYNE: God damn you, little rat fuck!

 

JOHN (victorious): You’ve torn a piece of his jawbone clean off of his face! (Kayne groans.) His mouth is exposed… (Arthur breathes heavily.) His bloody-soaked tongue spasms and writhes uncontrollably! 

 

KAYNE (garbled): You know… that really wasn’t kind, Arthur! You may have this newfound power… but I still have mine. 

 

JOHN: Arthur! He’s looking to us, and — (A cracking noise. Arthur screams in pain.) Arthur! Your left arm!

 

KAYNE: And this one…

 

JOHN: He’s broken it!

 

KAYNE: And this one is for your fucking lighter! (Another cracking noise. Sounds of blood. Arthur screams in pain and begins to pant.)

 

JOHN (distraught): Your right arm… Jesus Christ, Arthur… Arthur… 

 

KAYNE: You think I didn’t feel you put that in my pocket? (He laughs.)

 

ARTHUR: Fucking hell.

 

KAYNE: You showed it to me, you rotten flesh puppet.

 

JOHN: Arthur… (A clinking noise.) He tossed the lighter out of his pocket, he…

 

KAYNE: Maybe I won’t be able to wipe out all existence… but you know what? That’s where I’ll finish you off and skin that bitch Lillith alive. I am going to hunt down each and every one of your fucking friends and gut them!

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

KAYNE: Did you hear me? I am going to break Marie’s fucking neck. I am going to dissect Oscar in front of his congregation. I am going to stomp that fucking father of yours into a wet pile of flesh. And I am going to head to Threshold and carve out Noel’s fucking eyes with broken glass. And you… you can die knowing that you failed. 

 

JOHN: Arthur… your arms… they’re broken. You can’t…

 

KAYNE: God! You… I only got to kill you once! And you know what? You’re right. You are the unstoppable force, but all those scars are gone now, aren’t they? Oh. Even the one on your neck. What do you say we put some back!

 

JOHN: Kayne grabbed the letter opener from your desk and – (Kayne grunts in exertion. Sounds of blood. Arthur chokes.) No!

 

KAYNE: There! There. A little bigger, maybe, but just as deep!

 

JOHN: Arthur! 

 

KAYNE: Come on, Arthur! Let me show you my view of the world!

 

JOHN: Arthur… (Sounds of broken glass. John groans in pain. Rushing wind.) Arthur. Kayne has taken off from your office, breaking through the window, holding us close, flying into the night’s sky! Fast… incredibly fast. Arthur, Arthur! You’re bleeding out. So much… your neck… god damn it, Arthur!

 

KAYNE: I may not end existence, but I will end you!

 

JOHN (frantic): Arthur… you’re… you’re losing a lot of blood. Can you move your hands?

 

KAYNE: I will lay waste to this city in your name, Artie! I will let them all know it was your doing. The last thing I will make each and every person feel… is the name… Arthur… Lester!

 

JOHN: The city is… so small. We’re so high, now. We’re nearly at the stars. 

 

KAYNE (breathing heavily): We’re pretty high up now, Artie. No safety net. Oh. And that neck wound is quite the bleeder. I can see the light behind those pale, yellow eyes begin… to flicker. 

 

JOHN (shaky): Remember the stars, Arthur? Remember the way they shined that night? Above the canopy of trees… by the fire?

 

KAYNE: Artie can’t see, John! You had his eyes. (He cackles, overjoyed and unhinged.)

 

JOHN: You can see, Arthur! More than most. 

 

KAYNE: Oh! If that’s true, then don’t look down. This fall, oh, it’s a killer!

 

JOHN: Remember, Arthur… ‘in the fell clutch of circumstance…’

 

ARTHUR (weakly): Okay. Okay. (Roughly.) Say, Kayne. You wouldn’t happen to be making any more of those… deals, now, would you?

 

KAYNE: All bets are off, Artie. I’m sorry! (Arthur grunts in exertion. He continues to struggle.) Oh! Oh. Such a pity. 

 

JOHN: We’re done. 

 

KAYNE: Oh, wow. Is that… Is that your weak little hand still clinging to my jacket? (He laughs.) I could break every bone in your body and you still can’t do it, can you? So what do you say, Artie? Can you finally… at the end of it all, commit? One hundred percent… to letting go?

 

ARTHUR: You… you… you never… 

 

KAYNE: Yes? Yes? 

 

ARTHUR: You never counted… on John.

 

KAYNE: Old Yellowhead? No. No. It was always about you. 

 

ARTHUR: And that’s why…

 

KAYNE: Why what?

 

ARTHUR: You failed. 

 

KAYNE: I failed!? 

 

ARTHUR: That… That wasn’t my lighter.

 

KAYNE: Huh?

 

ARTHUR: Parker… was always the smoker. 

 

KAYNE: Smoking will kill you. 

 

ARTHUR: And John… can… (An owl hoots.)

 

JOHN: John… can project.

 

KAYNE: Project? (An owl screeches.)

 

ARTHUR: Goodbye, Kayne.

 

JOHN: Let go!

 

ARTHUR: Wait. (An otherworldly zap. A muffled grunt of terrible pain. A gentle melody begins.) 

 

JOHN: We’ve done it, Arthur. I projected… in the fell clutch, y-you remembered… and you distracted him. Enough to cover the sound of me slipping the lighter into his pocket and… and Lillith is here. She’s trapping him as we… as we fall. He failed. It’s over. Arthur, you… (His voice flickers into something calmer.)  

 

OTHER JOHN: Arthur… I, uh…

 

OTHER ARTHUR: You’re here with me, John, and I need you. We’re a team.

 

OTHER JOHN: Yes, we are.

 

OTHER ARTHUR: Good.

 

(An audio distortion. Blowing wind.)

 

JOHN: We did it, Arthur. We did it, we stopped Kayne. We saved our friends. (His voice flickers into something calmer.)  

 

OTHER JOHN: Thank you, Marie.

 

OTHER ARTHUR: Thank you, Marie. For giving me a place to stay. 

 

MARIE: You’re a good man.

 

(An audio distortion.)

 

JOHN (desperate): Arthur! Arthur. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Arthur. Arthur, I… thank you. Thank you for saving me. For giving me purpose. The kind of purpose that gives life meaning. There is no… no…

 

(His voice flickers into something calmer.)  

 

OTHER JOHN: No. No, my friendship saved me. My connection to this man. My love for Arthur saved… me. 

 

(An audio distortion. Blowing wind.)

 

JOHN: This is going to hurt, Arthur. This will hurt, but then it’s all over. It’ll all be over. It’ll all end… and, and —

 

(A grunt of surprise. Lillith breathes heavily. The beating of wings.)

 

LILLITH: I got you.

 

JOHN: Lillith!

 

LILLITH: I got you. No painting the sidewalk today, boys. Come on now. 

 

JOHN: Arthur. Lillith has caught us. Draped over her arms… wings… on her back, as well, she looks… angelic.

 

LILLITH: Still with us, kid?

 

JOHN: The pale moon, like a halo behind her head.

 

LILLITH: It’s okay, come now. (A soft thump.)

 

JOHN: We’re back. On ground, Arthur, she’s… she’s setting us down. Floating gently. Onto the street. Beneath the lamp. Just outside your office window. The street is… cold and quiet and – and the world seems… okay again, and… h-he’s fading. Fast! (Tearfully.) Lillith, I-I… I don’t know what to do. Lillith. 

 

LILLITH: He’s dying.

 

JOHN: Can we help him? O-O-Or…

 

(Arthur chokes on blood.)

 

ARTHUR (weakly): She… She…

 

JOHN: What? Arthur? 

 

ARTHUR: She’s not here. 

 

JOHN: Lillith, you n…

 

ARTHUR: She’s not here. 

 

LILLITH (sighing): It’ll be a lie.

 

JOHN: Oh. 

 

LILLITH (echoing): But a good lie.  (A magical shimmer. The sounds of shifting.)

 

JOHN: Goodbye, Arthur. Let her be… the last thing you hear. 

 

FAROE/LILLITH: Hi, Daddy. (Arthur reacts tearfully.) I love you, Daddy. 

 

ARTHUR: Faroe… F-Faroe. My baby… 

 

FAROE/LILLITH: Okay, Daddy, look at me. 

 

ARTHUR (crying): I’ve missed you so much…

 

FAROE/LILLITH: I’m here, Daddy. 

 

ARTHUR: I’ve missed you so much.

 

FAROE/LILLITH: That’s okay, Daddy. I missed you. I missed you, Daddy. (She whispers.) Daddy.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll see you soon.

 

FAROE/LILLITH: I here.

 

ARTHUR: B-Baby… Daddy will see you soon. Okay?

 

FAROE/LILLITH: I here now. Goodbye, Daddy.

 

ARTHUR: Daddy will see you soon.

 

FAROE/LILLITH: I love you, Daddy. I here, Daddy. I love you. 

 

(Sounds of splashing water. Hollow knocks.)

 

OTHER ARTHUR: Okay. You know the rules. Knock three times.

 

OTHER FAROE: One, two, three!

 

OTHER ARTHUR: And say ‘Are you there, troll?’ You got to call to the troll. Say, ‘troll!’

 

OTHER FAROE: Troll?

 

OTHER ARTHUR: ‘Are you there?’

 

OTHER FAROE: Are you there?

 

OTHER ARTHUR: Okay, then we can cross. O-Oh, look! (Ducks quacking.) Faroe. Look at the ducks. Yeah. Look at the ducks. (He chuckles.) Yeah. 

 

(Silence. A band suddenly starts up. Arthur and John wake with a gasp. Objects clatter.)

 

JOHN: Arthur?

 

ARTHUR: John? (John reacts in overwhelmed joy.) What the –

 

JOHN: You’re alive? We’re alive!

 

ARTHUR: The Waylay!

 

JOHN: Oh! What…

 

ARTHUR: I thought the Waylay was… (An otherworldly zap. Wooden creaks.) 

 

THE MANAGER: Gone? No.

 

JOHN: The Manager! 

 

THE MANAGER: Don’t shoot. Notice the, ah… lack of a grin?

 

JOHN: What, what…?

 

ARTHUR: I thought we… god. I thought I…

 

THE MANAGER: Died? Oh, you died. Kaput. That’s a few times, now. (He laughs and suppresses it.) 

 

JOHN: But the Waylay was… destroyed. Kayne –

 

THE MANAGER: Well, Kayne destroyed one of my Waylays, that’s true, but come on now. Do you really think I would let him through the doors of my home away from home? No no no no no. (Wooden creaking.) You always need a backup.

 

ARTHUR: S-S-So?

 

THE MANAGER: So? How does it feel! 

 

JOHN: How does it –

 

THE MANAGER (gladly): You won! You defeated the Big Bad. You saved reality and won! 

 

ARTHUR: It feels… (He sniffs.) Good.

 

JOHN (simultaneous): Good. Yeah. I…

 

THE MANAGER: G-Good? Is that… is that the famous vocabulary of John, shining brightly in there?

 

ARTHUR (flustered): Sorry, I-I…I’m getting a bit of… whiplash. I… oh my god. (Realizing.) You brought our body to Arkham. You fished it from the lake.

 

THE MANAGER: Of course! Had to bring you to the final act somehow.

 

ARTHUR: The last thing I heard… the last thing I felt was… Faroe. 

 

THE MANAGER: Yes. Lillith gave you what you wanted. That was quite… quite the sendoff. Saying goodbye to Faroe. (A chair scrapes on the floor.)

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Not really Faroe.

 

JOHN: Where is Lillith?

 

THE MANAGER: Scattered to the wind, I’m afraid. Dastardly little scamp, took the other two Stones with her as well. But I’m sure she’ll turn up sooner or later. She’s got a new bod and a lot more power now that Daddy’s out of the picture.

 

JOHN: She took the Stones.

 

THE MANAGER: Oh, they’re not that useful to her. Though, I doubt she’ll keep them. One can have quite some fun playing with mortals hungry for power. 

 

ARTHUR: Kayne, then, is he… truly?

 

JOHN: I didn’t see him imprisoned. We fell before he –

 

THE MANAGER: No, no. He’s gone. Not quite dead, but… might as well be. Trapped in the same realm as Lillith was. A nightmare realm. It’s, uh… it’s appropriate.

 

ARTHUR: But he still lives. Lillith escaped that realm. That doesn’t sound comforting.

 

THE MANAGER: Comfort, you want comfort? You’re alive, Arthur! You traveled through literal hell and made it out the other side. Believe me, it was touch and go there. Glad you finally let go. Yeah. Could’ve been a real ugly one at the end. But you pulled it off. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: So… what now? 

 

THE MANAGER (confused): What now?

 

ARTHUR: Well. Where is Noel? What about Mother Darkness, she swore vengeance on me? And what happened to Anna Stanczyk? And is Oscar okay? W-What about Malam? Will he escape the Hollow? And Horig, he’s still out there, in England! A-And is Alia still alive?

 

THE MANAGER: Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. What do you think this is? I don’t have all the answers and I don’t recognize half those names, but my role is done in this story.

 

ARTHUR: Done?

 

THE MANAGER: Yeah. The threat of Azathoth waking and being killed has ended. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need to help you anymore. Which. Also means… my apologies, but you’re banned from the Waylay. Should you ever feel compelled to, you know, play fast and loose with a gun-wielding cop again.

 

ARTHUR: Wait wait wait. Again? You mean…? (A gentle melody begins.)

 

THE MANAGER: You want to track down and take on the alien horrors of this world, then you are free to do so.

 

JOHN (awestruck): You’re sending us back?

 

THE MANAGER: Well, of course.

 

ARTHUR: But, our body, it…

 

THE MANAGER: Oh, a few dings and cuts. Nothing you haven’t handled before.

 

JOHN: What about the office, and the Obelisk?

 

THE MANAGER: The office is restored, and the Obelisk in safe keeping. Once again.

 

ARTHUR: Parker’s body! A-And the police –

 

THE MANAGER: Look, I mean, you’ll have to deal with that. I can’t fix everything. And if you’d rather not, you can always stay dead.

 

ARTHUR: No no no no, we can. We can sort it out.

 

THE MANAGER: Of course, a bit of time has passed. I’m sure some threads have tied themselves up. 

 

ARTHUR (shaky breath): I suppose… we have everything we’d want, then. 

 

JOHN: I suppose. 

 

THE MANAGER (hesitantly): Arthur. (Footsteps.) I, too, lost a daughter. I didn’t know that this life… alien as it is… could hold power the way that it did when she was by my side. You’re not so different, you and I. Both of us. Both of us were spurred into action by our loss. And I wonder… if we could speak. For a moment. Alone. 

 

JOHN: Alone?

 

THE MANAGER: Yes. Putting John in time out. J-Just for a moment.

 

ARTHUR: No, I-I don’t…

 

JOHN (kindly): It’s okay. You can. I wouldn’t mind a moment alone to think, myself.

 

ARTHUR: Alright.

 

JOHN: Just not too long. God. Going back. (He chuckles.)

 

THE MANAGER: Just us?

 

ARTHUR: Just us. 

 

THE MANAGER (sighing): Arthur. There is a world, not yours, but another, where Arthur died before all of this Kayne mess, that I could just… put you in. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

THE MANAGER: I mean, I could… slot you right back in. Sort of a do-over. You’d be able to live your life… as if… well, none of this ever happened. 

 

ARTHUR: You mean…?

 

THE MANAGER: Yes, well, in order to make this work, I’d have to alter your brain a little bit. J-J-Just trick it into thinking that, uh, that it’s always belonged in this new world. (Wooden scraping.) The world you knew. You know, honestly, i-it’s not that bad. Just a bit of rewiring to make sure your mind doesn’t crack open like a walnut.

 

ARTHUR: But I would forget about this. Everything. And everyone. 

 

THE MANAGER: Yes. But they would go on living, just as they had after meeting you. 

 

ARTHUR: And what about John?

 

THE MANAGER: What about him?

 

ARTHUR: Well, what would happen with him?

 

THE MANAGER: Well, I could do a few things. I could keep him here… restate the King in Yellow… could find him a new home… a new host… or wipe the slate clean for him as well.

 

ARTHUR: Wipe his slate clean?

 

THE MANAGER: I know it sounds all hum-and-glum, but, you know. Remember. Part of the reason all this happened was a mistake. In reality, you are meant to be a father and… (Regally.) He was meant to be the King.

 

ARTHUR: This… world I would go to. What is it like? 

 

THE MANAGER: Well, Faroe is happily living with Bella. And… your mom and dad. They do a great deal of parenting as well. You wouldn’t be saving her from anything. I would just be rewinding the clock a little bit and slide you right in. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Well, what do you think?

 

THE MANAGER: Well, I have no thoughts, this is –

 

ARTHUR: Not you.

 

JOHN: You know what I think.

 

THE MANAGER (laughing): Fair enough! Silly of me to think I could come between you two.

 

JOHN: Not now. Not at the end.

 

ARTHUR: The end?

 

JOHN: The end as it should be. You can put me back as the King.

 

THE MANAGER: I can.

 

JOHN: Not a variant. Not a mish-mash. (Footsteps.) But as myself entirely. In that body. (Wooden scraping.)

 

THE MANAGER: Of course. 

 

JOHN: Then, Arthur, there’s no choice. You should do it.

 

ARTHUR (shocked): What?

 

JOHN: I never had any illusions. Faroe… was your life. She’s your light. And your guiding star. She’s everything that gives you meaning. That gives you hope. She is your… purpose. 

 

ARTHUR: Thank you, John. 

 

THE MANAGER: So?

 

ARTHUR: So? I’ll have to pass. 

 

JOHN: Arthur. (Desperately.) You can’t!

 

ARTHUR (warmly): I can, and I will.

 

JOHN: She’s your purpose –

 

ARTHUR: I think it’s about time I found a new purpose. Look, that doesn’t sound like a world that needs me. So long as she’s happy. 

 

THE MANAGER: Your father, Joe, reads her poetry at bedtime. Poems that he wrote for her. She’s the star, and she loves it. She also loves helping your mother, Muriel, in the kitchen. And with Bella… well, let’s just say she makes the most darling children’s dresses for her daughter. 

 

ARTHUR: Then let that world be what it should be. One where… Bella gets to be the mother she never got to be here, and always wanted to be. One where my parents get a life of meaning… a life of love… where they can spoil another the way they never got to me. The way they never got to here. 

 

JOHN: You’re sure?

 

ARTHUR: So long as you are. 

 

JOHN: Of course.

 

THE MANAGER: Well, then I suppose it’s back to Arkham for you two.

 

ARTHUR (confidently): And besides… you know, this world sounds like it’s got a fair number of problems brewing.

 

JOHN (bravado): Problems that could use the keen investigative mind of Arthur Lester.

 

ARTHUR: And the skilled, sharp eyes of John Doe.

 

JOHN: Ancient aliens beneath the Earth…

 

ARTHUR: Mysteries to be solved.

 

JOHN: People to be helped.

 

ARTHUR: Plenty of new cases, I’m sure.

 

JOHN: This new world needs the likes of us.

 

ARTHUR: After all… we’ve got many miles to go.

 

THE MANAGER: Well, I wish you luck. I’d say ‘stay out of trouble this time’, but I’m sure that would fall on deaf ears.

 

ARTHUR (getting his attention): Ah, Manager.

 

THE MANAGER: Hm?

 

ARTHUR: Look, I know you’re done with this, and you can’t fix everything, but I was wondering if you could do me one small favor. One last one.

 

THE MANAGER: Do tell.

 

ARTHUR: There was a… Faroe Kayne left behind, on her birthday, her 18th birthday, and she was alone. 

 

THE MANAGER: Hm.

 

ARTHUR: Could you just check on her? Make sure she’s okay. And tell her… tell her her father loved her. ‘Till the end.

 

THE MANAGER: I’ll consider it.

 

ARTHUR: I would consider it… a great personal favor. 

 

THE MANAGER: Understood. Well, so long, boys! And should this be the last time we meet, well… good luck. 

 

(Arthur and John sigh.)

 

JOHN: So long, Manager.

 

ARTHUR: So long.

 

JOHN: And thank you.

 

(An otherworldly zap, and a whoosh.)

 

(END Part 60.)