Storm of the Century (21 page)

Transformed into an avenging harpy. Her lips are pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. She is holding the cane by its foot, with the wolf’s head protruding.

She SCREAMS and brings the cane down.

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81 INTERIOR: LINOGE, FACEDOWN ON THE CELL COT.

SCREAMING TRIUMPHANTLY into the pillow, with his arms still wrapped around his head.

82 INTERIOR: THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE, WIDER.

MIKE backs away from the cell door, UNNERVED. The other four men are pressed together like sheep in a hailstorm. All of them are TERRIFIED. LINOGE CONTINUES SCREAMING.

83 EXTERIOR: ANGLE ON THE SUPPLY SHED--NIGHT.

From out here, we can’t see what’s happening, and that’s probably good. We can see CAT’S

SHADOW, however . . . and the shadow of the cane, rising and falling, rising and falling.

FADE TO BLACK. THIS ENDS ACT 2.

Act 3

84 EXTERIOR: THE LIGHTHOUSE--NIGHT.

The tide, now on the ebb, sends up explosions of FOAMY WATER, but the searchlight continues to swing around. Some of the windows at the top are broken out, but the lighthouse has won out over the storm. For now, anyway.

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85 EXTERIOR: THE DISPLAY WINDOW OF THE ISLAND DRUGSTORE--NIGHT.

The aisles of the store are filling up with snow, and it’s started to coat the glass over the face of the pendulum clock, but we can still read the time: 8:47.

86 INTERIOR: A CORNER OF THE TOWN HALL BASEMENT, WITH MOLLY.

She’s in a wing chair in one corner, with a pair of Walkman earphones on. They’re on crooked and slipping down further all the time. We can hear THE FAINT SOUND OF CLASSICAL MUSIC. MOLLY is fast asleep.

Hands reach into the frame and take off the headphones. When this happens, MOLLY opens her eyes. There’s a girl of about seventeen standing beside her. ANNIE smiles, a bit embarrassed, and holds out the headphones.

Want ‘em back? They were, like, slipping off.

No, thanks, Annie. With those things I always end up asleep and listening to Schubert on my fillings.

She gets up, stretches, then puts the Walkman on the seat of the chair. The part of the downstairs that serves as an activity area has been curtained off from the sleeping area, which we can see through the gap in the makeshift draw curtains. The KIDS are all sleeping, now, and a few adults have turned in, as well.

There’s a TV against one wall of the activity area. About forty people are gathered around it, some sitting on the floor, some in folding wooden Bingo chairs, some standing at the back. The TV is broadcasting a FUZZY PICTURE that shows the weatherman from WVII, the Bangor ABC affiliate. Standing beside the TV and turning the rabbit ears this way and that, hoping for a better picture (pretty much a lost cause, I’m afraid) is LUCIEN FOURNIER, a good-looking man of about thirty in a reindeer
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sweater. He’s one of JACK CARVER’S gay-bashing buddies.

At this time the storm is continuing to build, with the greatest concentrations of snow in the coastal and central areas. We here at Channel Seven find the numbers almost impossible to believe, but Machias is already reporting a fresh foot and a half . . . this is without the drift factor, remember, and zero visibility. No traffic is on the roads, (laughs) Hey, what roads, right? Conditions in Bangor are nearly as bad, with power outages reported all up and down the grid. Brewer is entirely dark, and in Southwest Harbor, a church steeple has reportedly blown over. It’s bad out there, and we haven’t seen the peak of the storm yet. This is one you’ll be telling your grandchildren about . . . and they probably won’t believe you. Every now and then I have to look out the newsroom window to believe it myself.

Standing near the back of the crowd, peering around the other standees, is URSULA GODSOE. MOLLY taps her on the shoulder, and URSULA turns to her, unsmiling.

(nods toward the TV)

What’re they saying?

Howl and blast followed by blast and howl. Such condition to continue through tomorrow and into tomorrow night, when things are finally supposed to start quieting down. Power’s out from Kittery to Millinocket. Coastal communities are cut off. Us island guys . . . forget it.

She looks really dreadful. MOLLY sees it; she reacts with sympathy and some curiosity, as well.

What’s wrong?

I don’t know. I’ve just got a feeling. A really bad one.

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Well, who wouldn’t? Martha Clarendon murdered . . . Lloyd Wishman kills himself . . . the Storm of the Century right over our heads . . . who wouldn’t?

I think it’s more than that.

87 EXTERIOR: ANGLE ON THE SUPPLY SHED--NIGHT.

For a moment or two the doorway is empty, and then CAT steps slowly into it and stops. Her eyes are wide and blank. On the strip of visible skin between the top of her scarf and the bottom of her hat, we can see SMALL STIPPLES OF BLOOD on her cheeks. They look almost like freckles. In one hand she still holds the cane. The wolf’s head is once more CAKED WITH BLOOD.

THE CAMERA BEGINS TO MOVE IN as some comprehension of what she’s done flickers in CAT’S eyes. She looks down at the cane and drops it.

88 EXTERIOR: THE CANE, FROM CAT’S POINT OF VIEW.

It lies just outside the doorway in the snow, leering up at her. The silver wolfs eyes are full of blood.

89 EXTERIOR: RESUME CAT, IN THE SUPPLY SHED DOORWAY--NIGHT.

She raises her gloved hands to her cheeks. Then, perhaps feeling something, she takes them away and looks at them. Her face is still blank, drugged-looking . . . she’s in a state of shock.

90 INTERIOR: THE BASEMENT, FEATURES MOLLY AND URSULA.

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URSULA looks around to see if they’re being overheard. They’re not, but she leads MOLLY toward a relatively deserted area near the foot of the stairs anyway, just to be safe. MOLLY looks at her, concerned and worried. Outside, the WIND HOWLS BIG. The women, on the other hand, are very small.

When I get these feelings, I trust them. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust them. I ... Molly, I think something’s happened to Peter.

(instant concern)

Why? Has anyone come back from the store? Has Mike-

No one’s come in from that end of town since eight o’clock, but Mike’s okay.

She sees MOLLY isn’t convinced, and smiles a little bitterly.

Nothing psychic about that part of it--I’ve picked up a couple of broken transmissions on the radio. Once it was Hatch; once I’m pretty sure it was Mike.

Saying what? Talking to who?

With the antennas blown down, it’s impossible to tell, base unit to base unit; it’s just voices. I imagine they’re still trying to raise the statics in Machias.

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So you haven’t heard anything about Peter, and you can’t know-

No ... but somehow I do. If I can get Lucien Fournier to stop fiddling with that TV and take me down to the constable’s on his snow machine, can you mind things here? Unless the roof falls in, all it amounts to is saying everything’s fine, breakfast’s at seven, and we still need folks on the serving crew and to do cleanup after. Work’s mostly done for tonight, thank God. People’ve already started going to bed.

I’ll come with you. Tavia can handle things here. I want to see Mike.

No. Not with Ralphie here and a maybe dangerous prisoner down there.

You’ve got a kid to think about, too. Sally’s here.

It’s Sally’s Dad I’m worried about, not Ralphie’s. As for Tavia Godsoe ... I’d never say this to her face because I love her, but she’s got old maid’s disease--she worships her brother. If she gets the idea anything happened to Peter . . .

All right. But you tell Mike I want him to set a guard--however many men he needs, none of ‘em’s doing anything else tonight, anyway--and get back here. Tell him his wife wants to see him.

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I’ll give him the message.

She leaves MOLLY and makes her way through the crowd around the TV, aiming for LUCIEN.

91 EXTERIOR: ANGLE ON THE SUPPLY SHED--NIGHT.

CAT is still looking at her hands, but now a kind of comprehension is starting to dawn in her eyes. She looks from the bloody cane to her bloody gloves . . . back to the cane . . . back to the gloves ... up into the storm. Then she opens her mouth as wide as it can go, and SHRIEKS.

92 INTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL KITCHEN--NIGHT.

JOANNA, who is washing pots in the sink and happens to be closest to the back door, looks up, frowning. The others continue on with their work.

Did you hear something?

Just the wind.

It sounded like a scream.

(exaggerated patience)

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That’s how the wind sounds tonight, deah.

JOANNA, who is just about fed up with her mother-in-law, looks at MRS. KINGSBURY.

Did that girl from the market come back in? She didn’t, did she?

MRS. KINGSBURY

No, not this way-

I imagine they had things to discuss, Joanna.

A sly look. Accompanying it, probably the dirtiest gesture we can get away with on network TV (or maybe it’s too dirty): the old lady makes a loose fist, then taps the forefinger of her other hand around the edge of the hole, smiling as she does so.

JOANNA looks at this with distaste, then grabs a parka from the coat tree in the corner. It’s too big, but she zips it up.

My mother always said, “Peep not at a keyhole, lest ye be vexed.”

It sounded like a scream.

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I find that ridiculous.

Shut up. Mother.

CORA is stunned. MRS. KINGSBURY is surprised, but also pleased--clearly restraining an impulse to yell, “You go, girl!” JOANNA, who knows a good exit line when she says one, flips up the fur-lined hood of the parka and slips out the back door into the HOWLING DARK.

93 INTERIOR: RESUME TOWN HALL BASEMENT, WITH MOLLY.

She watches URSULA speak to LUCIEN, who stops twiddling the rabbit ears and listens intently. On the snowy TV screen, we see a map of Maine. Most has been colored in red, with the words “SNOW

EMERGENCY” displayed in big white letters. Also “3 TO 5 !!!FEET!!! + DRIFTING, BLOWING

SNOW.” During this:

If you are in an outlying area, you are advised to stay where you are even if you have lost power and have no heat. Tonight shelter is your prime necessity. If you are in a sheltered place, do not leave it. Keep warm, bundle up, share your food, and share your strength. If there was ever a night for good neighbors, this is it. There is a state of snow emergency in central and coastal Maine tonight--repeat, there is a state of snow emergency on the coast and in the central regions of the state.

JOHNNY HARRIMAN and JONAS STANHOPE come downstairs, bearing big trays of cake and cookies. Behind them comes ANNIE HUSTON, with her arms wrapped around the shiny steel belly of an industrial-sized coffee urn. MOLLY, still very worried, stands aside to let them pass. She’s intently watching URSULA’S conversation with LUCIEN.

Everything all right, Molly Anderson?

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Fine. Just fine.

This is gonna be one to tell your grandchildren about.

It already is.

94 EXTERIOR: BETWEEN THE BACK OF THE TOWN HALL AND THE SHED-NIGHT.

Here comes JOANNA, struggling along. The parka she grabbed flaps around her like a sail, and the hood keeps flying back. At last, however, she approaches the supply shed. The door is still open, but CAT is no longer standing in it.

Still, JOANNA stops perhaps six feet outside the door. Something is wrong here, and like URSULA, she feels it.

Katrina? Cat?

Nothing. She comes forward another two steps, into the hard, flickery light thrown by the gas lamp. She looks down at:

95 EXTERIOR: THE SNOW OUTSIDE THE DOOR, FROM JOANNA’S POINT OF

VIEW--NIGHT.

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Most of the evidence has either been blown away or covered over by the SHRIEKING WIND, but there is still some PINKISH STAIN where CAT dropped LINOGE’S cane, although the cane itself is gone. And, beyond it, is a BRIGHTER STAIN on the shed’s doorsill, where CAT stood.

96 EXTERIOR: RESUME JOANNA--NIGHT.

Cat. . . ?

She would like to go back now--it’s scary out here in the blizzard--but she’s come too far. She steps very slowly toward the shed door, holding the parka’s hood pinched shut at the base of her throat like an old woman’s shawl.

97 INTERIOR: THE SHED DOORWAY, LOOKING OUT--NIGHT.

JOANNA comes to the doorway and stands, eyes slowly widening with horror.

98 INTERIOR: THE SUPPLY SHED, FROM JOANNA’S POINT OF VIEW--NIGHT.