THRESHOLD | Part 4 "Following the Flame to Ruin"
An angry child, a frightened friend, a path forward...
THRESHOLD is a direct continuation of Malevolent, the Audio Drama. This Series 2 sees John and Arthur having returned to Arkham after their time seeking the BLACKSTONE and facing the new and terrible truth this world has revealed to them. Faced with the new challenges before them and old foes perhaps still a threat, the duo must carve a new path in this strange world.
Featuring Jo Guthrie as "Faroe"
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PART FOUR: FOLLOWING THE FLAME TO RUIN
Transcripts made and edited by keyraven, jack and Oro
CWs: corpses, discussion of child death, scared animals, flies, religion, taxidermy
(BEGIN Part 4.)
(Distant noises of the city. Cars honking, voices. A door is unlocked and opened.)
FAROE (sighing): Dad. (Footsteps. Paper rustles. Arthur and John groan.) Dad! If you're gonna refuse to get an apartment, at least sleep on the couch.
JOHN: Arthur… Faroe, she's —
FAROE: And don't leave the window wide open! (Faroe closes a window.)
ARTHUR (yawning): Faroe?
FAROE: It's October, Dad. You're gonna catch a cold. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: What are you…
JOHN: Faroe! She's —
ARTHUR: What are you doing here? Are you — (John grunts in surprise. Fabric rustling.) Oh.
JOHN: Faroe is hugging us.
ARTHUR: Are you —
FAROE (sighing): S-s-shh… Just hug me.
JOHN: I was up late writing, Arthur, the typewriter is out on the desk, as well as the notes we copied from the file folder to the chalkboard. (Arthur sighs.) Faroe i-is...
ARTHUR (clearing his throat): Well, that was nice, but what was that for? (Paper rustles.)
JOHN: Faroe tosses the newspaper she had tucked under her arm before us on the desk and walks toward the sink. O-Oh…
ARTHUR: What is...
JOHN: The headline reads: ‘Robert Puckett, dead.’
ARTHUR: Oh, honey, I…
JOHN: She's leaning against one of the cabinets, arms folded, a scowl on her face.
ARTHUR: I'm-I'm sorry, I —
FAROE (frustrated): I was halfway to the university when I saw that. You scared me nearly half to death.
ARTHUR: I'm fine, really —
FAROE: Then you didn't answer your phone? What's the point of having one, Dad, if you're not going to answer it?
JOHN: Ah, Arthur, I-I… I took it off the receiver last night to focus. I-I didn't think...
ARTHUR: I… (John sighs.) I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I… I wasn't thinking.
FAROE: You sure weren't. (A phone is dropped into the receiver. Relieved.) But boy, am I glad you're okay.
ARTHUR: Yeah.
JOHN: Her face relaxes. Her eyes brighten again. As she uncrosses her arms and strolls back over to our desk, she turns the paper around so she can read it.
FAROE: 'Hot burglary finds notorious businessman Robert Puckett dead.' Dad, this is a real case they've got. (Faroe taps the paper.)
ARTHUR: Guess who just got hired to solve it.
FAROE: How on earth?
ARTHUR: Long story. Aren't you late for astrology?
FAROE: Astronomy.
ARTHUR: Yeah.
FAROE: And I have a few. Just give it to me PDQ.
ARTHUR: Puckett was dead when I got there. Signs of forced entry. Pretty significant ones. And I ran into someone.
FAROE: Looks like it. Did you stop him with your mug?
ARTHUR: Hey, I got a few shots in as well.
JOHN: She sits on the desk and reaches over. (Arthur winces.) Touching the bruise on your forehead.
FAROE: Must have been quite the goose to lay an egg that big.
ARTHUR: I'm fine.
FAROE: So, who hired you? (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: Better you not know, love.
(A whimsical melody plays.)
FAROE: Oh, really? You land what looks to be the hottest case in Arkham, and you want me to stay away?
JOHN: She stood up, leafing through the papers on our desk. The ones from Sam's murder. The drawing I made of the tattoo.
FAROE (pondering): Hm… Puckett a sailor?
ARTHUR: Actually, that's a different case. (Paper rustles.)
FAROE: Uh… Either of these paying, Dad?
ARTHUR: What's that supposed to mean?
FAROE: Oh, nothing. Just, someone's got to make sure you're taking care of yourself.
ARTHUR: As a matter of fact, the Puckett case will pay so well, the ones I did pro bono won't matter.
FAROE: You are a big softie, Dad.
ARTHUR: Is that a problem?
FAROE: No.
JOHN: She turns back and smiles.
FAROE: I like it.
JOHN: She turns around again, coyly, and looks at our chalkboard of notes transcribed from the files Jack gave us.
FAROE: Hayes, McMahon, Fleming... a lot of names here, Dad. (Teasing.) Sure would be easier if you had another set of eyes…
ARTHUR: No.
FAROE: Why?
ARTHUR: Not this one. Too dangerous. And-and besides, I thought you didn't want to play secretary anymore.
FAROE: This isn't secretary. It's partner.
ARTHUR: I had a partner.
(The phone rings. Arthur and John make noises of surprise.)
JOHN: That didn't take long.
FAROE: You want me to answer that?
ARTHUR: Would you —
FAROE (petulant): So I can answer phones, but I can't help you with this.
JOHN: You gonna answer it?
ARTHUR: Yes.
FAROE (prodding): Yes? I can?
ARTHUR: No, not you.
FAROE: Then who?
ARTHUR: Oh, stop.
FAROE: Are you done with this file folder then? (Arthur picks up the phone.)
ARTHUR: Arthur Lester, private investigator. How can I help you?
OSCAR (over the phone): Arthur?
ARTHUR: Yes?
OSCAR: Uh, oh… Oscar. Eh…
ARTHUR (friendly): Oh, Oscar! Hi. How are you?
OSCAR: Good, good. I just wanted to speak with you. I was thinking of coming to visit.
ARTHUR: Coming to visit? Well, that's an idea.
OSCAR: A good idea?
FAROE: Have you read through these, Dad?
JOHN: Faroe's holding the —
ARTHUR (overlapping): What?
JOHN: — manila envelope of files.
ARTHUR: Y-Yes.
OSCAR: Yes?
ARTHUR: No.
OSCAR: No?
FAROE (sing-song): No?
ARTHUR: Well, no, I think it's a good idea. Would be lovely to see you, Oscar. How are you?
FAROE (playful): No, to me?
ARTHUR (mildly annoyed): You scamp, would you stop?
JOHN: Faroe sticks out her tongue and smiles innocently. (John chuckles.)
ARTHUR: Sorry, Oscar, it's not a great time.
OSCAR: Of course. I'm sorry.
ARTHUR: No, no, no, let me call you back. But yes, for the record, I think it'd be a great time for you to visit. Would love to catch up.
OSCAR: Wonderful. I'll let you go for now.
ARTHUR: Thank you, Oscar. Talk soon.
OSCAR: My best to Faroe. (The phone is placed back on the receiver.)
FAROE: So? Who is that?
ARTHUR: Why are you torturing me?
FAROE (sighing): For the torturous morning where I wasn't sure if you were okay.
ARTHUR: Can we be even now?
FAROE: Happily. (Footsteps.) But I am serious, Dad. I may be of help.
ARTHUR: I have no doubt. But the people who hired me, the things Puckett was into, I'd rather keep you as far away as possible. Somehow I got roped into all this, a-and… I don't want you to be roped in with me.
FAROE: I don't mind.
ARTHUR: I know you don't. But I'm still your dad, and I still want to protect you. Just like you were my little girl, still.
JOHN: She smiles, but there's a lingering sadness behind it.
FAROE: Fair enough. (A pause. Footsteps. Paper rustles.) I didn't take you for a reader of these.
ARTHUR: These? What are you —
JOHN: Her eyes flick down to… (Energized.) The dime magazine we bought yesterday! The copy of Malevolent Mysteries that was hidden beneath the case papers.
ARTHUR (awkwardly): Oh. Uh, well, you know, I…
FAROE: No judgment. Everyone deserves a little mindless fun here and there.
JOHN (whiny): Mindless?
ARTHUR: Yeah, well, the detective stories, you know, they're actually quite good.
FAROE: Oh, yeah?
ARTHUR: Yeah. A little pulpy, sure, but they're surprisingly well written.
FAROE: Hm. Given all your poetry and Shakespeare, I guess I'm just a bit surprised. But fair enough. Maybe I'll pick myself up a copy.
ARTHUR: I think you should.
FAROE: Maybe once I'm done with mine.
ARTHUR: What's that again?
FAROE: This. The puzzle book, Torquemada. Remember?
ARTHUR: Oh, right, right.
FAROE: It's fantastic. A real head-scratcher. Pieces all out of order. You haven't heard about it?
ARTHUR: No, not really.
FAROE: It's quite popular. Taking the city by storm, in a way. Everyone's reading it.
ARTHUR: Maybe I'm just a contrarian. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: She heads to the door to leave.
ARTHUR: Did you want me to walk you down?
FAROE: Nope, I know the way. Contrarian or not, these puzzles… It's like they're a piece of the bigger picture. A story not yet told. Something cryptic and ancient.
ARTHUR: Sounds like a real ball.
FAROE: Dad. (The door opens. John and Arthur make noises of surprise.) Oh!
JOHN: Callihan.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Faroe.
ARTHUR: Oh, Callihan.
FAROE: Morning, Mr. Callihan. Nice to see you again.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: You too, Miss Lester. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.
FAROE: Not at all. I was just leaving.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Understood. Well, you have yourself a wonderful day. I'll just wait inside, Arthur.
ARTHUR: Please, I'll just be a moment. (The door closes.)
FAROE (whispering): Callihan must have been worried about you too.
ARTHUR: No. No, he's part of the other case I was talking about.
FAROE: Alright, well... I'm glad you're okay, Dad. (Kiss.) I love you.
ARTHUR: I love you too.
FAROE: You said you didn't know how you got roped into all this?
ARTHUR (distracted): Hmm?
FAROE: With the Puckett case, right?
ARTHUR: Yeah.
FAROE: Well, did you ask the guy who gave Puckett your card?
ARTHUR: What? How did you know he got my card?
FAROE: He told me when I took the message. He said he was calling to speak with you. That he got your card from a friend. Lennie something.
ARTHUR: Lennie something? I don't know...
FAROE: Just what he said!
ARTHUR: Oh, gosh, was it…?
JOHN: She's leaving.
ARTHUR: Leonard! Was it Leonard Gilbert?
FAROE (distant): Maybe. Have a good day, Dad.
(Arthur sighs.)
JOHN: She's gone. Down the stairs.
ARTHUR: Leonard fucking Gilbert. That flat tire.
JOHN: Who?
ARTHUR: The stained livery case.
JOHN: Yeah, right. The mystic. The cheat.
ARTHUR (under his breath): For fuck's sake.
JOHN: He was potentially one of the last people to see Puckett alive.
ARTHUR: Which means we have to talk to the stupid quack again.
JOHN: And here I thought we were done with that idiot.
ARTHUR: You and me both.
JOHN: And of course Callihan is hoping for an update on Sam's case from the barn.
ARTHUR: Yeah, didn't even look into the sigil or the tattoo. He's gonna be let down.
JOHN: Not if we tell him we'll look into it today. Put the Puckett case on hold. Just for a bit.
ARTHUR: Well, it would be unwise to focus on both today. Better to pick one or the other.
JOHN: Exactly. The Puckett case is hot, and Edwin will be calling today.
ARTHUR: But Sam's death is on my hands. Despite the person responsible being out there, my guilt has not been assuaged.
JOHN: So, which case should we make a priority? Edwin's or Callihan's?
ARTHUR: Well, probably Edwin's, right?
JOHN: Yeah?
ARTHUR: I mean, like it or not, he's paying us and there seems to be a ticking clock on it.
JOHN: I suppose so. (Arthur sighs.)
ARTHUR: Either way, Callihan is waiting.
JOHN: Right. (A door opens.)
ARTHUR: Sorry for keeping you waiting, Callihan.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Oh, it's alright. (The door closes.)
ARTHUR: Let me… clean up. (Papers rustling, objects moving.)
JOHN: Callihan is sitting on the couch, back straight, patiently waiting.
ARTHUR (searching): Afraid I don't have a great deal of news. Where is the file?
JOHN: The folder from Edwin's... We left it here on the table, but it's gone. Did she—? In realization.) She did!
ARTHUR: That scamp!
OFFICER CALLIHAN: What's that?
ARTHUR (amused): She took my bloody file! (John chuckles.) Jesus.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Everything alright?
ARTHUR (fond): Yeah, the personality on that girl could pull us into the sun.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Is that a bad thing?
ARTHUR: No. It's the absolute best.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Oh.
ARTHUR (sighing): Anyway, I'm afraid I don't have great news. I ended up picking up another case, so I don't have answers about our tattoo or the sigil yet. It's still on my to-do list, but —
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Oh, it's… it's alright.
ARTHUR: Did you find anything at the halfway house?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: No, not yet. They turned me away because of the time. I'm heading back there today. I'll get some answers.
ARTHUR: Yeah… looks like we both turned up nothing.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Yeah…
JOHN: Callihan seems... odd. Distracted.
ARTHUR: Is everything alright?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I'd say it's about as left as it can get.
ARTHUR: Well, lay it out, Callihan, we're all friends here.
JOHN: He looks at us. A serious, almost grave expression on his face.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: That's the problem, Arthur. I'm not sure what to lay out.
ARTHUR: Start at the beginning?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: The beginning, huh? The beginning was seeing you in that barn.
ARTHUR: Well, then start at the end.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: What if that end ain't exactly… an end?
JOHN: His eyes dart away from ours, as if he's unable to keep our gaze.
ARTHUR (mildly annoyed): Look, I don't have time to beat the breeze if that's all this is, Callihan —
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Can't you see I'm fixing up to something? I'm trying to make sense of it in my head, Lester. I'm trying to make sense of something that... well, that don't make sense.
JOHN: He seems genuinely shaken, Arthur.
ARTHUR (placating): Alright, alright. Your time.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Something's happened to Sam. To the body of Sam.
ARTHUR: What's that?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Well, it... it's gone. Missing from the morgue last night.
JOHN: He swallows hard, as if the words are difficult to say.
ARTHUR: Alright. Okay. Okay, look. Look, it's strange, but it's not entirely out there. (Footsteps.) It's off your plate, Callihan; the detectives are involved. You're scot-free on this. Sometimes people steal bodies. It's not right, but it's —
OFFICER CALLIHAN: That's just it.
ARTHUR: What's it?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I'm not sure it was… stolen.
ARTHUR: Alright, start talking straight. What's going on, Callihan?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: We got called to the morgue this morning. The missing body. And while the others combed the scene, checked around outside, you know, who saw what across the street, I… I questioned Wilson — Sy Wilson, y-you know him.
ARTHUR: Yeah, I saw him, last night. Go on.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Sy is a serious man. Stiff, a little too serious even for my tastes. But as I took his statement… spit, Arthur, I had to take it three times before understanding what he was telling me.
ARTHUR: Enough gas, Callihan.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: The body wasn't taken, Arthur. Sy said… Sy said he watched the thing stand up and walk out.
ARTHUR (flat): Okay.
OFFICER CALLIHAN (shaken): Okay? That's all you have to say? Tell me something else, Lester. Tell me Sy's a drinker. Tell me... Tell me you got reason to know this is a put-on, tell me something that makes this a load of hogwash.
ARTHUR: Callihan, relax. You've been doing this long enough. You know as well as I do that there are a dozen ways a body like that could be taken out of there. And a dozen ways Sy could be wrong or bribed to say that, right?
OFFICER CALLIHAN (unsure): Yeah. Yeah?
ARTHUR: So let's not put the cart before the horse, okay?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: You're telling me that —
ARTHUR: I'm not telling you anything. What I'm saying is, let's stay objective about this. (Fabric shifting.)
JOHN: Arthur, Callihan isn't used to this kind of thing. Of course, it could be a hoax, but Callihan especially is not equipped to handle the nature of what this could be.
ARTHUR: Okay, so you took his statement. And you believe him.
JOHN: He looks up to us. That same grave expression.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I do, Arthur. God help me, but I do.
ARTHUR: Okay, okay. So what'd you do next?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I spoke with the others, found out what the scene was saying.
ARTHUR: What'd they think of Sy's account of what happened?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I-I didn't tell them.
ARTHUR: You took a statement but you didn't tell anyone.
OFFICER CALLIHAN (increasingly nervous): Listen, Arthur, I'm not as accustomed to this kind of hoodoo as you are, alright? I don't know what to think and before I hear all kinds of nonsense being thrown my way at the precinct I want to make sure I know what the heck I'm dealing with.
ARTHUR (placating): Alright. Alright.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Hell, this is exactly the kind of thing that'll get you sent off to Precinct 19. And I like where I work. I like my beat and – and my place in the world.
ARTHUR: Calm down, okay?
JOHN: Precinct 19?
ARTHUR: Everything's Jake right now. Just keep your head.
(Callihan exhales shakily.)
JOHN: He shudders slightly and exhales a long, calming breath.
ARTHUR: Okay, so you came here. Why?
JOHN: He looks at you with an annoyed expression.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Are you kidding me? Isn't this exactly the kind of thing you deal with? (Confrontational.) Isn't it?
ARTHUR: Yeah, but...
JOHN: His expression holds.
ARTHUR: Fair enough. Okay, yeah. So what, you want me to look into this?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I want you to tell me what I'm supposed to do. I can't submit this account. I can't make it go away, neither. I'm in a bind, Lester. I don't see the world this way. I-I don't want to. (Callihan mutters, unintelligible.)
JOHN: He's fighting with himself, Arthur. A man exposed to only a fraction of what we've experienced and already having such a debate within himself. Something like this, it could make him question everything, Arthur. Or worse. We know what made you special, but most people, they're like him, Arthur. Looking into this world, even glancing into the notion of the kinds of otherworldly horrors that exist, it can drive them mad. If we want to help him, we need to protect him from the truth, as much as possible. At least until he's ready.
ARTHUR: Alright. Callihan, listen. (Callihan takes deep breaths.) Don't turn in the report just yet. Just sit on it.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: For how long?
ARTHUR: For as long as you can while I look into Sam. Hell, maybe I'll find the body. Maybe I can get it back and the whole case will be a wash.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay.
ARTHUR: In the meantime, you keep doing what you're doing. Looking into Sam's halfway house and… and the like.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I...
ARTHUR: And wash all this from your mind.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Wash it?
ARTHUR: Yeah, just put it in a little box for now.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: I can't —
ARTHUR: You can. Because you're a good cop, and I've seen you box up much worse things. Terrible things. Real things. That you have to see in order to do this job.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Alright.
ARTHUR: I'll handle this. And I'll get you an answer that makes sense to you.
OFFICER CALLIHAN (relieved): Thank you, Arthur. Thank you. (Callihan sighs. Bashful.) Gosh, I'm feeling a little dippy after all this. I'm awful sorry for stepping in on you and Faroe.
ARTHUR: Nah, like she said. She was on her way out anyway. She had school.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Still, must have given her a sour stomach on behalf of my demeanor.
ARTHUR: She's got a strong stomach, don't you worry. Anyway, you just think little of all this and I'll handle the rest.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Y-You want my report?
ARTHUR: Sure, yeah, save me talking to Sy.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Yeah, I'll put it here on the mail.
ARTHUR: Mail?
JOHN: Yeah, Faroe brought the mail in. She left it on the piano.
ARTHUR: Oh, yeah, please.
JOHN: Ask him about Precinct 19. Something about that struck me as odd.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: It's quite a lot of mail.
ARTHUR: Yeah, well, you'd be surprised at what it is.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Paychecks?
ARTHUR: Yeah, I wish. Say, you mentioned Precinct 19. What's all that about?
JOHN: He makes an odd expression, averting his gaze, almost like a child being caught in a lie.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Oh, yeah. Well, it's just... it's not a popular precinct.
ARTHUR: Yeah?
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Nothing more to it, really.
JOHN: He turns away from the piano and looks at the pictures on the wall, clearly trying to avoid the conversation.
ARTHUR: Still, you made it sound like it's a punishment to be transferred there.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: No, not to some. (Callihan mutters under his breath, unintelligible.)
JOHN: He looks uncomfortable. Maybe ease off the gas.
ARTHUR: Alright.
JOHN: We can press it later.
ARTHUR: Here I am yapping about nonsense while we both got work to do.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Yeah, thank you, Mr. Lester. I-I… I don't have much to pay you with, but...
ARTHUR: A wealthy policeman would be a novelty. I'm not doing it for the dough, Callihan.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Well, thank you.
ARTHUR: Besides, it's kind of all my fault, really.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: Don't say that. You tried your best. I-I know you did.
ARTHUR: Put it on my gravestone, will you?
OFFICER CALLIHAN (quietly): Anyway. (Normal volume.) Talk soon. (The door opens.) Thank you again.
ARTHUR: Yeah, so long.
OFFICER CALLIHAN: So long. (The door closes.)
(John sighs heavily.)
ARTHUR: You can say that again.
JOHN: Quite the wake-up.
ARTHUR: Where was the mail again?
JOHN: At the piano. You're not… annoyed at the mail, are you? The mail that's sent to me?
ARTHUR: Nah, I think it's entertaining really.
JOHN: Yeah?
ARTHUR: Yeah, I never heard of fan mail before. It's quite charming. Or some of it.
JOHN: Do you want me to read any of it?
ARTHUR: Nah, just read me the business mail. (Paper rustles.) So, the body of Sam left the morgue. What are the odds it was Sam, on his own volition walking out?
JOHN (distracted): Given what we've experienced, the tattoo and sigil, I'd say the odds are good that what Sy saw was real.
ARTHUR: Poor Callihan. He's in the wrong line of work, you know, he should be a priest.
JOHN: Given how little he swears, he practically is.
ARTHUR: Speaking of, Oscar!
JOHN: Hm.
ARTHUR: He wants to visit. That'd be nice, right?
JOHN (flat): Sure, sure.
ARTHUR: I think it could be a nice change-up. For a few days. I'll have to remember to call him back. Anything for the business?
JOHN: No.
ARTHUR: Anything entertaining for you? From your Malevolent Mysteries fans?
JOHN: Yes… I think so.
ARTHUR: Yeah?
JOHN: I mean, this is now… maybe the fourth piece of mail I've gotten from this address. In Arkham.
ARTHUR: Yeah?
JOHN: Yeah, I read you two of them, I think. But most of it... well, most of it is jumbled.
ARTHUR: Jumbled? Oh, right, yes. What was the name?
JOHN: Mister Herds.
ARTHUR: Yes, right.
JOHN: His letters are mostly the same. A short, kind message and then gibberish. Nonsensical letters scratched in bizarre patterns…
ARTHUR (mildly surprised): He getting to you?
JOHN: I suppose a bit.
ARTHUR: Well, not all fan mail is positive.
JOHN: Except the only words I can read are: 'I'm a big fan of your work.'
ARTHUR: Clearly he is if he's written four times to say so little.
JOHN: Yeah…
ARTHUR: Anyway, if that's the mail, then we probably should get moving.
JOHN: Yes, so… the Puckett case then?
ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah, look, Callihan is rightfully concerned, but… we need to find the guy who ran into us in the greenhouse first.
JOHN: So… I suppose we visit the mystic?
ARTHUR: Ugh. Or, the file said that Johnny Fleming, Puckett's number two, was last living above a boxing gym. Could be worthwhile to ask around there, I don't know. See if they know where he's hiding.
JOHN: Right. Jack said he'd probably be keeping his head down with his boss getting offed.
ARTHUR: And he being the next in line to sit on the throne, so to speak. If not Leonard, he'd be the next likely to have last seen him alive.
JOHN: True. Well, both seem fruitful. It's your choice. (Arthur sighs deeply.) Does that sigh mean what I think it means?
ARTHUR: Look, there’s a good chance Johnny Fleming isn’t even at his place above the gym, whereas… it being a work day, it’s highly likely Gilbert’s home.
JOHN: True.
ARTHUR: And if we’re to believe Faroe, Leonard did give Puckett my card.
JOHN: Fair enough.
ARTHUR: Or maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t be home. He tends to heavily favor house calls. But regardless, he is the stronger lead.
JOHN: Begrudgingly, I agree.
ARTHUR: Alright, then. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: Do you want to shave or wash up or —
ARTHUR: For Leonard? No, I’m good.
JOHN (amused): Huh.
ARTHUR: It’ll be a good excuse to leave. Say we just woke up and came here.
JOHN: Fair. Your hat’s by the door.
ARTHUR: Yeah. (The door opens.)
JOHN: The stained livery case… what a shitshow. (The door shuts. A key in a lock.)
ARTHUR: You’re telling me. A distinctly normal case, bookended by Leonard’s mystic hocum. A waste of our talents and our time…
JOHN (sarcastic): But you made a new best friend!
ARTHUR: Oh, don’t even. I have had a hard enough time dodging his calls.
JOHN: Why on Earth did he take such a shine to you?
ARTHUR: Because he is a hack, fraud, and for better or for worse, our experiences are… tangible.
JOHN: Stairs, here.
ARTHUR: Thanks.
JOHN: So you’re convinced he’s a fraud—
ARTHUR: Oh, come off it, John. You are too.
JOHN: I mean, mystics in general, obviously. They have their audience, but I—
ARTHUR (exasperated): Grifters are grifters, John! Charlatans preying on the weak and vulnerable, offering answers through their bullshit promises and bogus connection to the otherworldly. It’s bunko… and cruel, to boot.
JOHN: You’ll hear no argument from me that the practice is rank, but… but Leonard himself? You don’t believe any of what he pelts is based in reality? In experience? Even a fleeting one—
ARTHUR: Are you getting soft on me now? His bumbling act snagging a few of your heartstrings?
JOHN: I’m playing the odds, Arthur. (Arthur scoffs.) You and I were a flame that drew countless horrors. The wraith, the hound… whatever lay at the bottom of Lake Crawford. And that’s just to name a few.
ARTHUR: That was Lillith’s doing, if you recall. She needed a lure for Kayne, and we drew the short straw.
JOHN: But that’s not to say those things hadn’t already existed. For all we know, they were here… first. I remember a lot more than what I once did, but eons is a long time to recall and… and I… I pre-dated humankind…
ARTHUR: What are you saying?
JOHN: Well, perhaps Leonard… misguided as he may be… is one of the unlucky few to have seen beyond the borders of this world. As you have.
ARTHUR: Maybe. But what he has chosen to do with that sight is… distasteful. To say the least. And I’ll be sure to tell him this time.
JOHN: Very well.
ARTHUR (sighing): You don’t think…?
JOHN: Hm?
ARTHUR: You don’t think that… lure… is still active. Do you? That we’re still here, drawing things from out the darkness?
JOHN (uncertain): I… I don’t know. Maybe.
ARTHUR: Yeah.
JOHN: But I’ll tell you this much. Anything that leaves the comfort of the shadows behind… aiming to bring us harm… will be following the flame to ruin. (John sighs.) The street exits just ahead.
ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah. (The door opens.)
JOHN: Oh!
ARTHUR: What? (Sounds of a dog panting.)
JOHN (disgusted): The… the dog! (Dog barks.) Followed us back!
ARTHUR: The dog? (Arthur chuckles.) How on Earth did it –
PARKER: I told you not to feed it.
JOHN: It must’ve… I don’t know. (Accusatory.) Did you bring it with you in the taxi?
ARTHUR: No, god, no.
PARKER: Damn mutt’s all glue-y for you now, kid.
JOHN (angry): Arthur, we… what do we do?
ARTHUR: It’s just a dog, John.
JOHN: But you promised.
ARTHUR (conciliatory): I’m not gonna feed it anymore. It’ll go away when it realizes we have nothing more to offer.
PARKER (sarcastic): Oh yeah, for sure.
JOHN: Well, are we driving or a…?
ARTHUR: No, no no no. It’s close enough, we’ll walk.
JOHN: Yeah, yeah. I figured you’d say that. This way.
PARKER (eager): Artie, I’ve been… I was thinking about what you said. About doing the work first. Well-Well, I—
JOHN: So what’s our plan with Leonard? Straightforward or… dance around it a little?
PARKER: Can you… get rid of John for a moment?
JOHN: I know he likes the games—
PARKER (impatient): I can tell he’s talkin’. I wanna chat. I wanna talk to you.
JOHN: Knowing him, he would just exploit it.
ARTHUR: Yeah, no doubt he’s heard about Puckett by now.
PARKER: Please. (Dog panting.)
ARTHUR: Look, what’s the dog d… doing?
JOHN: It’s following us.
ARTHUR (sighing): Let me… let me show it a bit of affection a-and…
JOHN (irate): Again?
ARTHUR: I know, but it’s just a dog!
JOHN: Arthur, that’s what got us here in the first place.
ARTHUR: He’s lonely.
JOHN: Have you considered for even a moment whether this is even a dog? Need I remind you about Lillith?
ARTHUR: I’m not spilling state secrets, John.
JOHN: Fine, but you’re gonna have to guess when you’re there. I guess count the blocks, or…
ARTHUR: I’ve made tougher calls.
JOHN: Fine. Just don’t get us killed.
ARTHUR: I will keep an ear out for traffic.
(An otherworldly zap. Arthur pats the dog.)
PARKER: He gone?
ARTHUR: Yeah, look. This is getting really old, really fast. I can’t keep putting John in a box every time you want to chat. Okay?
PARKER: Hey, I was your partner first, buddy boy.
ARTHUR: Yeah, well, then you died.
PARKER (voice distorting): Yeah, well, whose fault is that? (The dog whines and barks.) S-Sorry. Sorry.
ARTHUR: Having a tough time keeping that temper in check, are we?
PARKER: Yeah, you try staying calm when you can’t sleep. Can’t eat, can’t smoke. Y-you still have all the cravings. Still can feel the rumble in your gut. The metal of the lighter in your fingers. (The lighter flicks.)
ARTHUR: What are you?
PARKER (shaken): I don’t know. I don’t know. But I had an idea. Come on, it’s this way— the way you’re headin’.
ARTHUR: Alright. (The dog follows.)
PARKER (chuckling): That dog sure does like you.
ARTHUR: It’s you he likes. What, were you out here all night?
PARKER: Walking the streets, yeah. Thinking things through, like, uh… like you said. Why you headin’ this way, anyway? Something to do with Edwin’s gig?
ARTHUR: Yeah, Lennie Gilbert. The Mystic. You know him?
PARKER: After my time. But I heard you mention him a little while ago.
ARTHUR: Yeah, I suppose you kept your eyes on me for a while, eh?
PARKER: I did, but I also kept my distance. I know how it looks. I know how all this looks. I’m not trying to fuck up life here, Artie, I’m just—
ARTHUR: I know. I know.
PARKER: So this Mystic is, eh…
ARTHUR: The one who gave Puckett my card.
PARKER: Ah.
ARTHUR: Drew me in to all this. Which means at the very least, he saw Puckett in the days before his death. Probably even saw more. Hoping he could lead me to a head shrinker that Puckett was seeing, or maybe even the whereabouts of Johnny Fleming.
PARKER: Hard lead.
ARTHUR: Yeah, well, when you’re starting from cold, everything tends to feel hot.
PARKER: Here, here, here! Stop, stop.
ARTHUR: Stop? We’re here?
PARKER: Here. It’s… where I wanna show you.
ARTHUR (joking): Well, I hate to hand you a black eye, Parker, but showing me anything isn’t really in the cards right now.
PARKER: You know, you really became quite the wise ass in the last few months.
ARTHUR: Yeah, well, dying will do that to you. Where are we?
PARKER: The Abbey.
ARTHUR: The… Abbey? The one ‘round the corner from us? Why on earth…
PARKER: It’s been burned down for as long as I can remember.
ARTHUR: Even before you met me?
PARKER: Back before I moved into Moseby even. I never seen what it looked like before the fire.
ARTHUR: Shame. Even as rubble, it was quite the beautiful building.
PARKER: Yeah. It is, isn’t it? And remember when we used to get really stuck on a case? Needed to think it over?
ARTHUR (chuckling): Oh, I do. Caused… caused quite the ruckus.
PARKER: Miss Conglomerate really had our number.
ARTHUR: Well, to her credit, we were throwing rocks at broken windows.
PARKER: I was always the better shot, wasn’t I?
ARTHUR: Sure. So. What’s the score, Parker?
PARKER: I spent a long time walking the streets last night. Really took my time getting home… that damn dog following me all the way. A little bit ago, as the sun rose over those buildings over there, the strips of light cut into the tall red brick of Moseby. I was roundin’ that corner there, to your right, and… well, the light… it caught that last piece of stained glass in the blackened remnants of the standing back wall. A-and… it hit me. The light, I mean. It bathed me in color for the first time since… since being here, a-and… I swear to you, Artie. I swear to you. I felt something.
ARTHUR: You felt something?
PARKER: Well, you know me. I’ve never been one for God or religion or anything like that, but… but I always saw the good in the churches. I saw the good in the community, the connection, the trust, the belonging. The safety. To me, it wasn’t a house of God but… a house of hope.
I never told you this, but my parents… they were really accepted by the church. Protected even, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were targets for missionary conversion, but my parents were smart enough to see through that and still appreciated the church as a place of safety. Growing up, they talked about it a lot. Talked about how the church helped them get on their feet.
I guess because of that, I used to walk past this building for years, averting my gaze, never looking too hard at it. Y'know, to me, it was… a broken promise, a blackened lie once buffed and shined, but no more. Like the charred remains of some righteous beast that once protected these people from fear and doubt. I… I can only see those remains as one less… bastion for the persecuted. One less shelter for the needy. I couldn’t see the hope that it was built to inspire… and that it once inspired in me.
But that window… that window, through— through rain and sleet and storm, and yeah, a few pissed off PIs, it remained. Like an unwavering flag, it stood. A signpost I had not dared to look at until this morning… was like a beacon, Artie. A beacon calling me home.
ARTHUR: So… you found God?
PARKER: No!
ARTHUR (unserious): God found you?
PARKER: No, no, nothing like that. It’s not about the religion or the god. It… It’s about having a place for hope. For safety. For… for protection.
ARTHUR: Lovely sentiment, Parker. And-and I’m following you so far. But what’s at the end of this road?
PARKER: Salvation, hopefully.
ARTHUR: I-I mean to say –
PARKER: I know what you mean to say. But you asked me to look outside the box. Then I’d be pretty damn foolish to ignore a light shining in my eyes, now, wouldn’t I?
ARTHUR: Look… (He sighs.) I don’t know if the answers you’re looking for are gonna be in a burnt abbey. But putting my own feelings aside about God and the Church… maybe it is a sign… not to be ignored.
PARKER: Annoying, isn’t it?
ARTHUR: Not the word I’d use, but… I’ve been there.
PARKER: So I know I’m gumming up the works here, but… but I’m here and I’m asking. You got any idea where to start?
ARTHUR: Um… I do have a friend. One whom I spoke to just this morning, actually, about visiting. Perhaps he may be of help.
PARKER: Yeah?
ARTHUR: Yeah. He's a priest. I met him during my time in New York.
PARKER: Oh, we're jumping straight to a priest, eh?
ARTHUR: Look, maybe you're right. We both grew up being fed a line about hell in the afterlife. I'm not ready for a bedside baptism, but given this… sign, maybe taking the religious route to your problem is the wisest course of action.
PARKER: My problem? (Parker chuckles.)
ARTHUR (scoffing): I'm not saying —
PARKER (silly): Why, excuse me, good priest. I'm, uh, I'm having this little problem with, uh —
ARTHUR: Oh, get off it.
PARKER: You know, I, uh, I seem to be fucking dead.
ARTHUR (exasperated): You know what I mean.
PARKER: You know, this — this problem of not being alive.
ARTHUR: You are such a nitwit.
PARKER (playful): A nitwit? Artie, you wound me so.
ARTHUR: Oh, suck an egg.
PARKER: I'm just teasing. You're right, you're right. I uh… I really appreciate you reaching out to him, pal. It would mean a lot.
ARTHUR: Yeah, well, when you turn on the waterworks, what choice do I have?
PARKER: Would that I could.
ARTHUR (sincere): I don't know what this will all shake out to, but... I'll take the ride with you.
PARKER: Thanks, pal.
ARTHUR: Yeah, anyway, I got a date with Gilbert I got to keep.
PARKER: Right, Right! Let's go. This way. (Arthur hums in affirmation.) See? I can be your eyes too.
ARTHUR: Look, I — I can't keep blotting out John like this. Not only will he get suspicious, but it's not fair.
PARKER: Fair? Well, I can't hear him. How is that fair?
ARTHUR: I, I —
PARKER: I’m kidding. Look, what do you want me to say?
ARTHUR: Explain why you care whether or not he knows about you.
PARKER: Ah, you know me. I like playing things close to the chest.
ARTHUR: Bullshit. You have a reason. You want me to trust you, You want me to help you? You gotta fill me in.
PARKER: Hah. See, you know it's me.
ARTHUR: Lay it out, Parker.
PARKER: You want the truth?
ARTHUR: Always.
PARKER: All right. (A pause.) Truth is, because you didn't.
ARTHUR: Because I didn't what?
PARKER: Because you didn't tell him.
ARTHUR: Hold on, what kind of bullshit is that? I —
PARKER: When I first started talking, you didn't tell him.
ARTHUR: Of course I did. I asked him if he heard anything, if he saw anything.
PARKER: Yeah, yeah, yeah. And when he didn't, how quickly did you drop it?
ARTHUR: What does that matter? I thought I was going crazy, maybe. I thought I was being haunted. I still am.
PARKER: Right, but you didn't push it. You know, you didn't double down, ask him to believe you. You didn't press the issue.
ARTHUR: Well, this is some baloney. I —
PARKER: I'm not saying that I don't trust John.
ARTHUR (incredulous): Oh, really?
PARKER: What I'm saying is, I thought maybe there was a part of you that didn't. And it made me think, well… has he ever even got the chance to question that?
ARTHUR (lost): What?
PARKER: I mean, who do you got to talk to about John? You know, it seems like you… you don't ever get the space to question anything about him. You know, to chat with someone else about him. Hell, I even have questions about him and you have answers that he may not want to hear. So how are you ever going to really tell me how you feel if he's always there? I don't know, there was some part of you that didn't want to push the issue. You know, you didn't want to twist his arm, y-your arm. I don't fucking know.
ARTHUR: So you...
PARKER: So I saw that, and I don't know, I guess it gave me pause for thought. You know, it made me think. Arthur doesn't really seem like he wants to tell John, and uh… if I ask him not to, well, then he can blame me instead of himself. You know, it's… you know, it becomes my fault, not your choice.
ARTHUR: I don't...
PARKER: Look, you put him away before talking to me, right? Weeks and weeks I tried to catch your attention. You ignored me. And finally, right before answering, and I mean, really answering, you put him away. However you do. And then you talk to me. I'm not... I'm not saying you did it on purpose, maybe it was instinct, I don't know, but... but to me, it seemed like, it seemed like maybe there is an element of trust that you don't have with him. A blind spot.
ARTHUR (shaky): You're all wet. I-I'm the one asking to tell him. I — I just needed a moment to test the waters.
PARKER: You're telling me you trust him. Implicitly. Unwavering confidence. He never lied to you about nothing?
ARTHUR: I… uh…
PARKER: See, there it is again. You can't even tell the face you're making.
ARTHUR: My trust issues with John have nothing to do with you or your presence. The opposite, really.
PARKER: That so?
ARTHUR: Yes, I want him to know… about you for exactly the reason you're saying! Because we've had a tumultuous time in the past, you know, things he kept secret, terrible things, and I forgave him for them.
PARKER: Did you?
ARTHUR: Yes, of course. I had to.
PARKER: You had to?
ARTHUR: I... Look, you weren't there. I forgave him.
PARKER: No, no, no, hold on. What do you mean you had to forgive him? Why? Why did you have to?
ARTHUR: I had to because his lies were being used to manipulate our relationship. His lies were being propped up as an example, an attempt at division. And we were so close to the end that I-I couldn't let Kayne win. I couldn't prove him right. We-We needed to be united.
PARKER: It’s that name again, Kayne. Who was that?
ARTHUR: No one. It doesn't matter. Look, he's gone now and none of this matters. None of this —
PARKER (frustrated): I think it does, pal. (Dog whining.) Maybe you don't think that I have the right to say something now, but...
ARTHUR (firm): No, you don't. You weren't there.
PARKER (distorted outburst): Well that wasn't my choice!
ARTHUR: There's that temper again.
PARKER (distorted): Yeah, well, maybe it's deserved. You know, I've been pretty fucking kind, considering my last moments alive were watching you, my best friend, kill me. (Dog whining, Parker breathes heavily.)
ARTHUR: You... you think that I.... (Dog shaking.)
PARKER (breathing heavily): Sorry. Sorry, I don't know... I don’t know why that keeps happening.
ARTHUR: You think I... I…
PARKER: What?
ARTHUR: N-Nothing. Nothing, what were you saying?
PARKER: I'm just... Look, I care about you, Artie. Seeing you, fighting with yourself, disagreeing.
ARTHUR: I chose this, Parker. I did. John is not perfect, and maybe you're right. Perhaps there is a part of me that wanted to keep this from him. And a part of me that still hasn't fully forgiven him. Especially with Faroe again.
PARKER: Hold-hold on, just wait. Look, if you want to tell him about me, I'm okay with that. But don't do it for him. Don't do it because you think you owe him or nothing like that, okay — Do it because you want to. I've seen the man you've become. Hell, I like him a lot more than the wet sock you were a few months ago.
ARTHUR: Hey.
PARKER: You can be a part of him while still being a part of your own person, you know? Don't lose Arthur Lester. Keep drinking tea, keep playing music, maybe write a new song for your old pal. You know, just —
ARTHUR: I hear you. I get it. I… I know how it must look. And in a strange way, I-I guess I appreciate you taking the choice out of my hands for a while.
PARKER: You're my brother, Artie. I'll always love you. Even if you did kill me.
ARTHUR: Yeah.
PARKER: Anyway, you want the good news or the bad news?
ARTHUR: Huh?
PARKER: We're here at the Mystic’s.
ARTHUR: Oh, is that the bad news?
PARKER: No, the bad news is that he's closed.
ARTHUR: Oh, for fuck’s sake. (A whimsical tune plays.) But what's the good news?
PARKER (deadpan): I already told you. We're at the Mystic’s. (Arthur chuffs.) I'm pulling your leg. Good news is I think I could maybe poke around in there.
ARTHUR: You can? But it's locked up.
PARKER: Hasn't stopped me yet.
ARTHUR: You mean?
PARKER: Wouldn't be very good if I had to wait for every door to be opened for me.
ARTHUR: Alright, sure. Yeah, see if he has an appointment book or a calendar or —
PARKER: Hey! Who trained who here?
ARTHUR: Fair enough.
PARKER: Keep the dog company, I'll be right back.
ARTHUR: The... (The dog pants.) You know, I'm not too sure what to make of you yet. (Quiet.) Lillith. No, I doubt she'd demean herself in this way. (Arthur grunts, crouching down.) Okay, let me ask you a question, dog. Parker thinks I killed him. Do I tell him the truth? Do I tell him it was John? Will that make matters worse? Or better? What do you think? (The dog shakes.)
You're no help. (Arthur grunts, standing back up. The dog whines sadly.) Well, look, if you're a monster or a creep of some sort, just know that I hunt creatures like you. (A pause. The dog barks.) You're just a dog, aren't you? John's going to hate that. But Faroe will love it.
PARKER: Well, look, who's got your back now.
ARTHUR: Found something?
PARKER: Today's date in the address book. He's doing a house call.
ARTHUR: Brilliant. Where?
PARKER: A taxidermist just around the corner.
ARTHUR: What a twerp. Claims to never do house calls, but is almost always on one.
PARKER: Oh, I know the type.
ARTHUR: Walk me there?
PARKER: Sure, sure, sure.
ARTHUR (clearing his throat): Say, I want to ask you something, since we're being candid.
PARKER: Shoot.
ARTHUR: Faroe.
PARKER: Yeah.
ARTHUR: Have I… Have I always… had her?
PARKER: I don't really know how to answer that.
ARTHUR: I mean to say, was I always… her father? Was-Was there a time she wasn't… around?
PARKER: You mean the summer she went to your dad's?
ARTHUR: Okay. Uh… okay, let me try it this way. When we met, I was at my lowest of lows. Right?
PARKER: Yeah. You were drinking yourself into an early grave.
ARTHUR: Right. We met at-at —
PARKER: Jack's Bar.
ARTHUR: Exactly.
PARKER: And?
ARTHUR: Why was I upset?
PARKER: Well… I don't remember. Ain't that funny.
ARTHUR (pointed): Funny?
PARKER: Sorry, Artie. I don't mean to be cruel.
ARTHUR: No no no, it's fine. You don't remember at all?
PARKER: What is this about?
ARTHUR: I want to tell you something and I want you to believe me. Can you do that?
PARKER: Nothing but belief here, Artie.
ARTHUR: Faroe... Faroe died when she was very young. (Shaky.) She drowned in a bathtub back when I lived in Boston. I… I was meant to be watching her. But it slipped my mind. I was more focused on composing a-and… and she drowned.
PARKER (sympathetic): Artie…
ARTHUR: But you've never heard that before, have you?
PARKER: So who is your daughter now?
ARTHUR: Faroe. That's just it. It's the same girl.
PARKER: Okay, you're going to have to explain it a little bit more.
ARTHUR: I— I can't. Not really, other than to say, my journey over the past few months, dealing with the Blackstone, it-it put me in the realm of some entities, of beings of immeasurable power. Somehow, someway, one of them gave me my daughter back. I think I know which one, but no one but John and myself, and now you, seem to know the truth.
PARKER: But it is your daughter.
ARTHUR: Undoubtedly. Undoubtedly.
PARKER: Well, then I suppose someone up there likes you.
ARTHUR: Well, that's just what I'm afraid of.
PARKER: The Blackstone. Is that what —
ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. It was quite the ordeal, but now it's over.
PARKER: Right, right, right. Look, I don't know what to say about that.
ARTHUR: No, nothing to say. I just... I guess I just wanted to ask. Seeing as I can be a little bit more open with you.
PARKER: Yeah. Yeah, of course, any time.
ARTHUR: I suppose that's one of the strengths of… me not telling John about you. (A pause.) (Quiet.) Yeah. (Normal.) So this way?
PARKER: Yeah, look, I overstayed my welcome. I should head back. Maybe stare at that stained glass in the abbey a little more. See if the light will touch me again.
ARTHUR: Sure, sure.
PARKER: Thanks for listening, Artie. (Getting further away.) And look, whatever you want to tell John. I support you.
ARTHUR: Thanks, Parker. Talk soon.
PARKER (from a distance): I’ll see you too, puppy.
(Arthur sighs. The dog pants.)
ARTHUR: So, dog. Parker's not wrong. Maybe it'd be nice to have something to myself for a while longer. What do you think? Should we tell John or keep it between us? (A pause.) Yeah. Yeah, look, John gave me the space to tackle this. The way I see it… I think Parker's right. I think having him as a sounding board, without John undercutting the message, is a strength right now. Who knows how long it'll last. (The dog pants, shakes.) But I— I think I could use another friend. (The dog whines.) Not you. Alright.
(An otherworldly zap.)
JOHN: Done playing with the dog?
ARTHUR: Oh, he's still here. Tough to shake the little bugger.
JOHN: Tougher now. Where are we?
ARTHUR: Well, you tell me.
JOHN: We're a few blocks down the street from Mosby. The buildings around us are a few stories at least. Cutting shadows on the pavement as the early morning sun still sits low in the October sky.
ARTHUR: Yeah, I do love the autumn.
JOHN: You do realize we've passed the Mystic, right?
ARTHUR: Yes, well, that was intentional.
JOHN: Intentional?
ARTHUR: I managed to find out that Leonard is on a call down the street at a taxidermist.
JOHN: You managed to find out? (Arthur sighs. Pointed.) Arthur?
ARTHUR: You remember in the alley outside of Edwin's? I told you that I needed a bit of time to sort something out. Something that wasn't dangerous, but I needed to sort it out myself before making it your problem.
JOHN: Fair enough.
ARTHUR: Yeah? I guess I thought you—
JOHN (distracted): Look, whatever you need, I trust you. We're fine.
ARTHUR: You sure? You seem annoyed —
JOHN: No, no, no, don't stop. Keep walking.
ARTHUR: Huh?
JOHN: How long was I gone?
ARTHUR: I don't know, a few minutes. W-Why?
JOHN (insistent): How long?
ARTHUR: Maybe 15, I think. Talk to me, what's—
JOHN: I think we're being tailed.
ARTHUR (whispering): Tailed?
JOHN: Don't turn! I can see him in the reflection of the shops as we pass. Keep going. Act as if everything is fine.
ARTHUR: How do you know we have a tail?
JOHN: Because I listen to you. And I've written enough cases.
ARTHUR: Sure, sure, but being tailed in real life is a hell of a lot different to—
JOHN: He's clearly staring at us, averting his gaze when we turn and stopping whenever we do.
ARTHUR: That sounds like a tail, alright.
JOHN: The real question is, who's he working for?
ARTHUR: Could be Edwin, protecting his investment.
JOHN: Could be anyone. We've already got quite the list of suspects. No telling who knows we're involved in either case. Should we confront him?
ARTHUR: No, no, we have work to do. Besides, if it is Edwin, It'll just muddy the waters. Let's lose him and keep a keener eye going forward.
JOHN: Okay.
ARTHUR: Let me know when I can bolt.
JOHN: Move into the alley to our right. Now! (Arthur grunts, starts running.) Run, Arthur! Keep moving!
ARTHUR: He following?
JOHN: I don't know, not yet. Here, here, here! Left! Hide! (Objects clattering. Arthur grunts.) You're back against the brick wall. Duck low. There's some garbage cans to our right concealing us. Just wait. He's coming, stay low. (Footsteps.) He's heading straight past. Out the alley on the other side. Thinking we took a different side street.
ARTHUR (quiet): Time to double back.
JOHN: Yeah, you're good to go. (Arthur grunts, standing up.)
ARTHUR: Good spot, old boy.
JOHN: Learned from the best.
ARTHUR: Regardless, we won't be losing him long. If he followed us from Moseby, he knows where we'll be tonight.
JOHN: Right, but at least we've lost him, for now. And it looks like the taxidermist may be just ahead.
ARTHUR: Right. Look, about what I was saying, I— I just—
JOHN: It's fine. It is. I don't have to understand it— yet. Assuming I will eventually.
ARTHUR: Of course.
JOHN: Well then, that's fine. That's all I need, I trust you. Just as you trust me.
ARTHUR (quiet): Yeah.
JOHN: Anyway, looks like we're here. Hollow Hyde Taxidermy. Specializing in head mounts, full mounts, and rugs.
ARTHUR: Wonderful.
JOHN: The building looks old. Separate on both sides from its neighbors on the street. The stonework of its base looks almost as if it were placed by hand, and the fading violet wood paneling on the outside gives it almost a Victorian feel. The front door is flanked on either side with large display windows that show off some of the full mounts: a black bear climbing a large branch in the right, and a snarling gray wolf to the left. Behind them, the curtains are drawn preventing any further view into the shop.
ARTHUR: Lovely.
JOHN: So, what are we thinking?
ARTHUR: That Leonard is probably in there right now, exploiting an elderly couple that undoubtedly sought him out to exorcise the moan from an undiscovered leaky faucet in the wall that's been keeping them up at night.
JOHN: You make him sound malicious.
ARTHUR: Isn't it?
JOHN: Let's not attribute to malice what can easily be explained away as stupidity. It's not like he's a charlatan.
ARTHUR (incredulous): No?
JOHN: He isn't hiding mechanisms in the wall to knock at certain times. His séances are inept and fruitless, not deceiving.
ARTHUR: You really got a soft spot for this guy, don't you?
JOHN (emphatic): I do not! I just want to call a spade a spade.
ARTHUR: Fine, fine, you're right. Whatever séance he's conducting in there will not bear fruit, but he'll still take their money, and for that, he's a con. (The dog shakes.)
JOHN: I wish I could see inside.
ARTHUR: You said there was an alley, right? On either side? Perhaps there's a door.
JOHN: Sure. Let's try around the right. (The dog whines.) Arthur, the dog is following.
ARTHUR: Stay. Stay here.
JOHN: It's sitting.
ARTHUR: Eh, see? He's a good boy. (John scoffs.)
JOHN: Here, here, here. Set of concrete stairs leading down. And a window right before the door.
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: We can take a look in. Here, here! Here. Let me see. Stay low.
ARTHUR (whispering): Well? (Muffled voices.)
JOHN: It's Gilbert, alright. Sitting at a table in the basement with three others around him. A candle in the cen— They're performing a séance.
ARTHUR: Of course they are.
JOHN: This door down here, maybe it's unlocked. (A door handle jiggles.) Yeah, it seems to be. Should we wait till he's done, or knock, or just barge in?
ARTHUR: Or…
JOHN: Or what?
ARTHUR: Leonard's been doing this for a while now, right? Taking house calls, performing séances. When nothing responds, he makes a laundry list of excuses, and they all still pay. And his business flourishes.
JOHN: It's their choice whether they want to believe.
ARTHUR: Yes, sure, yes, yeah.
JOHN: They want someone to make them feel better, and if sending out messages helps them, who are we to judge?
ARTHUR (quick): Right, right, right, right, right. Unless…
JOHN: Unless?
ARTHUR: Well, what if we answer?
JOHN: You're talking about exploiting someone's beliefs, disturbing his séance, scaring the clients, and potentially exposing him as a fraud. All for what? Some petty revenge against a man for simply being irritating?
ARTHUR: Well, yeah.
JOHN: Good, yeah. Well, I'm in.
ARTHUR: Kinda thought you would be.
JOHN: Yeah, well.
ARTHUR: Alright. He wants to poke and prod the outer world. Let's show him what it feels like when it pokes and prods back.
(John and Arthur laugh mischievously.)
(A click, followed by static.)
(END Part 4.)