Storm of the Century

(calling)

Also, you're short. You're a dwarf. Why don't you come on in here, Davey? I'll do you a favor.

Save you a lot of grief.

DAVEY scrambles to his feet and flees, flinging terrified glances back over his shoulder as he buttonhooks out of the CLARENDON gate, across the sidewalk, and into the street. He pelts down Atlantic toward the docks.

DAVEY

(screaming)

Help! Missus Clarendon's dead! Someone's killed her! Blood! Help! Oh, God, somebody help!

34

41 INTERIOR: MARTHA'S LIVING ROOM, WITH LINOGE.

His eyes are back to normal ... if you can call that cool, unsettling blue normal. He raises one hand, and makes a beckoning gesture with his index finger.

WEATHER LADY

The best way to sum up what we're saying to you is "prepare for the worst, because this is going to be a bad one."

42 EXTERIOR: MARTHA'S FRONT PORCH.

Faintly, we can still hear DAVEY HOPEWELL bawling for help. His basketball, which came to rest against the porch rail, rolls across the

boards slowly at first, then gathering speed to the front door. It bounces up over the doorstoop and inside.

43 INTERIOR: MARTHA'S HALL, LOOKING BACK TOWARD THE PORCH.

In the background is MARTHA'S body, just a dark lump of shadow. DAVEY'S basketball bounces past it, leaving great big smacks of blood every time in lands.

WEATHER LADY

Another piece of advice? Make sure you've got plenty of Smile-Boy all-beef bologna on hand.

When the weather turns nasty, nothing warms you up ...

44 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM, WITH LINOGE.

The ball rolls across the floor, weaving between the furniture. When it reaches MARTHA'S chair, where LINOGE now sits, it bounces itself twice, gaining altitude. On the third bounce, it lands in his lap. He picks it up.

WEATHER LADY

(holds sandwich)

. . . like a good old fried bologna sandwich! Especially if the bologna is Smile-Boy all-beef bologna!

35

LINOGE He shoots . . .

He throws the ball with SUPERHUMAN FORCE at the TV. It hits the screen dead center, sending the WEATHER LADY, her sandwich, and her two enormous storm systems into electronic limbo.

Sparks fly.

LINOGE ... he scores!

45 EXTERIOR: ATLANTIC STREET, WITH DAVEY.

He's still running down the center of the street, still screaming at the top of his lungs.

DAVEY

Mrs. Clarendon! Someone killed Mrs. Clarendon! There's blood all over! One of her eyes is out!

It's on her cheek! Oh, God, one of her eyeballs is right out on her cheek!

People are coming to windows and opening front doors to look. They all know DAVEY, of course, but before anyone can grab him and calm him down, a big green Lincoln pulls in front of him, like a cop cutting off a speeder. Written on the side is ISLAND-ATLANTIC REALTY. A portly gentleman in a suit, tie, and topcoat (the only business garb on Little Tall Island, quite likely) gets out. We may or may not see a resemblance to the absurd mannequin on the store's porch. This is ROBBIE BEALS, the local big deal, the unpleasant DON BEALS'S even more unpleasant father. Now he grabs DAVEY

by the shoulders of his jacket and gives him a hard shake.

ROBBIE

Davey! Stop it! Stop that right now!

DAVEY stops it and begins to get himself under control.

ROBBIE

Why are you running down the middle of Atlantic Street, making a spectacle of yourself?

DAVEY Someone killed Mrs. Clarendon.

ROBBIE

Nonsense, what are you talking about?

36

DAVEY

There's blood everywhere. And her eye's out. It's . . . it's on her cheek.

DAVEY begins to weep. Other people are gathering now, looking at the man and the boy. Slowly, ROBBIE releases DAVEY. Something is going on here, something that may be serious, and if so, there's only one man to check it out. We see this realization dawning on ROBBIE'S face.

He looks around at a middle-aged woman with a sweater hastily pulled around her shoulders and a bowl of cake batter still in one hand.

ROBBIE

Mrs. Kingsbury. Look after him. Get him a hot tea . . .

(reconsiders) No, give him a little whiskey, if you've got some.

MRS. KINGSBURY Are you going to call Mike Anderson?

ROBBIE looks sour. There's no love lost between him and MIKE.

ROBBIE

Not until I take a look for myself.

DAVEY

Be careful, Mr. Beals. She's dead . . . but there's someone in the house, I think . . .

ROBBIE looks at him impatiently. The boy is clearly hysterical. An old man with a craggy New England face steps forward.

GEORGE KIRBY

You want help, Robbie Beals?

ROBBIE Not necessary, George. I'll be fine.

He gets back into his car. It's too big to U-turn in the street, so he uses a neighboring driveway.

DAVEY He shouldn't go up there alone.

37

The group in the street (which is still growing) watches ROBBIE drive up to MRS. CLARENDON'S

with troubled eyes.

MRS. KINGSBURY

Come on inside, Davey. I'm not giving whiskey to a child, but I can put the teapot on.

She puts an arm around him and leads him toward the house.

46 EXTERIOR: MARTHA CLARENDON'S HOUSE.

ROBBIE'S Lincoln pulls up in front. He gets out. Surveys the path, the overturned walker, the open door. His face suggests that this might be a little more serious than he at first thought. But he starts up the path, anyway. Leave it to that know-all MIKE ANDERSON? Not likely!

47 EXTERIOR: LITTLE TALL ISLAND TOWN HALL DAY.

This is a white wooden building, stark in the New England style, and the center of the town's public life. In front of it is a little cupola with a largish bell inside a bell the size of an apple basket, say. The Island Services four-wheel drive pulls up in front, using a slot marked RESERVED FOR

TOWN BUSINESS.

48 INTERIOR: THE ISLAND SERVICES VEHICLE, WITH MIKE AND HATCH.

HATCH has got a pamphlet called Storm Preparedness: State of Maine Guidelines. He's deep in it.

MIKE You want to come in?

HATCH

(doesn't look up) Nope. I'm fine.

As MIKE opens the door, HATCH does look up ... and gives MIKE a sweet, open smile.

HATCH

Thanks for seeing after my little girl, boss.

38

MIKE

(smiles back) My pleasure.

49 EXTERIOR: ANGLE ON THE ISLAND SERVICES FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE.

MIKE gets out, once more settling his hat so it won't blow off. As he does this, he takes another small measuring glance at the sky.

50 EXTERIOR: MIKE, ON THE WALK.

He stops at the cupola. Now that we're closer, we can read the plaque in front. There is a list of war dead on it: ten from the Civil War, one from

the Spanish-American, a couple each from I, II, and Korea, and six from Vietnam, the po' folks'

war. Among the names we see lots of BEALSES, GODSOES, HATCHERS, AND ROBICHAUXES. Above the list, in big letters, is this: WHEN WE RING FOR THE LIVING, WE HONOR OUR DEAD.

MIKE brushes the bell's clapper with a gloved forefinger. It rings faintly. Then he goes on inside.

51 INTERIOR: THE LITTLE TALL ISLAND TOWN OFFICE.

It's your usual cluttered secretarial bullpen, dominated by an aerial photo of the island on one wall. A single woman is running the whole show plump and pretty URSULA GODSOE (she has a plaque with her name on it beside the in/out basket on her desk). Behind her, through a number of glass windows along the main corridor, we see the actual town meeting hall. This consists of many straight-backed benches, like Puritan pews, and a bare wood lectern with a microphone. Looks more like church than government. Nobody's out there right now.

Prominent on the wall of URSULA'S office is the same sign we saw on the door of the market: STORM EMERGENCY POSSIBLE NEXT 3 DAYS! "TAKE SHELTER" SIGNAL is 2 SHORTS, 1 LONG. MIKE

strolls over and looks at this, waiting for URSULA. She is on the phone, speaking to someone in tones of forced patience.

URSULA

No, Betty, I haven't heard any more than you have . . . we're all dealing with the same forecast .

. . No, not the memorial bell, not with the winds we're expecting . . . It'll be the siren, comes to that. Two shorts and one long, that's right . . . Mike Anderson, of course . . . those are decisions we pay him to make, aren't they, dear?

URSULA winks broadly at MIKE and gives him a one-moment gesture. MIKE raises his own hand and claps his fingers against his thumb several times, miming a talking mouth. URSULA grins and nods.

39

URSULA

Yes . . . I'll be praying, too ... of course we all will. Thanks for calling, Betty.

She hangs up and closes her eyes for a moment.

MIKE

Tough day?

URSULA

Betty Soames seems to think we have access to some secret forecast.

MIKE Kind of a Jeane Dixon forecast? Psychic weather?

URSULA

I guess.

MIKE taps the STORM EMERGENCY placard.

MIKE

Most people in town have seen this?

URSULA

If they're not blind, they've seen it. You need to relax, Mike Anderson. How's little Pippa Hatcher?

MIKE

Whoa, that was fast.

URSULA Ayuh. No secrets on the island.

MIKE

She's fine. Got her head stuck in the stairs. Her dad's out in the car, doing his homework for the Big Blow of '89.

40

URSULA

(laughing)

Ain't that just like Alton and Melinda Hatcher's daughter. Perfect.

(grows serious)

People know this one's bad, and if they hear the siren, they'll come. You needn't worry about that. Now you came to look at the emergency shelter setup, didn't you?

MIKE Thought it might not be a bad idea.

URSULA

(gets up)

We can handle three hundred for three days, a hundred and fifty for a week. And if what I'm hearing on the radio's right, we may have to. Come on, let's look.

They start out of the room, URSULA leading.

52 INTERIOR: ROBBIE BEALS, CLOSE-UP.

His face is HORRIFIED, UNBELIEVING.

ROBBIE Oh, my God.

WEATHER LADY (voice-over) So enough doom and gloom, already! Let's talk SUNSHINE!

THE CAMERA PULLS BACK and we see he is kneeling beside MARTHA in her hall, performing the useless ritual of trying to take her pulse. We can see her wrist and the bloodstained cuff of her dress, but that's all. ROBBIE looks around, unbelieving.

In the background, the WEATHER LADY is spieling on. LINOGE broke the TV, but she's there, just the same.

WEATHER LADY (voice-over)

The finest weather in the U.S. today? Well, there's no question about that; the Big Island of Hawaii! Temperatures in the high seventies to low eighties, plus an onshore breeze to cool things off. And things ain't too shabby in Florida, either. Last week's chill there is a thing of the past. In Miami temperatures are in the mid-seventies, and how about San-ibel Island and beautiful Captiva?

If you're down that way, you'll be picking up shells with plenty of sunshine to show you the way and temps in the high eighties.

41

ROBBIE Is anybody here?

He gets to his feet. He looks first at the walls, where some of MARTHA'S nice old pictures are now dotted with a fine spray of blood. Then he looks at the floor and sees more blood: the thin line drawn by LINOGE'S cane and those big, dark smacks that were left by DAVEY'S bouncing ball.

ROBBIE

Is anybody here?

He pauses, undecided, then starts down the hall.

53 BLACK.

A BANK OF OVERHEAD FLUORESCENTS SNAPS ON, revealing the spacious basement room of the town hall. This room is ordinarily used for dances, Bingo, and various town functions. Signs on the pine-paneled walls remind visitors of the volunteer fire department blood drive, which will be held right here. Now the room is filled with cots, each with a small pillow at its head and a folded blanket at its foot. At the far end are stacks of coolers, cartons of bottled water, and a big radio with its digital readout flashing.

URSULA and MIKE stand looking at this.

URSULA Good?

MIKE

You know it is.

(she smiles) How's the supply closet?

URSULA

Full, just like you wanted. Concentrates, mostly pour the water over the powder and then gag it down but nobody'll starve.

MIKE You did all this yourself?

URSULA

Me and Pete's sister, Tavia. Be discreet, you said. Don't panic anyone.

MIKE

42

Ayuh, that's what I said. How many people know we're stocked for World War III?

URSULA

(perfectly serene) Everyone.

MIKE winces but doesn't look too surprised.

MIKE No secrets on the island.

URSULA (a bit defensive)

I didn't talk, Mike Anderson, and neither did Tavia. Mostly it was Robbie Beals who spread the tattle. Madder than a wet hen about all this, he is. Claims you're costing the town money for no reason.

MIKE

Well . . . we'll see. (pause) Tell you one thing, his kid makes a hell of a good monkey.

URSULA What?

MIKE

Never mind.

URSULA Want to look in the storage?

MIKE I think I'll trust you. Let's go back up.

She reaches for the switch, then pauses. Her face is troubled.

URSULA How serious is this, Mike?

MIKE

I don't know. I hope Robbie Deals can kick my ass for being an alarmist, come town meeting next month. Come on. Let's go-

43

URSULA flicks the switch and the room GOES BLACK.

54 INTERIOR: MARTHA CLARENDON'S LIVING ROOM.

We're looking toward the hall door. The TV is louder. It's an ad for a litigation law firm. Have you been injured in an accident? Can't work? Lost your mind?

TV ANNOUNCER (voice-over)

You feel hopeless. You may even feel that the whole world is against you. But the firm of Macintosh and Redding will stand with you and see that you get your day in court. Don't make a bad situation worse! When life hands you a bag of lemons, we can help you make lemonade! Stick it to them before they can stick it to you! If you have been injured in an accident, you may have thousands, even tens of thousands of dollars waiting for you. So don't wait. Call now. Pick up the phone and dial 1-800-1-STIK-EM. That's 1 ... 800 ...

ROBBIE comes into the doorway. His arrogance and authority have gone. He looks rumpled, nauseated, and scared to death.

55 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM, FROM ROBBIE'S POINT OF VIEW.

The TV is smashed to hell, smoking . . . but still the TV AD blares on.

TV ANNOUNCER (voice-over)

(continues)

One-STIK-EM. Get what's coming to you. Haven't you been through enough?

We can see the top of LINOGE'S head over the back of the chair. There is a SLURP as he sips tea.

56 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM, A WIDER ANGLE.

We're mostly over ROBBIE'S shoulder, here, looking at the smashed but still talking TV and the top of LINOGE'S head.

ROBBIE

Who are you?

The TV falls silent. Outside, we hear the WIND OF THE RISING STORM. Slowly, slowly, the SNARLING SILVER WOLF rises above the back of the chair, pointed at ROBBIE like a sinister puppet.

Its eyes and muzzle seem to DRIP BLOOD. It wags slowly back and forth like a pendulum.

LINOGE (voice) Born in sin, come on in.

44

ROBBIE flinches, opens his mouth, then closes it again. What do you say to a remark like that?

But LINOGE isn't finished.

LINOGE (voice)

You were with a whore in Boston when your mother died in Machias. Ma was in that crappy nursing home they closed down last fall, the one where they found the rats in the pantry, right? She choked to death calling your name. Isn't that sweet? Other than a good slice of processed yellow cheese, there's nothing on earth like a mother's love!

57 INTERIOR: ROBBIE.

Big reaction here. How would any of us react, if told one of our darkest secrets by a murderous stranger we could not properly see?

LINOGE (voice) But that's all right, Robbie.

Another big reaction from ROBBIE the stranger knows his name!

58 INTERIOR: MARTHA'S CHAIR.

LINOGE peeks around the chair's left-side wing, almost coyly. His eyes are more or less normal, but he is almost as blood-streaked as the head of his silver bludgeon.

LINOGE

She's waiting for you in hell. And she's turned cannibal. When you get there, she's going to eat you alive. Over and over and over again. Because that's what hell's about repetition. I think in our hearts, most of us know that. CATCH!

He heaves DAVEY'S basketball.

59 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM DOORWAY, WITH ROBBIE.

The ball hits him in the chest, leaving a blood mark. ROBBIE'S had enough. He turns and FLEES, SCREAMING.

60 INTERIOR: MARTHA'S LIVING ROOM, ANGLE ON CHAIR AND TV.

Once again, we can just see the top of LINOGE'S head. Then his hand appears, rolled into a fist.

45

It hovers in the air for a moment, then one finger POPS OUT, pointed at the TV. The WEATHER LADY

resumes immediately.

WEATHER LADY (voice-over)

Let's check the area apt to be most severely affected by the oncoming storm.

LINOGE reaches for another cookie.

61 EXTERIOR: IN FRONT OF MARTHA'S.

ROBBIE bolts down the steps to his car, as fast as his chubby little legs will carry him. His face is a mask of horror and bewilderment.

62 INTERIOR: MARTHA'S LIVING ROOM, FEATURING THE TV.

THE CAMERA MOVES IN SLOWLY on the SHATTERED PICTURE TUBE and SMOKING INNARDS as the WEATHER LADY talks.

WEATHER LADY (voice-over) The forecast calls for destruction tonight, death tomorrow, and Armageddon by the weekend. In fact, this could be the end of life as we know it.

63 INTERIOR: LINOGE.

LINOGE

Seems unlikely . . . but we can always hope.

He takes another bite of cookie.

FADE OUT. THIS ENDS ACT 2.

Act 3

64 EXTERIOR: ROBBIE'S LINCOLN, WITH ROBBIE DAY.

He claws at the driver's side door. Down the street, a number of TOWNSFOLK are watching him curiously.

GEORGE KIRBY Everything all right up there, Beals?

46

ROBBIE doesn't answer the old guy. He gets his car door open and dives inside. He has a CB

radio under the dash, and now he yanks the mike off its prong. He punches the power button, punches in channel

19, and speaks. All during this, he keeps casting panicky glances at the open door of the CLARENDON house, in terror that MARTHA'S killer will show up.

ROBBIE

This is Robbie Beals for Constable Anderson! Come back, Anderson! This is an emergency!

65 INTERIOR. ANDERSON'S MARKET DAY.

The market is as crowded as ever. CAT and TESS MARCHANT, a motherly looking woman in her mid- to late-forties, have been checking folks out just as fast as they can, but now everyone freezes as the radio spews out its EXCITED BABBLE.

ROBBIE (voice)

Come back, dammit! Anderson! We've got a murder over here! Martha Clarendon's been beaten to death!

A DISMAYED, DISBELIEVING MURMUR goes through the shoppers at that. Their eyes get big.

ROBBIE (voice) The guy who did it is still in the house! Anderson! Anderson!

You come back, do you hear me? You're always around when it comes to unwanted advice, where are you when

TESS MARCHANT takes the microphone from the radio like a woman in a dream.

TESS Robbie? This is Tess Marchant. Mike's not

ROBBIE (voice)

I don't want you! I want Anderson! I can't do his job and mine, too!

CAT

(takes the mike)

47

He had an emergency at home. Alton went with him. It was his little g Just then, MIKE and HATCH come in through the door. CAT and TESS look incredibly relieved. A LOW MURMUR runs through the crowd. MIKE makes about three steps into the room, then stops, realizing something very much out of the ordinary is going on here.

MIKE What? What is it?

Nobody in the market will answer him. Meantime, the RADIO continues to SQUAWK.

ROBBIE (voice)

What do you mean, an emergency at home? There's an emergency right here! An old woman murdered! A lunatic in Martha Clarendon's living room! I want the town constable!

MIKE walks quickly to the counter. CAT gives him the mike as if glad to be rid of it.

MIKE What's he talking about? Who's murdered?

TESS Martha. He says.

ANOTHER, LOUDER MURMUR this time.

MIKE

(pushes TRANSMIT button) I'm here, Robbie. Just a minute ROBBIE (voice)

Never mind just a minute, dammit! I could be in a life-threatening situation here!

MIKE ignores the man for the moment, holding the mike against his chest and talking to the two dozen or so islanders who have clumped together at the heads of the aisles, staring at him, stunned.

There hasn't been a murder on this island for almost seventy years . . . unless you count Dolores Claiborne's husband, Joe, and that was never proved.

MIKE

You folks back off, now, and give me a little privacy. I get six thousand a year to be constable; let me do the job you pay me for.

48

They back off, but are still listening; how can they help it? MIKE, meanwhile, turns so his back is to them and he's facing the radio and the lottery ticket dispensers.

MIKE Where are you, Robbie? Come back.

66 INTERIOR: ROBBIE, IN HIS CAR.

Behind him, we can see TOWNSPEOPLE probably a dozen of them standing in the street and watching. They have worked themselves quite a bit closer, but don't dare come all the way. The door to MARTHA'S house still stands ominously open.

ROBBIE

Martha Clarendon's house on Atlantic Street! Where did you think I was, Bar Harbor? I'm (a great idea occurs to him)

I'm keeping the man inside at bay! Now get your ass down here!

He racks the mike, then fumbles in the glove compartment. Under the jumble of maps, town documents, and Whopper wrappers, he finds a little pistol. He gets out of his car.

67 EXTERIOR: ROBBIE.

ROBBIE

(calls down to the cluster of folks) You stay where you are!

With his authority thus exerted, ROBBIE turns toward the house and points his gun at the open door. He's recovered a certain amount of his toadlike savoir faire, but he's not about to go back in there. The man in there didn't just kill MARTHA CLARENDON; he knew where ROBBIE was when ROBBIE'S mother died. He knew ROBBIE'S name.

The WIND GUSTS, blowing ROBBIE'S gray-streaked hair back from his brow . . . and the first few snowflakes of the Storm of the Century go dancing past his face.

68 INTERIOR: ANDERSON'S MARKET, WITH MIKE, HATCH, ONLOOKERS.

MIKE stands with the microphone in his hand, trying to think what to do next. As CAT WITHERS

takes the mike and racks it, he makes up his mind.

49

MIKE (to HATCH) Let's take another ride, all right?

HATCH

Sure. . .

MIKE

Cat, you and Tess're minding the store. (raising his voice) All you folks just stay and finish your shopping, all right? There's nothing you can do on Atlantic Street, and whatever's happened over there, you'll know it soon enough.

As he speaks, he moves behind the cash register. He reaches beneath it.

69 INTERIOR: THE SHELF, CLOSE-UP.

On it are a .38 and a pair of handcuffs. MIKE takes both.

70 INTERIOR: ANGLE ON MIKE.

He puts the handcuffs in one coat pocket and the .38 in the other. This is done quickly and deftly none of the goggle-eyed customers see. CAT and TESS do, though, and it brings the reality of the situation home to them: crazy as it may be, there could be a dangerous criminal on Little Tall.

CAT Do you want me to call your wives?

MIKE Absolutely not.

Then he looks at the avidly watching islanders. If CAT doesn't, one of them will, as soon as he or she can reach the nearest phone.

MIKE

Yeah, I guess you better. But make sure they know the situation is under control.

71 EXTERIOR: ANDERSON'S MARKET.

MIKE and HATCH hurry down the steps, and THE CAMERA TRACKS THEM to the Island Services utility vehicle. The snow is still just flurrying, but we can see that it's thicker now.

50

HATCH Snow's early.

MIKE stops with one hand on the driver's side doorhandle. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself, then lets it out.

MIKE Yeah, it is. Let's go.

They get in and drive away. Meantime, people have been drifting out onto the porch, watching them.

72 EXTERIOR: THE ROBBIE BEALS MANNEQUIN.

The propeller on the beanie is now turning briskly.

73 EXTERIOR: THE TOWN DOCK.

The waves CRASH HIGH against the pilings, throwing spray. The work of securing the boats and getting loose gear undercover has progressed quite a bit. We FOCUS IN on GEORGE KIRBY (an older guy sixtyish), ALEX HABER (thirty-five), and CAL FREESE (a twenty-something). ALEX points west, toward the end of the docks and the reach beyond.

ALEX HABER

Looka there, at the mainland.

74 EXTERIOR: MAINLAND, FROM THE DOCK'S POINT OF VIEW.

The mainland is about two miles away, and quite clear gray-green woods, mostly.

75 EXTERIOR: RESUME DOCK, WITH SONNY, ALEX, AND CAL.

ALEX HABER

When you can't see over there no more, it's time to get in while you can. And when you can't even see the reach no more, it's time to head down to the town hall, whether you've heard the siren or not.

CAL FREESE (to GEORGE) How bad do you think it'll be, Unc?

51

GEORGE KIRBY

Maybe the worst we ever saw. Come on, help me with the last of these nets. (pause) I wonder if that fool Beals has any slight idear what he's doin up there?

76 EXTERIOR: ATLANTIC STREET, IN FRONT OF MARTHA'S HOUSE.

The fool BEALS is still being the good sentry, standing in front of his Lincoln with his .38 pointed at the open door of the CLARENDON house. Snow is coming down more thickly now; it's scattered across the shoulders of his topcoat like dandruff. He's been here for a while.

Down below, a little gathering of WATCHERS (MRS. KINGSBURY and DAVEY HOPEWELL are back among them) moves aside to allow the Island Services vehicle through. It pulls up beside the Lincoln. MIKE gets out from behind the wheel, HATCH from the passenger seat.

HATCH

You want the shotgun?

MIKE

I guess we better have it. You just make sure the safety's on, Alton Hatcher.

HATCH leans back into the truck, fumbles, and reappears with the shotgun that is ordinarily kept latched under the dash. HATCH ostentatiously checks the safety, and then they approach ROBBIE.

ROBBIE'S attitude toward MIKE all through this is one of confrontation and contempt. The history of these feelings will never be fully explored, but its basis is undoubtedly ROBBIE'S desire to keep all the reins of power in his own hands.

ROBBIE

It's about time.

MIKE Put that thing away, Robbie.

ROBBIE

No such thing, Constable Anderson. You do your job, I'll do mine.

MIKE

Your job is real estate. Would you at least lower it, please? (pause) Come on, Robbie it's in my face, and I know it's loaded.

52

ROBBIE grudgingly lowers the .38. HATCH, meanwhile, is looking nervously at the open door and the overturned walker.

MIKE

What happened?

ROBBIE

I was driving over to the town office when I saw Davey Hopewell running down the middle of the street.

(points toward DAVEY)

He said Martha Clarendon was dead murdered. I didn't believe him, but it's true. She's . . .

awful.

MIKE You said the person who did it was still inside.

ROBBIE He spoke to me.

HATCH

And said what?

ROBBIE (nervous, lying)

Told me to get out. I think he said for me to get out or he'd kill me, too. I don't know. And this hardly seems like the right time for an interrogation.

MIKE What did he look like?

ROBBIE starts to reply, then stops, puzzled.

ROBBIE I ... I barely got a look at him.

He got a pretty good one, actually . . . but he doesn't remember.

MIKE

(to HATCH)

53

Stay on my right. Keep the barrel of that scattergun pointed down, and keep the safety on unless I tell you to take it off.

(to ROBBIE) You stay exactly where you are, please.

ROBBIE You're the constable.

He watches MIKE and HATCH start for the gate, then calls.

ROBBIE

The TV's on. Tuned quite loud. If the guy starts moving around, I'm not sure you'll hear him.

MIKE nods, then goes through the gate with HATCH on his right. The TOWNSPEOPLE have crept closer yet; we now see them in the background. The SNOW SWIRLS around them in the HIGH

WIND. It's still light, but thickening up.

77 EXTERIOR: MIKE AND HATCH, FROM THE PORCH.

They come up the walk, MIKE tuned tightly (but in control), HATCH scared but trying not to show it.

HATCH

Even if there was a guy, he's probably gone out the back by now, don't you think? She ain't got but a five-foot garden fence

MIKE shakes his head to indicate he doesn't know, then taps his lips with a forefinger, indicating that HATCH should keep quiet. They stop at the foot of the steps. MIKE pulls gloves out of his coat pockets and puts them on. He also takes out his own pistol. He indicates for HATCH to put on gloves, and HATCH hands him the shotgun so he can comply. MIKE takes the opportunity to double-check the safety (still on), then hands it back.

They go up the steps and examine the walker. Then they cross the porch. They see the feet, clad in their old-lady shoes, poking out from the shadows of the hallway, and exchange a dismayed glance. They go in.

78 INTERIOR: THE HALL OF MARTHA'S HOUSE.

Behind them, the WEATHER LADY runs on endlessly.

WEATHER LADY (voice)

54

Conditions along the New England coast are expected to worsen dramatically toward sunset not that our Down East friends are going to see the sun go down tonight, I'm afraid.

We are expecting gale force winds along the Massachusetts and New Hampshire coasts, and hurricane-force wind gusts along the Maine coast and offshore islands. There's going to be significant beach erosion, and once the snow starts to fall, amounts will increase dramatically until .

. . well . . . until it's over. At this point it is literally impossible to talk about accumulations. Let's just say that the total fall is going to be enormous. Three feet? That's probable. Five feet? Even that is possible. You'll want to stay tuned for updates, and be assured we'll break into our programming if conditions warrant doing so.

The two men ignore her they have more immediate problems. They kneel on either side of the dead woman. MIKE ANDERSON is grim shocked, but holding it in. Already focusing on the job at hand and the ramifications to follow. HATCH, on the other hand, is close to losing it. He looks up at MIKE, face pale, eyes full of tears. He speaks in a BARE WHISPER.

HATCH

Mike . . . oh, my God, Mike . . . she got no face left! She MIKE reaches out and puts a gloved finger across HATCH'S lips. He inclines his head toward the SOUND of the BABBLING TV. Someone might be listening. MIKE leans toward his shaking DEPUTY

over the body of the dead woman.

MIKE

(very low)

Are you going to be all right? Because if you're not, I want you to hand me the twelve-gauge and go back to Robbie.

HATCH

(low) I'm all right.

MIKE Sure?

HATCH nods. MIKE considers him, then decides to believe him. He gets to his feet. HATCH does the same, then sways a little. He puts a hand on the wall to catch his balance, and smears some of that fine

blood-spatter. He looks at his gloved hand with amazement and dismay.

MIKE points up the hall to the living room door and the SOUND of the TV. HATCH gathers his courage and nods. Very slowly, the two men slip up the hallway. (All played for maximum suspense, of course.)

55

They are three-quarters of the way up the hall when the SOUND OF THE TV ABRUPTLY CUTS OFF.

HATCH'S shoulder brushes one of the pictures on the wall and knocks it off. MIKE catches it before it can clatter to the floor . . . mostly by good luck and fast reflexes. He and HATCH exchange a strained glance, then go on.

79 INTERIOR: THE DOORWAY BETWEEN HALL AND LIVING ROOM.

The two men come into the doorway. Looking at them from the living room, as we are, HATCH is on the left and MIKE on the right. They look at:

80 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM, FROM MIKE AND HATCH'S POINT OF VIEW.

We see the BLOWN-OUT TV and MARTHA'S wing chair. Over the top of the chair, we see the top of LINOGE'S head. Very still. It's probably a man's head, but it's impossible to tell if the guy is alive.

81 INTERIOR: RESUME HALL DOORWAY, WITH MIKE AND HATCH.

They exchange a glance, and MIKE nods them forward. CAMERA FOLLOWS as they move in on the back of the chair, very slowly. Three steps into the room, MIKE gestures for HATCH to move out wider. HATCH does so. MIKE moves in a step closer to the chair (we can see it now, as well as the MEN), then stops as a BLOODSTAINED HAND appears. It goes to the table beside the chair and takes a cookie.

MIKE

(levels his gun) Freeze!

The hand does just that freezes in midair, holding the cookie.

MIKE

Raise your hands. Both hands, up over the chair. I want to see them clear as day. There are two guns pointed at you, and one of 'em's a scatter.

LINOGE raises his hands. He's still holding the cookie in his left one.

MIKE indicates that HATCH should circle the chair to the front on his side. As HATCH does, MIKE

circles around on the right.

82 INTERIOR: MARTHA'S LIVING ROOM, ANGLE ON THE CHAIR.

56

LINOGE sits there, hands raised, face composed. There's no sign of a weapon, but the men react to his bloodstained face and coat. LINOGE'S calm demeanor is in sharp contrast to MIKE and HATCH, who are wound as tight as guitar strings. Maybe we see here how suspects are sometimes shot by accident.

MIKE Hands together.

LINOGE puts his hands together, wrist to wrist and back to back.

83 OMIT.

84 EXTERIOR: IN FRONT OF MARTHA'S HOUSE.

Several TOWNSFOLK hurry forward as far as the trunk of ROBBIE'S car. One is an older woman named ROBERTA COIGN.

ROBERTA COIGN

What's happened to Martha?

ROBBIE

(shrill, near hysteria) Just stay back! This is under control!

He points his pistol at the house again, and I think we have a real question about what may happen when and if MIKE and HATCH bring their prisoner out. ROBBIE is on a hair trigger.

85 INTERIOR: THE LIVING ROOM OF MARTHA'S HOUSE.

Extreme close-up, cuffs

MIKE (voice) If he moves, shoot him.

CAMERA DRAWS BACK TO INCLUDE LINOGE, MIKE, HATCH

LINOGE

(low, pleasant, and composed)

If he shoots, he'll get us both. That thing's still loaded with buckshot.

57

Both men react to this. Not because it's true, but because it could be true. Hell, HATCH might blow a hole through MIKE in any case; the two men are quite close together.

LINOGE

Also, he's still got the safety on.

HATCH reacts with terrified realization: he has forgotten to take off the safety. While MIKE

inexpertly fumbles the cuffs onto LINOGE'S wrists, HATCH fumbles the safety off. As he does, the gun leaves the vicinity of LINOGE completely. We need to see that LINOGE could take these two courageous but fumbling locals any time he wants . . . but chooses not to do so.

The cuffs are on. MIKE steps back, very relieved. He and HATCH exchange a rather wild look.

LINOGE But you remembered to wear gloves. That was good.

He begins to eat the cookie, oblivious of his blood-streaked hand.

MIKE On your feet.

LINOGE finishes the last bite of cookie and gets obediently to his feet.

86 EXTERIOR: MARTHA CLARENDON'S PORCH.

Beyond it, the snow is now coming hard, with the wind driving it into slanting lines. The houses on the far side of the street are misty, as if seen through a veil.

MIKE and LINOGE come out side by side, LINOGE with his hands cuffed at belt level, a look all of us are familier with from the evening news. HATCH is walking behind them, with the shotgun at port arms.

In the street, there are now about a dozen people clustered by the rear bumper of ROBBIE'S

Lincoln. When the men come out, ROBBIE crouches a little, and MIKE sees the man's little glove compartment gun pointed at them.

MIKE

Put that down!

Looking slightly ashamed, ROBBIE does.

58

MIKE Hatch, close the door.

HATCH

Is that wise? I mean, aren't we supposed to leave stuff pretty much like it is? It being a crime scene, and all

MIKE

We leave the door open and the crime scene's going to be under six feet of fresh powder. Now close the door!

HATCH tries. One of MARTHA'S shoes is in the way. He squats. Grimacing, he moves her foot with one gloved hand. Then he gets up and closes the door. He looks at MIKE, who nods.

MIKE What's your name, mister?

LINOGE looks at him. There's a beat when we're not sure he's going to answer. Then: LINOGE

Andre Linoge.

MIKE

Well, come on, Andre Linoge. Let's get walking.

87 EXTERIOR: LINOGE, CLOSE-UP.

For just a moment, LINOGE'S eyes CHANGE. They SWIRL WITH BLACK, the blue irises and the whites disappearing. Then everything goes back to normal.

88 EXTERIOR: RESUME PORCH, WITH MIKE, HATCH, AND LINOGE.

MIKE blinks at the sight like a man trying to cope with a momentary attack of vertigo. HATCH

hasn't seen it, but MIKE has. LINOGE smiles at him, as if to say "our little secret." Then we see MIKE'S rationality reasserting itself, and he gives LINOGE a poke.

MIKE Come on. Move.

59

They go down the steps.

89 EXTERIOR: ON THE CONCRETE PATH.

The storm blows snow past them, smacking their faces, making them wince. HATCH'S hat BLOWS

OFF. As he looks helplessly after it, LINOGE gives MIKE that look again, the one that says they have a secret. MIKE is less able to shake it off this time . . . but he gets LINOGE moving.

FADE OUT. THIS ENDS ACT 3.

Act 4

90 EXTERIOR: THE LITTLE TALL LIGHTHOUSE LATE DAY.

The snow flies past it so thickly we can only make out its shape . . . and of course its light, each time it swings around. The waves CRASH HIGH on the rocks of this promontory. THE WIND

SHRIEKS.

91 EXTERIOR: GODSOE FISH & LOBSTER LATE DAY.

This long building part warehouse, part retail fish market is far out on the dock. Waves smash into the dock, and foam splatters high, wetting the sides and roof of the building. As we watch, the WIND tears a door free of its latch. It begins to BANG BACK AND FORTH. Nearby, a tarp blows free of the boat it's covering and WHIRLS OFF INTO THE SNOWY DAY.

92 EXTERIOR: THE ANDERSON HOUSE LATE DAY.

A four-wheel drive is parked at the curb, by the WEE FOLKS sign. Its windshield wipers are clapping back and forth rapidly, but the glass is still snowing up. Its headlights cut twin cones through the snow-choked air. The WEE FOLKS sign swings back and forth on its chain. On the porch, MOLLY ANDERSON is handing over a bundled-up BUSTER CARVER and an equally bundled-up PIPPA HATCHER to their moms, ANGELA and MELINDA. THE CAMERA MOVES IN on the porch. All three women have to shout in order to be heard over the HOWLING WIND.

MELINDA

Pip, you sure you're all right?

PIPPA Yes. Don Beals hurt my feelings, but they're better now.

60

MOLLY I'm sorry I had to call you early, guys . . .

ANGELA CARVER

It's okay. The radio says they're going to keep the bigger kids over in Machias, at least tonight . .

. the reach is too choppy to send them back on the water-bus.

MOLLY Probably for the best.

BUSTER Mommy, I'm cold.

ANGELA CARVER Coss you are but you'll be warm in the car, honey.

(to MOLLY) Are there more?

MOLLY Buster and Pippa are the last.

(to PIPPA) You had an adventure, didn't you?

PIPPA

Yes. Momma, I've got a smaller button!

She honks her own nose. Neither MELINDA nor ANGELA understand, but they laugh. It's cute; they understand that much.

ANGELA CARVER

We'll see you Monday, if the roads are open. Wave a bye, Buster.

BUSTER obediently waves a bye. MOLLY waves one back as the mothers carry their babies down the steps and into the increasing fury of the storm. Then she goes back inside.

93 INTERIOR: THE ANDERSON HOUSE FRONT HALL, WITH MOLLY AND RALPHIE.

There's a mirror about halfway down, by the telephone table. RALPHIE has pulled a chair over and is standing on it so he can look at that red mark on the bridge of his nose. It's a birthmark, but actually more cute than disfiguring.

61

MOLLY hardly notices him. She's relieved to be in out of the storm, and even more relieved that her little charges have all been packed home for the day. She shakes the snow out of her hair, then takes off her parka and hangs it up. She looks at the stairs, winces at the memory of PIPPA'S

misadventure, then snorts laughter.

MOLLY

(to herself) The smaller button!

RALPHIE

(still looking in the mirror) Mommy, why do I have to have this?

MOLLY goes to him, plants her chin on his shoulder, and looks at him in the mirror. They make a rather lovely mother-and-son portrait that way. She reaches around and touches the little red mark on his nose with love.

MOLLY

Your daddy calls it a fairy saddle. He says it means you were born lucky.

RALPHIE Donnie Beals says it's a pimple.

MOLLY

Donnie Beals is a ... Donnie Beals is a nut.

She grimaces briefly. "Nut" isn't the word she'd probably use, if given a free choice.

RALPHIE

I don't like it. Even if it is a fairy saddle.

MOLLY

Myself, I love it... but if you still feel the same way when you're older, we'll take you to Bangor and have it removed. They can do that now. Okay?

RALPHIE How much older do I have to be?

MOLLY

Ten how's that?

62

RALPHIE

Too long to wait. Ten's old.

The phone rings. MOLLY picks it up.

MOLLY

Hello?

94 INTERIOR: THE MARKET, WITH CAT WITHERS.

She's on the phone behind the counter. TESS MARCHANT is running the checkout operation by herself for the time being. There's still quite a line, although with the storm now on the rise, it's thinned a bit. Those people that are left BUZZ EXCITEDLY about the police call to the CLARENDON

house.

CAT

There you are, I've been trying to get you for almost ten minutes.