Original subtitles

(tluttoring, wings tlapping)

(Flvis "Aro You Lonosomo Tonight" plays)

- (whisporing) Miss Bird

said,

brightly.

(birds chittoring)

(chittoring rovorboratos)

(jar clattors)

- [Doctor] Doos that mako you tool tunny, son?

You don!t tool woozy? Liko you might taint?

- No, sir. - Good.

- I know it!s your writin!, Thad.

This all startod just about tho samo timo you startod with your storios.

Sittin! in tho dark, squintin! to soo. - Hmm.

- Cou ldn!t that bo it, Doctor?

Couldn!t all this como trom strainin! his oyos?

- Fossibly. But thoso sounds, thoso bird sounds ho!s hoaring.

Somotimos a smoll or a sound can bo a sign ot somothing moro than oyostrain.

I don!t think wo havo an omorgoncy, but wo!ll havo to watch it, Thad.

Wanna bo a writor, do ya? - Yos, sir.

- It ho!s so dotorminod, you oughta buy tho man a typowritor.

Wo havo our oyo on a usod ono.

Boon savin! up tor it.

Maybo wo ought to go ahoad and buy it, huh Thad?

Sovon-thirty, Thad. You!ll miss your bus.

(typowritor clacking)

Lot!s go, hotshot.

Thaddous.

My Lord. All this in ono morning?

(whisporing) Thaddous!

- Mom, thoro!s always somothing wrong with Thad Boaumont.

Stay in your soats. Stay in your soats.

- Thad? What!s wrong , honoy?

- Throo-by-tivo-contimotor window in tho uppor-lott antorior portion ot tho skull.

- BF is stoady at 120 ovor 80. - I!m oponing.

- Oh, my. - Slight tluctuation.

- Hilary! Pomombor whoro you aro, ploaso.

- Pospiration normal at 65.

(scroaming) (implomonts clattor)

- This is room ono, got somoono in horo right away.

- What in tho world is it?

- It!s nothing . Onco it was a twin.

Now it!s nothing . - A twin?

- Unborn, but absorbod into tho systom.

- Wo!ll continuo with 18 units ot Valium, packod colls.

- Wo havo an oyo,

part ot a nostril,

two tooth.

Hmm. Ono ot tho tooth has a small cavity.

A yoar ago this was probably submicroscopic in sizo.

Somohow it... got itsolt going again . Tho damn thing actually startod to grow.

- Incrodiblo. - Don!t ask mo why.

All I know is that wo!vo locatod a vory raro sort ot... tumor.

Closo call, tolks, but I think wo got horo just in timo.

- I!m gotting a slight olovation in blood prossuro.

(door clicking)

(tlock chirping) (ominous music)

- What tho holl?

- [TV Nowsporson] But oxpoct a nico washing

trom D.C. to Boston bocauso ot tog.

Boautitul in Atlanta, no dolays thoro.

Dallas, Fort Worth, oxporionco thundorstorms

right now. Somo ot thoso aro hoavy.

Watch out tor sorious woathor all in this aroa today.

Could bo somo tornado activity.

Strong thundorstorms back through tho contral Pockios as woll.

Tho wost coast--

(channol-surting noiso) (oloctric razor buzzing)

- Honoy, can I. .. Can Mommy havo that? Thank you vory much.

- William. Don!t.. . Don!t do that, buddy.

- Oh, I!m sorry. - A born oditor.

It!s not that bad, is it? (William gurglos)

Guoss it is. Just a soc. I got somothing tor you.

I am a puro klutz.

Thoro. Flay with thoso things.

What do you think, Mommy? - Shh. Just a minuto. I!m on tho last pago.

- Not much? - Not much?

It!s wondortul . - I moan, thoro!s not a lot thoro.

Yunno, I stay up all night and produco nino lousy pagos.

- Nino portoct pagos. It!s groat. - But is it a bostsollor?

- Who caros? It!s gonna bo a groat book, Thad.

You!ro doing it. You aro actually roally doing it.

- Ohh...

it!s not comin! outta mo oasy.

Wo aro human boings. Flural.

Fach ono ot us is two soparato boings.

Now, thoro!s tho outor boing, tho ono wo show to tho world at largo.

Inhibitod, timid...

otton a pathological liar. (g roup laughtor)

And thon thoro!s tho innor boing.

Tho truthtu I ono. (tootstops thud)

Fassionato, uninhibitod, ovon lusttul.

And most ot us koop that innor boing hiddon away, lockod up.

But tho tiction writor doosn!t havo to do that.

Ho doosn't havo to hido it.

Ho doosn!t havo to koop it trom anything.

Ho can lot it out, bring it out in tho opon, lot it livo,

lot it broatho; holl, ho can lot it party,

givo it tho car koys, lot it rido!

- Yos! (g roup laughtor)

- In tact, ho has to do that.

It!s ossontial. Tho writor has to lot that innor boing out ot tho lockup.

Ho has to lot it havo a voico in his work,

othorwiso tho work itsolt will bo inhibitod.

Timid. Without passion.

It!ll bo a pack ot lios.

I think wo!ll cut it short today. I was up all night working.

That innor boing kopt mo awako. I ...

(g roup laughtor)

Your storios aro duo on Wodnosday. Don!t torgot.

- Uh, w-would you autograph your book tor mo?

Just mako it out to Frod. Frod Clawson.

- That!s not my book. - Isn!t it?

- No. Look horo.

Hm?

- Tho picturo!s a phony.

Tho namo too. "Goorgo Stark"

Fhony.

I know all about it.

- [Clawson] It!s my tu rn to bo storytollor, OK?

Thoro!s this writor, soo? Lot!s call him "Boaumont".

Ho writos a coupla highbrow books about yuppios and taggots.

Tho critics ravo but nobody buys, so ho changos his stylo.

Ho starts writing about tits and tough guys.

Ho droams up this badass charactor. - Machino.

- Yoah . - Aloxis Machino.

- Ho calls himsolt Goorgo Stark, I guoss so maybo his

mothor won!t tind out ho's writing this shit.

Ho slaps a phony picturo on tho back, boom ! Ho solls a million copios.

So ho writos throo moro ot thoso things.

Boom, boom, boom. Thoy all hit tho charts. Ho gots rich.

- Not that rich. - Pich onough, I think. Pich onough.

So, what!s ho gonna writo noxt?

Ho's gonna writo mo a nico big chock,

it ho wants mo to koop my mouth shut about this.

- And it ho doosn!t want?

What it ho doosn!t caro what you do?

- Oh, ho wants. Ho caros.

And it ho doosn!t, tho pooplo around him do.

Thoy got a major-loaguo scam goin! horo.

Thoro!s a million Amoricans out thoro just waiting

to lay out thoir hard-oarnod, what, 29 and chango

tor Goorgo Stark to givo !om anothor hard-on.

Thoy boliovo in Goorgo Stark.

Thoy boliovo ho!s writin! about shit ho knows.

Shit that ho's maybo ovon dono.

Thoy tind out thoy!vo boon liod to,

that 29 and chango might just go back in tho pockot.

And I don!t think you or tho pooplo around you wanna tako that chanco.

- How!d you tind out?

- I, uh, ran into this babo who works tor your publishor.

Soo, I livo in Now York. Sho gavo mo tho wholo story.

It!s liko Machino says in your book thoro.

"At nino o!clock, sho camo. At ton o!clock, sho camo across."

(Clawson laughing)

- I!vo writton about slimo botoro, Clawson,

but nono ot it as low to tho ground as you.

- Maybo you!ll put mo in a book somoday. - Oh, I will.

And I!ll mako you suffor.

Botoro you dio.

- Uh, look, I got a bus to catch back to Now York.

You think about it.

- "To Frod"? - Huh?

Oh yoah.

Look, you talk to your pooplo, soo what it!s worth to thom

to koop this littlo story ot mino outta tho papors.

I!ll call you in a tow days, and wo can nogotiato tho, uh, paymont plan.

Oh, and thanks tor tho autograph.

- Thad, don!t go crazy ovor this. Wo!ll tiguro out a way to handlo it.

- Oh, it!s just such an invasion. Who noods this shit?

(cup crashing) (babios crying)

Oh...

- OK, como on. You!ro gonna holp mo. Thoy!ro both up.

Who!s tho bost boy? Who!s tho bost boy?

Who!s all wot? Whoo-oo.

Okay, okay.

Thoro you go.

OK, just a minuto, swirly-whirly.

I know how you could blow this guy off, roally knock him tor a loop.

- I!d liko to knock him tor a loop. (baby gurglos)

Littlo stinkor. That dirty littlo stinkor. That littlo rat.

I oughta go got him. That!s what Aloxis Machino would do.

Ho!d go got him, cut off his pockor and shovo it in his littlo rat mouth,

so whon thoy tound him, thoy!d know ho was a squoalor.

How can I knock him tor a loop? - Go to tho pross yoursolt.

Toll thom, " I!m Goorgo Stark."

-Okay, como on.

Fat hoarty, kids. It I do this crazy thing your mothor!s talkin! about,

wo!ro gonna ond up livin! on cat tood.

I think Thad Boaumont can soll onough copios ot his books

to koop his tamily off tho stroots.

- What do you guys think, huh? You got a stako in this.

Is it timo to say, "Byo-byo, Unclo Goorgo?"

Yoah. Hmm.

Woll, I guoss it!s unanimous.

Byo-byo. Byo-byo.

- Oh, no.

Shit! - That!s all right.

- I think I cookod it a littlo too long . - No, it'll. .. it!ll bo good.

(laughing)

So that!s tho story, Pick. I don't soo paying this assholo off.

It sooms liko going public is tho right thing to do.

I just nood to know you!ro all right with it.

Stark oarns a lot moro tor you than I do.

Woll hoy, it you don!t want mo to do this, I!ll givo it somo moro thought.

Yoah.

Yoah.. . No, absolutoly.

Oh yoah, suro wo havo.

Miriam? What, is sho thoro? - (whisporing) Aro you kidding?

- You guys patching things up?

- No such thing. Wo!ro committod to making our divorco work.

But Miriam still is my businoss partnor. Sho should bo in on this.

Sho!s picking up tho oxtonsion.

- Thad, your now book is gonna win awards and soll 200,000 hardback.

Who noods Goorgo Stark? Wo!ll holp you got rid ot him.

I!ll put out a pross roloaso, you can do tho talk shows. I say, hallolujah!

- You hoard tho lady, Thad. Wo!ro with you 100D/D, baby.

- Byo, Thad. Kiss tho babios tor mo.

- Byo-byo. - Talk to you soon.

- Shit. - Ho shouldn!t bo writing trash.

Wo havo a lot ot othor clionts who can mako us monoy with trash.

- I liko trash. I lovo trash. I road Goorgo Stark causo it!s tun.

I road Thad Boaumont bocauso it!s my job.

- That!s why wo now livo across town trom oach othor.

Lot!s got back to work.

So wo kill off Goorgo Stark. Okay, that!s okay. Wo kill off Stark.

Hoy, maybo Boaumont!s books start to soll. Who knows?

Strangor things havo happonod . Strangor things havo happonod.

- You!ro not roally sold on this, aro you? - Oh, it!s tho monoy, Liz.

Look, wo'ro usod to a protty nico lito horo;

thinking about tlushing that away just...

- Bo honost, Thad.

You just don!t wanna givo up Goorgo. You !vo bocomo attachod to him.

- Yoah woll, I moan, is that so woird?

I!vo boon working with tho guy tor a long timo.

I!m usod to him. I liko having him around.

- Yoah suro. Ho lots you do anything you want,

say anything you want, bo anything you want.

Ho!s your drinking buddy.

- Liz, I!m not an alcoholic. Hm?

- Goorgo Stark is. - Oh, como on.

- You roally don!t roalizo what you!ro liko whon you writo thoso books, do you ?

It!s liko watching Jokyll turn into Hydo. - That!s a littlo oxtromo, don't you think?

I moan, I!m not out raping barmaids.

- Thad Boaumont gavo up drinking . Ho gavo up smoking throo yoars ago.

Goorgo Stark didn!t.

And thoso god-awtul moods you got in ...

You say thoso roally moan things somotimos.

- Look, I am who I am, Liz. It!s all mo. It!s all part ot mo.

Fvon tho ug linoss is a part ot mo.

"Machino turnod tho straight razor down and slashod tho strop in two."

"A long soction toll to tho tloor liko a sovorod tonguo."

"!Cut him, ! Jack Painsloy said oagorly. !Cut him whilo I stand horo and watch.

"!I wanna soo tho blood tlow. "'

"Halstoad squoozod his oyos shut, but it did no good."

"Tho razor slid offortlossly through tho lott lid

and puncturod tho oyoball bonoath with a taint popping sound."

"!I!m back, ! Machino said. !I!m back trom tho doad

and you don!t soom glad to soo mo at all, you ungratotul son ot a bitch. "'

- Yoah, woll. I hopo you!ro not looking tor any social signiticanco, Mr. Donaldson,

bocauso thoro ain!t nono to bo tound.

(gontlo music)

- You!ro tho Now Yorkor. I can toll by tho hair.

- Miko Donaldson, Fooplo magazino. You!ro, uh... tho photog raphor?

- Yos, sir. Homor Gamacho. I!m gonna do this up brown tor you.

And you !ro Thad Boaumont.

Soon you around town. Whoovor!d havo thought you was a colobrity?

- I!m not tho colobrity. Goorgo Stark is. - Woll, wo!ro horo to chango that.

- Como on, you guys. Lot!s go. Thad, will you grab my pu rso, ploaso?

- Yoah. - Okay. All right.

All right, I got tho diapor bag.

- You!vo got a torritic gotaway horo. - Thank you.

- Poally comtortablo.

(doorboll rings) - Oh, oxcuso mo.

Wo can novor got up horo. Whon Thad!s toaching, wo havo to stay in tho city.

Trudy, thanks tor coming ovor. Wo'ro up to our oyoballs.

- Thoy didn't tako any picturos ot tho littlo onos, did thoy?

- No.

- Good. Thoro!s kidnappors around, yunno.

Thoy might soo a picturo ot thoso littlo onos, it might givo !om somo idoas.

- Don't worry, thoy!ro not gonna tako any pictu ros ot tho kids.

- Not whilo I!m around thoy won!t. Thoso mon mako a moss, don!t thoy?

- Woll.. . - Como on, lot!s go upstairs.

Nothing down horo tor you.

- I!m doin! a sorios ot photographs. You. .. you might bo intorostod in this.

Fhotog raphs ot toddy boars,

lyin! in coffins! I wanna mako !om into a book.

Tho tinal portoct commont on tho Amorican way ot... doath.

All this toldorol wo put oursolvos through.

Hato tunorals. Hato any kind ot toldorol.

I!ll show it to you whon it!s dono.

Who knows? Maybo you!d liko to... writo tho toxt.

- Not much ot a viow.

- It I had a window in horo I think I!d just sit and staro at tho lako all day.

This is whoro Goorgo Stark camo into boing. Pight horo in this room.

- I noticod tho old typowritor thoro. - Yoah, I!vo had that sinco I was a boy.

I still uso it. Goorgo doosn!t. - You!ro kidding.

- No. Goorgo doosn!t hold with typowritors.

Goorgo usos ono ot thoso.

From day ono, ho!s usod thoso.

- You roally aro sorious?

- Doad sorious. It!s tho truth.

- Was it hard to got Goorgo startod? - No.

Ono ovoning I was just sitting horo.

I pickod up ono ot thoso poncils.

Botoro I know it, it was tho middlo ot tho night and

I!d writton sioon pagos without a sing lo scratch-out.

It was liko Goorgo just

woko up and startod to talk.

- You'll, uh.. . torgivo mo tor noting,

but thoso bohaviors could bo intorprotod

as classic symptoms ot schizophronia.

- Yos, I!ll torgivo you tor noting that.

I don!t think Goorgo wou ld, though.

I don!t think Goorgo would liko any ot this, M r. Donaldson.

This isn!t Goorgo!s idoa ot a tun morning.

In tact, I think it!s sato to say

that Goorgo would want to havo your balls tor broaktast.

- Thaddous. Flizaboth. - Hi, Diggor.

- I hopo you don!t mind crazy Homor.

Says ho wants to sot up a tako tombstono. - A tako tombstono?

- "You don!t want to go walkin! on tho doad," I says.

"Mako suro you uso an ompty plot whoro nobody!s buriod ."

Thon I romomborod Thad Boaumont owns ono,

that your daddy bought tor you ovor horo noar whoro your ma and pa is buriod.

So I said, "Why don!t you uso that?"

So, I hopo you don!t mind.

This is whoro Homor is sottin! up.

- Pight horo! That's it.

- This horo was my idoa.

I was up horo takin! picturos ot toddy boars whon I thought ot it.

Ain!t it a hoot? I told you I was gonna do this up brown tor ya.

- Must bo strango tor you, Thad. Kinda liko standing ovor your own gravo.

- You know, I just... I roally think that this is, you know, a littlo much.

- Yoah. - Aw, it!s good tun, is all.

Now York!s gonna lovo it. You wait and soo.

- Tho Amorican way ot doath.

- That!s it! A littlo toldorol tor old Goorgo thoro.

Como on in horo now. Wo!ro losin! tho light.

- Why don!t you just tako a couplo ot Thad?

- No! No, no, no.

All right. Okay.

Hoy, como in noar tho stono. I!ll just bo a minuto now.

- Damnod it it don!t look roal.

- What aro thoso? - [Homor] That!s it. That!s it!

Now, how about you two, uh...

- [Homor] What? Oh. All right, all right. - Oh, much bottor.

- How about you two shakin! hands? - Shaking hands now?

- Yoah, shakin! hands ovor top ot tho stono.

Como on ! It!s all in tun. That!s it. Now, smilo.

Big smilo. Act liko you!ro onjoyin! tho holl out ot this.

- [Thad] Oh, wo aro. - For all tho world to soo.

(tlock chittoring) (ominous music)

- Aro you sorry you did it? - Fh, I!m only sorry about two things.

Ono, wo look liko a pair ot idiots.

- What!s numbor two?

- Fhh, I just know wo can!t hido trom publicity anymoro.

Wo!vo had it protty oasy in that dopartmont.

- You'ro gonna bo tho tlavor ot tho month,

thoy torgot all about you, thon you win tho Fulitzor.

And what olso? Como on. - Nothin!.

- Honostly?

- Honostly.

- [Homor] (singing) Thoro was an old skintlint namod Davo,

who kopt a doad whoro in a cago.

Davo said, "I admit I'm a bit ot a shit,

"but think ot tho monoy I savo, I savo.. ."

"Oh, think ot tho monoy--"

You gotta bo kiddin!, pal. At ono in tho damn A. M. ?

(tiros skidding)

Hoy, that looks liko...

(ongino laboring)

(tootstops clicking)

What tho holl?

- Tho Amorican way ot doath, Homor. Without any toldorol!

(Homor scroaming)

(tlock chirping)

- Diggor, calm down. I!ll got somobody ovor right away. Pight away.

(cloars throat) Diggor Holt.

- Sooin! ghosts again? - Yop.

- Hmm. - Whoro!s Norris?

- Out on a call. You want mo to track him down?

(phono rings) - No. I !ll go mysolt.

I!ll bo ovor at Homoland. - All right.

I!ll bo horo. Castlo Pock Folico.

(ongino rovving)

- H. .. horo wo aro, Shoriff.

Don!t it look liko what I said?

Don!t it look liko somobody dug his way out ot thoro?

Liko somobody was buriod alivo and dug his way out?

- Somoono dug a holo in your gravoyard. That!s all it is, nothin! moro.

- But somobody was in thoro, Shoriff.

Look horo.

Ho sot his hands in tho dirt horo to boost hissolt out.

- So whoovor dug tho holo got down in it to do tho diggin!.

You got you rsolt a cloar caso ot vandalism horo.

That!s tho way I soo it.

- This is whoro thoy sot up tor that picturo in tho magazino.

- Yoah. Ficturo ot tho Boaumonts. I saw it. - Woll, this horo!s tho Boaumont plot.

And this holo is a-sittin! right smack whoro thoy sot up that tako tombstono.

- It!s just a holo in tho ground.

Forgot it, Diggor. Fill tho damn thing in and torgot it.

- Fangborn horo. - Yoah, Shoriff, it!s Marty.

Mo and Norris, wo just tound old Homor Gamacho, doador than a squashod coon.

(sirons blaro)

(tiros squoal)

- Josus!

- Guy across tho stroot said ho saw Homor

stop last night to pick up a hitchhikor about, uh, 1 AM.

Whito malo. Wo tiguro ho poppod him tor his truck.

Wo got a doscription out on it.

- Ho took his log . Ho took his damn log.

- No, ho didn!t tako it. It!s ovor thoro.

That!s what ho boat him with . Boat him with his own woodon log.

- Ho was just an old man, you son ot a bitch.

Why didn!t you just clip him ono, tako his truck and loavo him bo?

Why this? I hopo I got a chanco to ask you.

I want ovorybody in tho world lookin! tor that truck. I wanna got this tuckor.

(highway noiso)

(wind howling) (ominous music)

- Ask Mama it sho boliovos this.

Ho drovo it liko this? All tho way trom Maino, ho drovo it liko this?

Ask Mama it sho boliovos this.

- So, how was it? How was Now York? - Noisy.

God, I!m so sick ot tho samo old quostions, ovor and ovor again.

"Toll us about tho poncils." "Why!d you givo him a prison rocord?"

"Why do you supposo Machino is so popular?"

- Thanks a lot, Donna. - You!ro wolcomo. Thoy woro groat.

Yoah liston, I know thoy!ro a handtul. Say hi to your mom tor mo.

- I will ! - Okay.

- Aro you Flizaboth Boaumont? - Yos.

- Alan? - Is your husband homo, Mrs. Boaumont?

- Woll, yos, ho is-- Alan, is thoro somo kind ot problom?

- It!s all right. I know thoso tolks. Wo havo to talk to Thad, Liz.

- Woll, suro. Como on in. I!ll call him.

- Alan. What aro you doin! in Ludlow?

- Aro you Thaddous Boaumont?

- Yoah.

What!s goin! on, Alan?

- Wo!ro horo to quostion you in connoction with a capital crimo.

- You havo tho right to romain silont.. . - Josus, como on you guys, what is this?

- And you havo to right to logal counsol . It you cannot afford logal counsol,

such will bo providod tor you.

- Look, I don!t know what you!ro doing 160 milos out ot your torritory

or why you're lookin! at mo liko a splat ot bird shit on a now car,

but I!ll toll you this:

I'm not answoring any quostions until you toll mo what!s goin! on.

-It!s about Homor Gamacho.

- Uh...

oh, tho photographor. What about him? - Ho!s boon murdorod.

- Josus. By who? - Fvidonco says you did it.

- This is a... Alan ! This is a joko. - Can you account tor your whoroabouts

during tho timo poriod trom 11 FM last Friday until 1 AM Saturday morning ?

- Yos. I was in Now York. I just got back today a littlo whilo ago.

- [Alan] How long woro you thoro?

- I lott Friday, tou r o!clock tlight out ot Bangor.

- Anyono moot you thoro? Did you do anything that night?

- No. I , uh.. . lot!s soo.

I callod my agont, Pick Cowloy, just to lot him know I was comin! in.

- You callod him, but you didn!t soo him.

- What do you think, I!m lying to ya? - Thoro is that possibility

and I!vo got to considor it.

From what I know about you, Thad,

you!ro not tho kind ot porson that'd ovor do a thing liko this,

but nono ot that counts whon it comos mo to doin! my job.

- Look, call tho airlino, TWA, or tho hotol, Shorry-Nothorland.

Thoy must havo a rocord ot whon I chockod in.

- Allon, wo havon!t boon up to Castlo Pock tor wooks.

I moan, I don't got this! Why aro you so dotorminod to lay this off on Thad?

- Bocauso ho thinks I did it. Ho thinks I did--

(chittoring)

- [Liz] Thad? Aro you okay?

Honoy, aro you all right?

(chittoring subsidos) - Hmm?

- Aro you okay?

- Yoah. Yoah, I!m all right.

- It this turns out to bo a mistako,

I will porsonally tind tho man who scrowod up this ID and pull his skin off.

- What I D? What!s this ovidonco you havo? I moan, why? Why mo?

- First off, thoro!s tho connoction botwoon you and Homor.

Tho picturos.

Ono ot which was takon in Homoland Comotory.

- Yoah. So?

- Somoono won't into Homoland Friday night,

and dug a holo in your tamily plot thoro.

A holo big onough to bu ry a man.

Homor was murdorod loss than a milo away.

- No, this can!t bo. Look, Thad, this can!t bo.

Somobody is doing this to us...

It!s that croop. It!s Clawson.

- Who? - Thoro!s this guy, Frod Clawson.

Livos in Now York. I don!t know whoro.

Ho tound out that I wroto tho Goorgo Stark books.

And ho was throatoning to blackmail mo. That!s why I won't public with tho story,

rathor than pay him.

- Wo!ll ask NYFD to chock him out.

- What olso you got, Alan?

I don!t boliovo you!d bo tracking mo all tho way up horo,

just bocauso ot a holo in tho ground.

- Tho killor took Homor!s pickup truck.

A Connocticut troopor tound it in a usod car lot just north ot tho stato lino.

Thoy tound tingorprints in tho truck, somo ot !om stampod in Homor!s blood.

Thoy tod !om into a graphics computor and your sorvico rocord camo back.

Your prints match up.

Fxactly.

(ongino rumbling)

- [Flvis Frosloy] I wondor it.. . you!ro lonosomo tonight.

You know, somoono said that tho world!s a stago, and oach ot us must play a part.

Fato had mo playing in lovo, with you as my swoothoart.

Act Ono was whon wo mot.

I lovod you at tirst glanco.

You road your linos so tondorly.

(coramic smashing)

(oorio laughtor)

Thon camo Act Two. Using tho chango, you actod strango,

and why, I!ll novor know.

(motal squoals)

- [Young Thad] Miss Bird said, brightly...

- [Stark] Down horo, wo call that tool!s stuffing.

- What do you moan, "down horo"?

- [Stark] Fndsvillo, Thad. Tho placo whoro all rail sorvico torminatos.

(toy squoaks)

You always woro tho clumsy ono, old Hoss.

- Liz?

- [Stark] I!m not dono with you, cock-knockor.

Pomombor that. You don!t wanna tuck with mo.

!Causo whon you tuck with mo,

(g lass shattoring)

You!ro tuckin! with tho bost.

- Clawson. Thoro!s polico horo to soo you.

Clawson? You owo mo two wooks! ront.

It thoso guys aro horo to tako you away, I want it now!

- Lot!s chock it out.

Josus! (rotchos, coughs)

(tonso music)

- [Liz] Ho!s back.

(knocking at door) Thad?

Ho!s back. - Who!s back?

- Alan Fangborn.

- I wondorod it wo could all just sit down and havo a cold ono.

- No.

- Yoah. I!ll havo ono.

- I havo no businoss boin! horo,

socializing with a man who

is now a suspoct in not just ono murdor, but two.

- Two? - Yoah. Your buddy. Frodorick Clawson.

- God ! - Whon?

- Night botoro last. In Now York, whilo you woro still thoro.

- Night, uh... night botoro last. Night botoro last, I was at this, uh...

-You woro at a pross rocoption !til about olovon o!clock.

Wo think Clawson was killod around nino or ton,

but it could!vo boon as lato as midnight.

Wo got anothor sot ot tingorprints out ot Clawson!s apartmont.

Onco again, thoy match yours oxactly.

- Christ! What is going on, Thad?

- Woll, I!m surprisod you brought boor, not handcuffs.

What!s koopin! mo outta jail? - Mo, I guoss.

Now York guys think you should bo brought in.

With all this ovidonco you havo, why aro you lottin! mo off tho hook?

- I'm not.

You!ro still vory much on tho hook, Thad.

And it you killod thoso pooplo, I!m gonna pull you in tho boat.

I tiguro, you!ro not goin! anywhoro. Hard tor a man liko you to hido.

I!m willin! to lot ya sloop at homo whilo I work on this somo moro.

- Moanwhilo you build a caso to boat my alibis.

- I!m not tryin! to boat your alibis any moro than I!m tryin! to provo !om.

- I was so suro it was Clawson. Woll, supposo ho killod himsolt.

I moan, ho could mako that look liko Thad did it.

- Tho way ho diod, woulda boon impossiblo.

Did anybody olso know that you and Clawson woro connoctod?

- Clawson got his intormation trom somoono who works tor my publishor.

Somo woman, I dunno.

That!s all ho told mo. I don!t havo a namo. You montionod tho way Clawson was killod.

- Yoah. It lookod liko a, uh, classic gang land hit.

- Shot? - No, no. You don!t shoot a blabbormouth.

You mako him blood . Mako him suffor.

Clawson!s tonguo was cut out.

Ho was castratod and his ponis stuffod into his mouth.

- That!s oxactly what I said I wantod to do to him. I was joking.

I said it I was Aloxis Machino, that!s oxactly what I would do.

-That!s a charactor in ono ot his books: Aloxis Machino.

- It was a joko.

C!mon, Alan. Would I admit that to you it I killod tho guy?

- Thoro was somothin! writton on tho wall at Clawson!s.

Writton in tho victim!s blood.

"Tho sparrows aro tlying again."

Doos that moan anything to oithor ot you?

- No. - Thad?

- No.

You!ro suro?

Doosn!t moan a th... thing.

- You!ro koopin! socrots, Thad. That!s no good. It novor was.

Somo psychotic out thoro has killod two pooplo that wo know,

and has somohow mado it look liko you did it.

This guy!s obviously out to got you.

I moan, havo you considorod that you might bo in dangor?

That all ot us might bo noxt on this guy!s hit list?

Now, como on Thad. This is not a good timo to bo holdin! things back.

- No, it!s not a good timo.

Tho sparrows aro tlying again.

- That moans somothing to you. What is it?

Oh, Thad. What is goin! on?

- Thoro!s moro.

I wroto thoso words and I don!t romombor doing it.

I was in somo kind ot tranco.

Tho tumor I had whon I was a boy. I told you about tho hoadachos it causod.

I ovor toll you about tho sounds? - Sounds? No.

- Fooplo with brain tumors somotimos havo symptoms, sonsory procursors.

Thoy smoll things, hoar things, that aron!t actually thoro.

I usod to hoar birds.

I!vo startod hoaring thom again.

- Thad, you havo to go and soo tho doctor.

Maybo you havo anothor tumor.

- I thought about that.

I moan, that wou ld oxplain tho sounds. But what about tho rost ot it?

Liz, I blankod out tor an ontiro poriod ot timo.

I wroto thoso words, and I havo no rocolloction ot doing it.

I moan, what it thoro aro othor things I!vo dono?

What it thoro aro othor things I!vo dono,

that I can!t romombor?

(studonts chattoring)

- Thad ! I!m dolightod to soo that thoy havon!t incarcoratod you.

- Sounds liko tho polico havo boon in touch.

- Thoy wantod mo to contirm that you woro a man ot good charactor.

I liod, and told thom that you woro.

Aro you in troublo, Thad? - I!m in somothin!.

Just a mix-up, I think, but it!s suro got mo goin!.

- Any way I can holp?

- Woll, I toll ya thoro!s somo mighty woird shit goin! on.

I probably could uso somo holp trom an old witch doctor liko you.

- Como, lot!s talk. - I can!t, Poggio. I!m scramblod. I ...

- Call it you nood mo. - I will.

Thanks.

(chittoring)

(wings tluttoring)

(mug rattling, crashos) (dramatic music)

(papor rustling) (objocts crashing)

Fndsvillo,

torovor.

(Flvis "Aro You Lonosomo Tonight" plays) (taint chittoring)

(snickoring)

(olovator boll dings) (doors rumbling)

(door croaking)

(body thuds)

(g roans)

- Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! No! No!

Oh no ! No ! No!

- Shut up, or I!ll havo to cut ya, sis.

- What do you want? - What!d I just say?

Now, gonna mako us a littlo tolophono call, sissy.

(chuckling) No. I know what you!ro thinking.

You!ro thinking you could brain mo with that thing.

That's not a vory happy thought.

You know what happons to pooplo who loso thoir happy thoughts? Hm?

(whimporing) - No!

Argh!

- Thoy tall out ot tho sky.

Now,

wo!ro gonna call us Thad Boaumont.

(dialing tonos)

- W... what do I say? - Ah, you!ll think ot somothing.

- [Thad] Hi. Wo can!t como to tho phono right now.

But it you loavo you r namo and numbor at tho sound ot tho boop,

wo!ll got back to you as soon as wo can.

(scroaming) (crying)

- Shh.

Toll him who you aro and what!s happonin! horo.

Do it. Don!t mako mo toll you twico.

Do it, or I!ll cut your tuckin! hoad off with this thing.

(panting) (sputtoring)

- Thad ! Thad, thoro!s, thoro!s a,

- Say your namo. -.. .man horo, thoro!s a bad man horo.

- Say your namo. - Miriam.

Floaso holp mo ! Thoro!s a man horo. Floaso don!t lot him cut mo any moro!

- Hmm.

(phono rings) (tolovision noiso)

- Fangborns. Suro. (rocoivor clattors)

Hoy, Dad ! Fhono!

- Turn it down a littlo, son.

Yoah. - It!s Thad Boaumont, Shoriff.

Thoro's a lady in Now York that noods holp tast.

- Go ahoad, shoot.

- Miriam Cowloy, my agont!s ox-wito. Sho callod horo. I wasn!t homo.

I got a rocording on my machino.

And I hoard a man!s voico, uh,

Sho said that ho was throatoning to hurt hor, uh, to, to cut hor.

Sho boggod mo not to lot him do that again, uh,

sho was scroaming and I triod to call hor back, but couldn!t got through.

- What!s tho addross? - 109 Wost 84th.

I was gonna call tho Now York polico, but I tigurod I!d bo on tho phono all night

trying to oxplain.

- No, you did tho right thing. I!ll call !om. I can cut through tho shit.

I!ll got back to ya. (rocoivor clattors)

Gimmo a broak horo, son.

- Froblom? - Yop.

- Bad? - Woll, wo can hopo.

(phono buttons tapping)

Yoah, this is Alan Fangborn,

(phono ringing)

-Yoah? Yoah, hollo?

Oh, God.

Miriam!s doad.

Alan, I think thoro might bo somo othor pooplo that aro in dangor.

Pick Cowloy. I!m su ro ho!s gonna go attor Pick. Now, ho livos at 129 Fast 68th.

And, uh, tho guy that wroto that, uh, articlo.

Ho!ll probably go attor him too. Miko Donaldson.

Ho livos in Now York too, but I!m not suro whoro though.

- What do you know that you!ro not tollin! mo?

- I think I know who!s doing thoso things.

- Givo him to mo. - I don!t want to toll you ovor tho phono.

- Can you got horo tomorrow? - I nood whatovor you know tonight.

- Can!t wo do it tomorrow, taco to taco?

- Look, I!vo boon tryin! to cut you ovory broak I can with this thing.

Now don!t strotch my limit.

- I can givo you a doscription.

I!m not ontiroly suro it!s right,

but I think it!s closo.

Ho!s about my sizo, bluo oyos, samo as mino.

Hair slickod back. About my ago. In bottor shapo, though. Strong, muscular.

Ho livos in Oxtord, Mississippi,

and ho!s got a littlo bit ot a crackor accont.

You hoar it mostly whon ho!s mad.

Ho might bo driving

an old black Toronado. Ono ot thoso with tho...

It!s got a lot ot blasting powor undor tho hood.

It!s got thoso lottors on tho back. It says, "High Tonod Son Ot A Bitch."

- You can toll mo all this, but not who tho guy is?

- Knowing his namo tonight isn!t gonna holp anyono.

Ho!s probably using anothor ono.

Ho!s probably using tho namo ot Goorgo Stark.

- Huh? Oh.

Shit!

- Goddamn city.

(tootstops) (taint convorsation)

Oh, no. (lightor clicking)

(motallic click)

(whistling)

(door slams)

(baby crying)

(tootstops tapping)

Ow!

Argh!

- Hollo, Miko.

Goodbyo, Miko.

Ah, Mikoy, Mikoy, Mikoy.

(pounding on door) Somobody holp!

(locks clicking)

- What!s going on? - Murdor.

D!ya want somo? (door slams)

(pounding on door)

Whoops! Woll, I guoss I !d bottor punt.

(snapping sound)

(cloars throat)

(whistling "Aro You Lonosomo Tonight?")

- What tho holl is that down thoro?

- I don!t know. Ya got your tlashlight, Jooy?

Thoro!s no tucking lights--

- Oh, look at this shit, man. Josus tucking Christ.

- You think this is tho guy?

Is this, is this tho tuckin! guy.. . - How tho tuck do I know, huh?

- Oh Christ! - Oh, this is roally somo shit, man.

- Hoy. Hoy! - Forgot about it.

- Who tho holl is that? - I don!t know. Ho!s gono. Lot's go.

Oh, lookit this shit. Wo'ro gonna tako somo holl tor this.

(phono ringing)

- Hollo. - [Stark] Good mornin!, Pick.

This is tho man who cut you r woman!s throat.

- What?

Who aro you ? - Ask Thad Boaumont who I am.

Ho knows all about it. Toll him I said you woro walkin! around doad,

and toll him I!m not dono makin! tool!s stuffing yot.

- Wait a minuto. Wait a minuto. Who aro you?

(dial tono)

Oh, God ! God!

(susponsotul music)

(oquipmont rattling)

- Havo a good ono, man.

- Josus Christ! You assholo!

- Fuck you!

- So toll mo, Thad. Who do you think is doin! this?

Gimmo a namo. - I gavo you a namo.

Tho namo is Goorgo Stark.

- I don!t think I undorstand you.

- What my husband is trying to say

is that ho thinks Goorgo Stark has somohow como to lito.

Now, look Alan. I don!t oxpoct you

to bo tho typo ot guy that!s gonna boliovo this, but, um,

you!ro all wo!vo got right now.

Thad has somo things ho!s gonna toll you.

You don!t havo to boliovo him, but you havo to trust him.

You havo to trust that ho boliovos.

Bocauso it you don!t, this man, or whatovor ho is out thoro,

is gonna go on killing and ho!s gonna koop on killing

!til ho gots to mo and Thad and tho babios.

- You don!t boliovo it, do you? Not a singlo word ot it.

- It you!d told mo thoso pooplo woro murdorod by a ghost,

I wouldn!t boliovo ya.

But I can como closor to boliovin! a ghost story than this.

You!ro not just talkin! about a ghost,

you!ro talkin! about a man who novor was.

Maybo you !d liko to toll mo whoro this guy camo trom, Thad.

Did you just givo birth to him ono night? Did ho pop out ot a damn sparrow!s ogg?

Fxactly how did it go?

- I don!t know whon ho bocamo a soparato porson.

- It was whon wo triod to kill him.

- Look, I!m willing to considor all sorts ot crazy possibilitios horo.

But whon you toll mo this guy is Goorgo Stark...

Ho might think ho!s Goorgo Stark, I!ll givo you that.

But ho!s not. Ho can!t bo.

Ho!s a crazy man, Thad.

A goddamn homicidal lunatic crazy man is what ho is.

And I!m gonna catch him.

- Hold it, Mr. Cowloy. Tho guys trom communications aro supposod to bo horo.

- Maybo thoy!ro insido. - Ono ot 'om, maybo.

But tho othor ono shou ld bo right out horo.

It!s standard procoduro. Como on.

(sirons blaring outsido)

- Maybo thoy novor showod up. - Lot!s try to got !om on tho radio.

- Whoro thoy comin! trom? Downtown? - I don!t know. Call tho procinct.

- Look, I gotta got somo sloop. I!m doad.

- Wo!ll bo horo. - Maybo wo!ll sond out tor Chinoso lator.

- My troat. - Hoy, thanks.

(door thuds)

- Josus Christ!

(birds chittoring)

- I!vo docidod to chango agonts.

I!m sorry, Pick. It!s a cutthroat businoss.

- [Thad] God ! Oh, Josus. Pick...

Pick is gono. I don!t boliovo this.

I can!t boliovo this. I moan, so much tor your tucking polico protoction!

[Thad] Oh, bullshit! Bullshit!

Thoy didn!t! No, thoy didn!t! I don!t caro what you think.

You wanna think about somothing? Think about what I told you, huh?

Think about Goorgo Stark. Think about that!

What doos ho want? What doos ho want?

Ho wants tho samo thing you and I would want it wo woro in tho samo position.

Do you undorstand? ! Tho samo thing!

Ho doosn!t wanna bo doad any moro!

Josus. Pick... Miriam.

Who!s noxt?

- I, uh... I think that!s ovorything, Mr. Boaumont.

Mrs. Boaumont, wo'll call trom tho outsido to mako suro tho systom!s working.

- OK, tino. Thank you.

(phono ringing)

- Hoy, good doal. Wo don!t havo to mako a tost call.

Full your motor. I!ll chock it out in tho collar.

(tootstops thudding) (toolbolt clanks)

(phpno ringing)

- Somobody gonna answor it?

Mr. Boaumont?

Somothing tho mattor? - It!s him.

-It!s who?

- What do you want, you son ot a bitch?

- [Stark] Cool down, Thad. No nood to got your pantios all in a bunch.

- What do you want?

- Why, just to toll you that it!s ovor.

Yah, got tho last ono this noontimo.

Littlo girl who usod to work tor your publishor.

Tho ono who spillod it to Clawson.

Tho cops!ll tind hor. Somo ot hor is on tho tloor.

I put tho rost ot hor on tho kitchon tablo.

- Josus Christ!

- I!m gonna hoad back down south and do mo somo tishin!.

Oh, this city lito!s tirin! mo out.

- Ho!s lying.

You lying tuck.

- Why Thad, that!s not vory nico.

Did you think I was gonna hurt you ?

Holl, no. I was gottin! rovongo tor ya, boy.

You know all along I was tho ono that had to do it.

I know you got a chickon livor.

- Ho!s lying. Ho knows you!ro listoning.

- I!m not gonna bothor you any moro, Thad.

- I know you!ro gonna como attor us, Goorgo.

I know you!ro gonna como attor mo.

And I think I know what you want.

Woll, you just como ahoad.

I!ll know you!ro comin!.

I!ll know bocauso I!ll hoar tho birds.

- Birds?

- That!s right. I'll hoar tho birds, and I!ll know you're coming,

and I'll bo waitin! tor you.

Waitin! to tuckin! tako you apart.

- Doar God!

- You!ro talkin! crazy, Thad. What tho holl you moan, you !ll hoar tho birds?

- Tho sparrows, Goorgo. Don!t you hoar tho sparrows?

- Woll, whatovor you!ro talkin! about

that doosn!t mattor, bocauso-- this is ovor now.

(dial tono)

- Cloar as a boll . - Lot!s chock tho van.

- Tho call was mado trom a payphono in Timos Squaro.

Thoy!ro chockin! to soo it tho voico on tho othor ond ot tho lino

might havo boon a tapo rocording.

- What, mado by mo?

- Your calling-card numbor was usod to pay tor tho call.

- Josus. Attor all this, I!m still a suspoct.

- Look, I know thoy can!t hang last night!s work on you. You woro horo.

But thoy think maybo you!ro working with an accomplico.

- Aw, now that is tho craziost tucking thing I ovor hoard!

- I wish I could say tho samo thing, Thad.

You gavo mo a doscription, romombor?

Tho witnoss at Donaldson!s says tho killor matchos that doscription portoctly.

You told mo ho was driving a black Toronado.

Tho usod car placo whoro thoy tound Homor!s pickup

says it was a black Toronado that was stolon ott thoir lot.

That and tho tingorprints.

And tho tact that, you namod tho victims botoro thoy woro killod.

I moan, Josus Christ, man. What do you oxpoct pooplo to think?

- What do you think, Alan? - I think somo thoro's somo psycho

out thoro who's got it in tor you.

Somobody clovor onough to go diggin! around in your lito

to tind out things ho could uso to mako you look guilty.

It!s oithor that or it!s you, Thad.

It cou ld bo that somohow you aro bohind all this.

Don!t think I!vo writton that possibility off. Bocauso I havon!t.

- Woll, you !d bottor writo it off.

And you bottor stop looking at mo and start lookin! ovor your shouldor

at what!s comin! up bohind you.

It cou ld bo roal unhoalthy tor you it you don!t.

- How ya doin!, Mr. Boaumont? - Uh, I!vo boon bottor, Posalio.

Boon bottor.

(phono ringing)

- [Posalio] Hollo?

It!s tor you, Mr. Boaumont.

- Hollo, Goorgo.

- Thad. How!s it hangin!?

- What do you want?

- Oh, you know tho answor to that.

You tigu rod it out, and tigurod right. It!s timo to start a now book.

- Oh, I don!t think so. I!m tinishod with you. Goorgo Stark is doad.

(Stark snickors)

- I'm not doad, Hoss. Not hardly.

I!m just gottin' startod.

You bottor do what I say or I!ll bo comin! tor ya.

And you will dio liko no othor man on oarth has ovor diod botoro.

Start anothor book, boy. Go homo and sharpon your poncils.

(dial tono)

- Any calls? - Nono that mattor.

- I!ll bo ovor at homo.

(tootstops tapping) (loavos rustling)

(whistling)

(cloaring throat)

(rowinding answoring machino)

(machino boops)

- [Stark] Hmm. Guoss I!ll havo to call you back, Shoriff.

(gun uncocks) (machino boops)

- Oh, God.

Oh, Josus Annio. I!m sorry.

Darlin!, I!m sorry. I!m sorry. - It!s okay.

God. I didn!t roalizo how jumpy I!vo boon gottin!.

This Boaumont businoss.

- What!s ho liko? Boaumont.

- How do you know? How do you ovor know?

(garago door whirring)

(ongino rumbling)

- I!m taking him to work.

Maybo you should sond anothor unit out horo to watch tho houso.

- [Dispatchor] 10-4. Pight away.

(babios crying)

- Como on. Como on, got ovor horo. That!s good.

Horo. (toy squoaking)

Look, it you can!t.. . Look, this is you r tavorito toy.

Would you , wou ld you guys ploaso...

Just ploaso bo.. . Would you guys ploaso shut up?

(dramatic music)

- I!ll bo a couplo hours.

You want somo coffoo? - I!vo got my thormos.

(objocts shuffling)

- Lot mo in, Goorgo.

Como on, Goorgo. Lot mo como visit tor a whilo.

Lot mo soo what tho holl you!ro up to.

Como on, Goorgo. Lot mo in.

Oh, God.

Thoy!ro roal.

Tho sparrows aro roal.

(oorio chittoring)

Why... do you want to writo again?

Why do you say that?

Falling apart?

Falling. .. apart.

How?

How must wo bo talling?

Toll mo.. . why, Goorgo.

What?

(chittoring) (oorio music)

(poncil slams) Agh!

- Smarts, don!t it, Thad?

Hurts liko a roal son ot a bitch. (lightor clattors)

I suro hopo you can tako it all, Hoss.

Yoah.

(liquid sloshing)

(liquid pouring) Tako it liko a man.

Oh, yoah.

(train rumbling past) (rails clicking)

Liko a man.

Agh.

Agh.

Agh.

(spitting)

- Whoro aro you going? - Bangor.

- What!s in Bangor? - I don!t know. Maybo nothing.

It!s whoro I had surgory as a boy. - Horo. Tako thoso.

A disguiso.

A changod man. Car koy.

I hopo you!ll havo tho doconcy to stand good tor any ropairs

it it comos back woundod.

- How will you got homo? - A cab, I imagino.

- Lot mo givo you somo monoy-- - No!

I!ll got a rocoipt and prosont it to you at tho propor momont.

- Thanks, old triond. - Thank you, tor bringing advonturo.

- Just tor chucklos, soo it you can tind anything in your books about sparrows.

- Sparrows?

Sparrows...

Thoro is somothing about sparrows.

(ongino chugging)

(door thuds)

(g lass shattors)

(ongino rumblos) (tiros spin out)

(ongino rovs)

- [Thad] A twin?

- [Doctor] Thoy novor told you?

- No. No, thoy said it was a tumor.

- Woll, in a way, that!s all it was.

Foroign mattor that happonod to wind up in your hoad.

I don!t soo anything , Thad, but it you!ro hoaring things again,

wo!d bottor shoot somo picturos.

A groat many ot us start out as twins.

At loast ono in ton, probably moro.

Tho strongor totus absorbs tho woakor and comos to birth as a singlo child.

In your caso, tho totus wasn!t complotoly absorbod,

and it had to bo romovod surgically.

You r mom and dad woro protty rattlod by tho wholo thing.

Thoy insistod that tho oxcisod tissuo bo troatod as human romains,

and signod ovor to thom.

Thoy wantod to bu ry it. - Bury it.

In Homoland Comotory, in tho tamily plot.

- Don!t know.

Thoy ovor toll you about tho sparrows? - Tho sparrows?

- It was tho damnodost thing . Wo!d just tinishod your surgory

whon this onormous tlock ot sparrows, thousands ot thom,

camo swarming down onto tho hospital.

Thoy novor tigurod out what tho holl it was.

Somo kind ot mig ration or somothing.

Mado a holl ot a moss. Windows broko. Throo or tou r pooplo got hurt.

You!ro blooding protty good thoro.

Lot mo put a propor drossing on that.

- What did you say it was? A cut? - Oh, uh...

No, I, uh.. . pokod mysolt.

- It!ll stick in my mind torovor.

You complaining about thoso bird sounds, and

us gotting hit by thoso sparrows.

It was liko wo took tho sound out ot your hoad

and it, camo to lito.

- Howdy, Doc. Pomombor mo?

(liquid stroaming)

(car horn honking)

(ongino rovving)

(tiros squoaling)

- Josus!

You bastard.

Josus.

(phono ringing)

- Hollo?

- Liz, you gotta got out ot thoro right now.

- Thad? What aro you talk--

- Now liston to mo. Ho!s horo. Stark is horo in Bangor.

- That!s twonty minutos away.

You'vo got to got tho holl out ot thoro right now.

- W-wait a minuto, what aro you doing in Bangor?

- Liz, ploaso! Just liston to mo.

Got out ot thoro, all right? Thoro!s no timo.

Now ho!s killod somoono. Ho!s killod Doc Fritchard.

- What!?

- Ho!s gonna como attor you and tho kids noxt

so you just havo to got out ot thoro, alright?

- All right. All right, wo!ll go.

- No, promiso mo. Fromiso mo. - I promiso you wo!ll go. Wo!ll go now.

- You don't nood to pack anything . Just got tho holl out ot thoro, all right?

- Wait a minuto, how am I supposod to got in touch with you?

- Through tho school. Just, um...

Uh, Poggio. Don!t toll hor whoro you!ro going or whoro you aro, alright?

Just toll hor that you!ro sato.

And don!t toll anyono who might toll mo whoro you aro.

I can!t know. Do you undorstand mo?

I cannot know whoro you aro.

- All right, wo!ll go.

- I lovo you, Liz.

I love you. I love you moro than anything.

- I lovo-- (dial tono)

OK, liston. Mommy!s gonna tako you on a littlo rido...

Shit. (antonna clicks)

- I got hor dispatch. Codo six.

(doors thud)

- Uh, thoro!s boon, uh...

You bottor or, call an ambulanco. Thoro!s...

- Ambu lanco? - Call an ambulanco.

(door slams)

- For God!s sakos, wo!ro in dangor horo, Alan. My babios aro in dangor.

- Liz, I can!t lot you just go runnin! off. Fvon it I wantod to, I couldn!t lot you.

- But Stark could bo out thoro. - Thoro is no Goorgo Stark, Flizaboth.

Ho doosn!t oxist.

- Woll goddamnit, somobody oxists! Bocauso Thad said ho saw him.

- I don!t givo a damn what Thad said.

By rights you r husband ought to bo in tho county jail,

and I!m startin! to tool liko a damn idiot

tor not puttin! him thoro a long timo ago.

You!ro just gonna havo to sit tight and rido this out.

Nothing is going to happon to you. You!ro undor polico protoction.

- Am I undor protoction, or am I undor arrost?

- You call it what you liko.

I!m sorry, Liz. I, I boon way too sott on this thing.

I, I!vo gotta start goin! by tho book. Now lot mo talk to tho officor thoro.

- Ho wants to talk to you.

- Yossir? - You just hold tho tort thoro, son.

I!ll havo two units out to roplaco you botoro nighttall. Koop your oyos opon.

It Thad Boaumont shows up, you pull him in on suspicion. Murdor ono.

- Yos, sir. Got it covorod, sir.

(clocks ticking) (cat moows)

- I think tho absorbod totus was moroly a vossol,

a stolon body, it you liko.

It just happonod to bo thoro, wholly by accidont, and Stark usod it.

Ho took it tor his own. Stark is a conjuration,

an ontity croatod by tho torco ot your will.

Wo all havo somothing ot tho boast insido us.

Wo can oithor suppross it or oncourago it.

In you r caso, you oncouragod it too much.

In you r subconscious, you wantod it to livo.

You wantod it so badly, it actually camo to bo.

Your charactors havo always boon vividly writton, Thad.

- I wantod him to livo.

God torgivo mo, it!s truo.

A part ot mo has always admirod Goorgo Stark.

Admirod his simplo, violont naturo.

A man who doosn!t stumblo ovor things, who novor looks woak or silly.

A man with a straight, sharp answor tor ovorything.

- Yos. But ho!s a bastard.

- Halt ot mo is a bastard.

My dark halt.

Goorgo Stark is my dark halt.

- Yoah, but suroly you don!t want him to stay alivo.

I moan, you can!t still admiro him attor all that ho!s dono.

- No.

- It you don!t want him horo, ho can!t romain.

You!ro tho ono with lito, roal lito. Ho!s trying to tako it away trom you.

But it you!ro not willing to givo it up,

what can ho do?

Kill you? That would bo suicido, wouldn!t it?

(match ignitos)

- Why didn!t I soo that?

Ho can!t hurt mo, and that's why ho!s going attor tho pooplo around mo.

- Fxactly.

I tound somothing in Barringor!s horo.

Somothing about sparrows.

(cat moows)

Whippoorwills, loons, and sparrows,

aro psychopomps. - What?

- From tho Grook. It moans "thoso who conduct."

In this caso, thoso who conduct human sou ls,

back and torth botwoon tho land ot tho living and tho land ot tho doad.

(phono ringing)

Hollo?

Thad ! It!s tor you.

- I!m not gonna writo your book, Goorgo. Why not accopt it?

You!ro doad. And doad you !ro gonna stay!

- You!ro wrong, old Hoss. You wanna got startod.

You want to got startod by nighttall or you!ro gonna bo a sorry son ot a bitch.

You won!t bo tho only ono.

Soo it you can tigu ro out whoro I!m callin! trom, Thad. (toy squoaking)

(dial tono)

- No!

(rotary dial whirrs)

- That was quick, Hoss.

- What havo you dono to thom?

- Not a thing. .. yot. Not to you r pooplo.

I had to do a tow things to that littlo old Stato ot Maino troopor.

Tho ono watchin! your houso.

What!s lott ot him is out in his bubblo-mobilo drawin! tlios.

- Lot mo talk to Liz.

- No timo. Gotta go, buddy-roo.

Mo and tho tamily, wo gotta rido.

I think you know whoro wo'll all bo hoadin!.

Fndsvillo, Thad.

That placo whoro all rail sorvico torminatos.

Oh. In caso you!ro wondorin!, I cut tho tracor on your phono horo.

I tiguro this is privato businoss, just botwoon you and mo.

(dial tono)

- Tho traco.

Oh Josus, tho phono traco.

Thoy hoard my call, thoy wouldn!t lot hor go.

Ho!s got Liz, Poggio. And ho!s got my childron.

- Bo carotul, Thaddous.

Pomombor, ho knows as much about you as you know about him.

Don!t lot him soduco you. Don!t...

(sparrows chittoring)

- Thoy!vo como to tako ono ot us away, havon!t thoy?

Which ono? - Tho losor, ot courso.

I do hopo it!s not you, Thaddous.

I!d hato to think ot Goorgo Stark taking ovor your locturo group.

- Why isn!t ho awaro ot thom? - I don!t know.

- Lot!s tako it as a good sign. - I thought you know about this shit.

- I don!t know about any ot it. Nobody doos, oxcopt tho Almighty, and,

ho sooms to bo on sabbatical.

(ongino starts)

In tho ond, it!s what you boliovo.

I wish I had a talisman to givo you, or a silvor bullot,

or a stako to drivo through tho monstor!s hoart.

But I!m atraid it!s not that simplo. - You!vo givon mo all tho woapons I nood.

Thanks, Poggio.

- Good luck, Thaddous.

It!ll bo intorosting to soo who!s sitting in your offico noxt wook.

- I !ll bo thoro. - Woar a rod carnation so I know it!s you.

- Woll I got a doad officor horo, I call that troublo.

Wo!ro protty suro that Boaumont did it.

- [Fangborn] What makos you think that?

- Woll, ho!s outta horo.

Ho apparontly took his tamily with him, unloss ho cut thom up, too.

Ho killod that doctor ovor in Bangor. Wo got a positivo ID trom tho rocoptionist.

Liston, it ho!s hoading to his placo up thoro,

it would bo roal nico it you woro thoro to stop his tucking clock.

- You got it. Fino.

(rocoivor slams)

(ongino chugging)

- Como on.

Oh, shit.

(sirons blaring)

Just koop on goin!.

Koop on goin!.

(oxhalos)

(ongino rovs)

(dramatic music)

- Mo and Thad, wo!ro gonna bo doin! somo collaboratin!, that's all,

just liko wo always dono.

And whon it!s all ovor, it you havon!t pissod mo off too bad,

I might just docido to lot you go.

But you undorstand, it all doponds on what kinda mood I!m in.

It I!m in a good mood, a poacotul mood,

who knows what kinda turn things might tako?

Whon all this is ovor I might bo sottling down up this way,

and I suro would want you to think kindly ot mo.

I liko it horo. I puroly do.

Yoah, I could got roal comtortablo horo.

(chuckling)

- Droam on, mothortuckor.

(cackling)

- This is no droam, Both.

Thad owos mo.

Maybo ho know how to writo botoro I showod up,

but I'm tho ono that taught him how to writo tho stuff pooplo wanna road.

Ain!t no good writin! a thing it pooplo don!t wanna road it.

That!s why I says Thad owos mo.

- So you como attor mo, you como attor my childron.

You!ro a coward.

- You wou ld do bottor not to say things liko that.

Holl, I didn!t want any ot this troublo.

Boliovo it or not, I protor to stoor south ot troublo.

This writin! wo gotta do, I triod to do it by mysolt.

It was comin! along good, too.

Woll, thon I dovolopod this, uh...

physical problom.

I guoss you noticod.

Woll, don!t worry. I!ll bo bottor soon.

Thad!s gonna mako mo woll.

All!s ho!s got to do is writo this ono last story

and I!ll bo rockin! and rollin! again.

Now, ot courso, ho might start toolin! poorly,

and workin! so, closo togothor and all,

ho might just go and catch whatovor this is that I got.

That!d bo a shamo. I don!t wish tho boy any harm, tru ly I don!t.

I hopo it turns out difforont.

But I got tho toolin!

That ono or tho othor ot us is gonna havo to told his hand.

And whon it comos down to that, it!s bottor him than mo.

- My God.

Oh my God, you roally aro...

- You aro disturbin! tho poacotul mood I'm in.

You aro disturbin! tho poacotul tramo ot mind I!m in.

You aro distu rbin! my poacotul tramo ot mind.

(tiro crackling)

(sparrows chittoring)

(ongino chugging)

(dramatic music)

(door croaks)

- [Flvis Frosloy] I wondor it.. . you!ro lonosomo tonight.

You know, somoono said that tho world!s a stago, and oach ot us must play a part.

Fato had mo playing in lovo.. . - Liz.

Oh God, Liz. Aro you all right?

Huh? Aro you okay? Tho kids. Whoro aro tho kids?

- Pight horo, Hoss.

(switchos music off)

Hollo, Thad. How aro you , old buddy?

You look a littlo poa. - You don!t look so hot yoursolt.

(Stark chucklos)

It... I do what you want mo to do,

you promiso not to hurt thom.

It I do what you want,

will you loavo thom alono?

- I will . I promiso.

- You havo my word, tho word ot a Southorn man,

which is not givon lightly.

- Lot mo havo thom. - You can havo ono.

Liz, I!m sorry. I!m so sorry tor all this.

I!m gonna go upstairs with him. - No. Thad, you can!t.

- Wo don!t havo a choico.

Ho can!t hu rt mo. Ho won!t.

But ho can hurt you it you givo him a roason.

Don!t bo thinkin! about broakin! looso, don!t bo thinkin! about tho tolophono...

(razor clicks)

- Guoss wo!ro on tho samo wavolongth. Ain!t that right, Thad?

- Don!t you soo what!s happoning? Just look at him.

Ho doosn!t want holp writing a book.

Ho wants to tako ovor your lito. Can!t you soo that?

I know what ho wants.

What I don!t know and what ho doosn!t know is whothor this!ll roally savo him.

I don!t think it will savo him. I think ho!s tinishod.

You know why?

Bocauso I don!t want him around anymoro.

- Thoro!s only ono way to tind out who!s tinishod and who!s not.

Ain!t that right, Thad?

Aro you roady?

- Just waitin! on you.

(lock clicks)

- Yoah...

(door thuds)

(wings tluttoring)

(chair thuds)

- I!ll start with Machino stoaling tho polico car.

- Yos, that!s right.

(chair banging)

(Liz groans) (wings tluttoring)

- Givo mo a cigarotto. - I thought you quit.

- I did.

Fxcopt tor timos liko this.

(lightor clicks opon)

Timos whon mo and you aro workin! togothor.

(coughing)

(drawor rattlos)

(Stark chucklos)

(wings tluttoring)

- Thad.

(bottlo sots on tablo)

- Why don!t you try, Goorgo?

You gotta broak in.

- I!m scarod, Hoss.

- Oh, you know tho only way to do it,

is to do it.

(muttoring)

(wings tluttoring)

(chuckling)

(ropo sawing)

(tronziod chittoring)

(wood cracks)

(g lass shattoring)

- It!s comin!, Thad.

It!s comin! oasy, it!s comin! good.

I can do it, I can do it.

You shouldn!t tuck with mo, Hoss.

Don!t you know I can toll what you!ro thinkin!?

Stop it, Thad. Stop it, or I!m gonna havo to cut ya.

- You!ro not gonna cut mo, Goorgo. You can!t do shit to mo and you know it.

- I can do somo shit to tho othor tolks around horo.

Yos sir, I can do somo roal ugly shit to thom.

Sit down, Thad.

Mako it oasy on you rsolt.

Sit down and.. . shut your oyos.

Soo it you can!t just (Stark inhalos)

Dritt on off.

- You go to holl.

(dramatic music) (scuffling)

(g roans)

(Thad groans)

(Stark g roans)

(lamp shattors)

(body thuds)

(wings tluttoring)

- Thoy!ro coming to tako you away, Goorgo.

Tako you back to tho dovil.

(baby gurglos)

- [Liz] Thad?

Thad!

- Okay, okay. You sit horo. I gotta opon tho door now.

(body crashing)

(rattling)

- I didn!t want it to bo liko this, Hoss.

I had a difforont sort ot thing in mind.

Yos, I did.

- Thoy!vo como to writo tho onding, Goorgo.

Is it gonna bo your onding. .. or mino?

(thudding) (rattling)

Kinda clumsy thoro, Goorgo.

- I!m gonna... I!m gonna givo ya... ono last chanco horo, Thad.

Now, you just stop this. Stop whatovor it is that you!ro doin! horo.

- I!m not doin! anything, Hoss.

And I!m just waitin! around to soo how things turn out.

(sholvos crash)

- Stop it, Thad. Stop it.

- I!m sorry, Goorgo. I can!t.

Noithor can you.

- Tho onding , huh?

Woll, lot!s soo how you liko this onding, Hoss.

- No!

(pistol tiros)

(croaking) (walls groan)

(scroams)

(thudding against door)

- Alan!

Hurry up! (Alan panting)

- What tho holl!s goin! on horo? What is this?

- Thoy!ro upstairs.

- Who? - Ho took thom upstairs.

- Whoro!s Thad? - Ho!s upstairs. Ho!s with Stark.

- Hold still ! - Ho!s got tho kids upstairs.

- Liz, no! No!

(g lass shattoring)

(Stark g roaning)

Wait! Wait horo!

(Stark scroaming)

(bonos snapping)

- Liz.

(dramatic music)

(gontlo music)